Sanders' Union Fourth Reader Part 67

LESSON XCIII.

EX HI BI' TIONS, displays.

CIR c.u.m SCRIB' ED, encompa.s.sed.

NA' VIES, ships of war.

ARM' A MENTS, forces equipped for war.

IM PED' ED, hindered, obstructed.

LE VI' A THAN, huge sea-monster.

MAG NIF' I CENCE, grandeur.

UN A BAT' ED, undiminished.

RE SERV' ED, kept.

EN TRANC' ED, enraptured.

PROM' ON TO RY, headland.

RE VEAL'ED, laid open.

SYM' BOL, token; sign.

AD A MAN TINE, exceedingly hard.

AP PER TAIN' ING, belonging.

TRANS FORM' ING, changing.

[Headnote 1: AC' TI UM is the ancient name of a promontory of Albania, in Turkey in Europe, near which was fought (B.C. 29) the celebrated naval battle that made Augustus Caesar master of the Roman world.]

[Headnote 2: SAL' A MIS, an island opposite Attica, in Greece, near which (B.C. 480) occurred the famous naval engagement which resulted in the defeat of the Persians.]

[Headnote 3: NAV A RI' NO is a seaport town on the southwestern coast of Greece. It was the scene of the memorable victory of the combined English, French, and Russian fleets over those of the Turks and Egyptians, gained on the 20th of October, 1827.]

[Headnote 4: TRA FAL GAR', a cape on the southwestern coast of Spain.

It is famous for the great naval battle, fought in its vicinity, Oct. 21st, 1805, between the fleets of the French and Spanish on the one side, and the English, under Lord Nelson, on the other. The English were victorious, though Nelson was mortally wounded.]

GRANDEUR OF THE OCEAN.

WALTER COLTON.

1. The most fearful and impressive exhibitions of power known to our globe, belong to the ocean. The volcano, with its ascending flame and falling torrents of fire, and the earthquake, whose footstep is on the ruin of cities, are circ.u.mscribed in the desolating range of their visitations. But the ocean, when it once rouses itself in its chainless strength, shakes a thousand sh.o.r.es with its storm and thunder. Navies of oak and iron are tossed in mockery from its crest, and armaments, manned by the strength and courage of millions, perish among its bubbles.

2. The avalanche, shaken from its glittering steep, if it rolls to the bosom of the earth, melts away, and is lost in vapor; but if it plunge into the embrace of the ocean, this mountain ma.s.s of ice and hail is borne about for ages in tumult and terror; it is the drifting monument of the ocean's dead. The tempest on land is impeded by forests, and broken by mountains; but on the plain of the deep it rushes unresisted; and when its strength is at last spent, ten thousand giant waves still roll its terrors onward.

3. The mountain lake and the meadow stream are inhabited only by the timid prey of the angler; but the ocean is the home of the leviathan,--his ways are in the mighty deep. The glittering pebble and the rainbow-tinted sh.e.l.l, which the returning tide has left on the sh.o.r.e, and the watery gem which the pearl-diver reaches at the peril of his life, are all that man can filch from the treasures of the sea. The groves of coral which wave over its pavements, and the halls of amber which glow in its depths, are beyond his approaches, save when he goes down there to seek, amid their silent magnificence, his burial monument.

4. The islands, the continents, the sh.o.r.es of civilized and savage realms, the capitals of kings, are worn by time, washed away by the wave, consumed by the flame, or sunk by the earthquake; but the ocean still remains, and still rolls on in the greatness of its unabated strength. Over the majesty of its form and the marvel of its might, time and disaster have no power. Such as creation's dawn beheld, it rolleth now.

5. The vast clouds of vapor which roll up from its bosom, float away to encircle the globe: on distant mountains and deserts they pour out their watery treasures, which gather themselves again in streams and torrents, to return, with exulting bounds, to their parent ocean. These are the messengers which proclaim in every land the exhaustless resources of the sea; but it is reserved for those who go down in ships, and who do business in the great waters, to see the works of the Lord and His wonders in the deep.

6. Let one go upon deck in the middle watch of a still night, with naught above him but the silent and solemn skies, and naught around and beneath him but an interminable waste of waters, and with the conviction that there is but a plank between him and eternity, a feeling of loneliness, solitude, and desertion, mingled with a sentiment of reverence for the vast, mysterious and unknown, will come upon him with a power, all unknown before, and he might stand for hours entranced in reverence and tears.

7. Man, also, has made the ocean the theater of _his_ power. The ship in which he rides that element, is one of the highest triumphs of his skill. At first, this floating fabric was only a frail bark, slowly urged by the laboring oar. The sail, at length, arose and spread its wings to the wind. Still he had no power to direct his course when the lofty promontory sunk from sight, or the orbs above him were lost in clouds. But the secret of the magnet is, at length, revealed to him, and his needle now settles, with a fixedness which love has stolen as the symbol of its constancy, to the polar star.

8. Now, however, he can dispense even with sail, and wind, and flowing wave. He constructs and propels his vast engines of flame and vapor, and, through the solitude of the sea, as over the solid land, goes thundering on his track. On the ocean, too, thrones have been lost and won. On the fate of Actium [Headnote 1] was suspended the empire of the world. In the gulf of Salamis,[Headnote 2] the pride of Persia found a grave; and the crescent set forever in the waters of Navarino;[Headnote 3] while, at Trafalgar [Headnote 4] and the Nile, nations held their breath,

As each gun, From its adamantine lips, Spread a death-shade round the ships Like the hurricane's eclipse Of the sun.

