The Ontario Readers Part 35

CHARLOTTE M. YONGE: "Book of Golden Deeds."

THE FIGHTING TeMeRAIRE

It was eight bells ringing, For the morning watch was done, And the gunner's lads were singing, As they polished every gun.

It was eight bells ringing, And the gunner's lads were singing For the ship she rode a-swinging, As they polished every gun.

_Oh! to see the linstock lighting, Temeraire! Temeraire!

Oh! to hear the round shot biting, Temeraire! Temeraire!

Oh! to see the linstock lighting, And to hear the round shot biting, For we're all in love with fighting On the Fighting Temeraire._

It was noontide ringing, And the battle just begun, When the ship her way was winging, As they loaded every gun.

It was noontide ringing When the ship her way was winging, And the gunner's lads were singing, As they loaded every gun.

_There'll be many grim and gory, Temeraire! Temeraire!

There'll be few to tell the story, Temeraire! Temeraire!

There'll be many grim and gory, There'll be few to tell the story, But we'll all be one in glory With the Fighting Temeraire._

There's a far bell ringing At the setting of the sun, And a phantom voice is singing Of the great days done.

There's a far bell ringing, And a phantom voice is singing Of renown for ever clinging To the great days done.

_Now the sunset breezes shiver, Temeraire! Temeraire!

And she's fading down the river, Temeraire! Temeraire!

Now the sunset breezes shiver, And she's fading down the river, But in England's song for ever She's the Fighting Temeraire._

HENRY NEWBOLT

DON QUIXOTE'S FIGHT WITH THE WINDMILLS

"I beseech your worship, Sir Knight-errant," quoth Sancho to his master, "be sure you don't forget what you promised me about the island; for I dare say I shall make shift to govern it, let it be never so big."

"You must know, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "that it has been the constant practice of knights-errant in former ages to make their squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they conquered."

As they were thus discoursing, they discovered some thirty or forty windmills that are in that plain; and as soon as the knight had spied them, "Fortune," cried he, "directs our affairs better than we ourselves could have wished: look yonder, friend Sancho, there are at least thirty outrageous giants, whom I intend to encounter; and having deprived them of life, we will begin to enrich ourselves with their spoils; for they are lawful prize; and the extirpation of that cursed brood will be an acceptable service to Heaven."

"What giants?" quoth Sancho Panza.

"Those whom thou seest yonder," answered Don Quixote, "with their long extended arms; some of that detested race have arms of so immense a size, that sometimes they reach two leagues in length."

"Pray look better, sir," quoth Sancho; "those things yonder are no giants, but windmills, and the arms you fancy, are their sails, which being whirled about by the wind, make the mill go."

"'Tis a sign," cried Don Quixote, "thou art but little acquainted with adventures! I tell thee, they are giants; and therefore if thou art afraid, go aside and say thy prayers, for I am resolved to engage in a dreadful unequal combat against them all." This said, he clapped spurs to his horse Rozinante, without giving ear to his squire Sancho, who bawled out to him, and a.s.sured him that they were windmills, and no giants. But he was so fully possessed with a strong conceit of the contrary, that he did not so much as hear his squire's outcry, nor was he sensible of what they were, although he was already very near them; far from that: "Stand, cowards," cried he, as loud as he could; "stand your ground, ign.o.ble creatures, and fly not basely from a single knight, who dares encounter you all!"

At the same time, the wind rising, the mill-sails began to move, which when Don Quixote spied, "Base miscreants," cried he, "though you move more arms than the giant Briareus, you shall pay for your arrogance."

He most devoutly recommended himself to his Lady Dulcinea, imploring her a.s.sistance in this perilous adventure; and, so covering himself with his shield, and couching his lance, he rushed with Rozinante's utmost speed upon the first windmill he could come at, and running his lance into the sail, the wind whirled it about with such swiftness, that the rapidity of the motion presently broke the lance into shivers, and hurled away both knight and horse along with it, till down he fell, rolling a good way off in the field.