9. But, of all the wonders appertaining to the ocean, the greatest, perhaps, is its transforming power on man. It unravels and weaves anew the web of his moral and social being. It invests him with feelings, a.s.sociations, and habits, to which he has been an entire stranger. It breaks up the sealed fountain of his nature, and lifts his soul into features prominent as the cliffs which beetle over its surge.

10. Once the adopted child of the ocean, he can never bring back his entire sympathies to land. He will still move in his dreams over that vast waste of waters, still bound in exultation and triumph through its foaming billows. All the other realities of life will be comparatively tame, and he will sigh for his tossing element, as the caged eagle for the roar and arrowy light of his mountain cataract.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of the volcano and earthquake? 2. Of the avalanche and tempest? 3. Of the ocean? 4. Of ships? 5. Where have naval battles been fought? 6. What influence has the ocean on man?

LESSON XCIV.

RE LAX' ED, loosened.

AS SI DU' I TIES, kind, constant attentions.

CON SIGN' ED, committed; given over.

EX TE' RI OR, outer appearance.

UN AF FECT' ED, sincere.

UN PRE TEND' ING, unostentatious.

HA BIL' I MENTS, vestments.

SU PER STI' TIOUS, full of scruples.

REC' ON CILE, make willing.

PEN' E TRATES, sees through.

PER VADE', (PER, _through_; VADE, _go_, or _pa.s.s_;) pa.s.s through; appear throughout.

A BURIAL AT SEA.

WALTER COLTON.

1. Death is a fearful thing, come in what form it may,--fearful, when the vital chords are so gradually relaxed, that life pa.s.ses away sweetly as music from the slumbering harp-string,--fearful, when in his own quiet chamber, the departing one is summoned by those who sweetly follow him with their prayers, when the a.s.siduities of friendship and affection can go no farther, and who discourse of heaven and future blessedness, till the closing ear can no longer catch the tones of the long-familiar voice, and who, lingering near, still feel for the hushed pulse, and then trace in the placid slumber, which pervades each feature, a quiet emblem of the spirit's serene repose.

2. What, then, must this dread event be to one, who meets it comparatively alone, far away from the hearth of his home, upon a troubled sea, between the narrow decks of a restless ship, and at that dread hour of night, when even the sympathies of the world seem suspended! Such has been the end of many who traverse the ocean; and such was the hurried end of him, whose remains we have just consigned to a watery grave.

3. He was a sailor; but, beneath his rude exterior, he carried a heart touched with refinement, pride, and greatness. There was something about him, which spoke of better days and a higher destiny. By what errors or misfortunes he was reduced to his humble condition, was a secret which he would reveal to none. Silent, reserved, and thoughtful, he stood a stranger among his free companions, and never was his voice heard in the laughter or the jest. He has undoubtedly left behind many who will long look for his return, and bitterly weep when they are told they shall see his face no more.

4. As the remains of the poor sailor were brought up on deck, wound in that hammock which, through many a stormy night, had swung to the wind, one could not but observe the big tear that stole unconsciously down the rough cheeks of his hardy companions. When the funeral service was read to that most affecting pa.s.sage, "we commit this body to the deep," and the plank was raised which precipitated to the momentary eddy of the wave the quickly disappearing form, a heavy sigh from those around, told that the strong heart of the sailor can be touched with grief, and that a truly unaffected sorrow may accompany virtue, in its most unpretending form, to its ocean grave. Yet how soon is such a scene forgotten!

"As from the wing the sky no scar retains, The parted wave no furrow from the keel, So dies in human hearts the thought of death."

5. There is something peculiarly melancholy and impressive in a burial at sea: there is here no coffin or hea.r.s.e, procession or tolling bell,--nothing that gradually prepares us for the final separation. The body is wound in the drapery of its couch, much as if the deceased were only in a quiet and temporary sleep. In these habiliments of seeming slumber, it is dropped into the wave, the waters close over it, the vessel pa.s.ses quickly on, and not a solitary trace is left to tell where sunk from light and life, one that loved to look at the sky and breathe this vital air.

6. There is nothing that, for one moment, can point to the deep, unvisited resting-place of the departed,--it is a grave in the midst of the ocean,--in the midst of a vast, untrodden solitude. Affection can not approach it, with its tears; the dews of heaven can not reach it; and there is around it no violet, or shrub, or murmuring stream.

7. It may be superst.i.tious; but no advantages of wealth, or honor, or power, through life, would reconcile me at its close to such a burial. I would rather share the coa.r.s.e and scanty provisions of the simplest cabin, and drop away unknown and unhonored by the world, so that my final resting-place be beneath some green tree, by the side of some living stream, or in some familiar spot, where the few that loved me in life, might visit me in death.

8. But, whether our grave be in the fragrant shade, or in the fathomless ocean, among our kindred, or in the midst of strangers, the day is coming when we shall all appear at one universal bar, and receive from a righteous Judge the award of our deeds. He that is wisest, penetrates the future the deepest.

QUESTIONS.--1. What is said of death? 2. What, of death at sea?

3. What renders a burial at sea peculiarly melancholy and impressive?