Sancho Panza ran as fast as his a.s.s could drive to help his master, whom he found lying, and not able to stir, such a blow had he and Rozinante received. "Mercy o' me!" cried Sancho, "did not I give your worship fair warning? Did not I tell you they were windmills, and that n.o.body could think otherwise, unless he had also windmills in his head!"

"Peace, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote: "there is nothing so subject to the inconstancy of fortune as war. I am verily persuaded that cursed necromancer, Freston, who carried away my study and my books, has transformed these giants into windmills to deprive me of the honour of the victory; such is his inveterate malice against me; but in the end, all his pernicious wiles and stratagems shall prove ineffectual against the prevailing edge of my sword."

"Amen, say I," replied Sancho.

And so heaving him up again upon his legs, once more the knight mounted poor Rozinante, that was half shoulder-slipped with his fall.

This adventure was the subject of their discourse, as they made the best of their way towards the pa.s.s of Lapice, for Don Quixote took that road, believing he could not miss of adventure in one so mightily frequented.

However, the loss of his lance was no small affliction to him; and as he was making his complaint about it to his squire, "I have read," said he, "friend Sancho, that a certain Spanish knight, having broken his sword in the heat of an engagement, pulled up by the roots a huge oak tree, or at least tore down a ma.s.sy branch, and did such wonderful execution, crushing and grinding so many Moors with it that day, that he won himself and his posterity the surname of The Pounder, or Bruiser. I tell thee this, because I intend to tear up the next oak or holm tree we meet; with the trunk whereof I hope to perform such wondrous deeds that thou wilt esteem thyself particularly happy in having had the honour to behold them, and been the ocular witness of achievements which posterity will scarce be able to believe."

"Heaven grant you may," cried Sancho; "I believe it all, because your worship says it. But, an't please you, sit a little more upright in your saddle; you ride sideling methinks; but that, I suppose, proceeds from your being bruised by the fall."

"It does so," replied Don Quixote; "and if I do not complain of the pain, it is because a knight-errant must never complain of his wounds."

"Then I have no more to say," quoth Sancho; "and yet Heaven knows my heart, I should be glad to hear your worship groan a little now and then when something ails you: for my part, I shall not fail to bemoan myself when I suffer the smallest pain, unless, indeed, it can be proved that the rule of not complaining extends to the squires as well as knights."

Don Quixote could not forbear smiling at the simplicity of his squire; and told him he gave him leave to complain not only when he pleased, but as much as he pleased, whether he had any cause or no; for he had never yet read anything to the contrary in any books of chivalry.

CERVANTES: "The Adventures of Don Quixote."

THE ROMANCE OF THE SWAN'S NEST

Little Ellie sits alone 'Mid the beeches of a meadow, By a stream-side on the gra.s.s, And the trees are showering down Doubles of their leaves in shadow, On her shining hair and face.

She has thrown her bonnet by, And her feet she has been dipping In the shallow water's flow.

Now she holds them nakedly In her hands, all sleek and dripping, While she rocketh to and fro.

Little Ellie sits alone, And the smile she softly uses, Fills the silence like a speech, While she thinks what shall be done,-- And the sweetest pleasure chooses For her future within reach.

Little Ellie in her smile Chooses ... "I will have a lover, Riding on a steed of steeds!

He shall love me without guile, And to _him_ I will discover The swan's nest among the reeds.

"And the steed shall be red-roan, And the lover shall be n.o.ble, With an eye that takes the breath.

And the lute he plays upon, Shall strike ladies into trouble, As his sword strikes men to death.

"And the steed it shall be shod All in silver, housed in azure; And the mane shall swim the wind; And the hoofs along the sod Shall flash onward and keep measure, Till the shepherds look behind.

"But my lover will not prize All the glory that he rides in, When he gazes in my face.

He will say: 'O Love, thine eyes Build the shrine my soul abides in, And I kneel here for thy grace.'