The Literary World Seventh Reader Part 17

=HELPS TO STUDY=

Do you know any of the stars or the constellations mentioned? Some of them are seen in our lat.i.tude, but the southern sky Maury describes is south of the equator. The "Southern Cross" is seen only below the equator. The "Magellan Clouds" are not far from the South Pole.

DAFFODILS

I wandered lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host of golden daffodils,-- Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that s.h.i.+ne And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of the bay.

Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they Outdid the sparkling waves in glee,-- A poet could not but be gay In such a [v]jocund company.

I gazed, and gazed, but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft, when on my couch I lie, In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

DAWN

I had occasion, a few weeks since, to take the early train from Providence to Boston; and for this purpose I rose at two o'clock in the morning. Everything around was wrapped in darkness and hushed in silence. It was a mild, serene, midsummer night,--the sky was without a cloud,--the winds were [v]whist. The moon, then in the last quarter, had just risen, and the stars shone with a l.u.s.ter but little affected by her presence.

Jupiter, two hours high, was the herald of the day; the [v]Pleiades, just above the horizon, shed their sweet influence in the east; Lyra sparkled near the [v]zenith; Andromeda veiled her newly discovered glories from the naked eye in the south; the steady Pointers, far beneath the pole, looked meekly up from the depths of the north to their sovereign.

Such was the glorious spectacle as I entered the train. As we proceeded, the timid approach of twilight became more perceptible; the intense blue of the sky began to soften; the smaller stars, like little children, went first to rest; the sister-beams of the Pleiades soon melted together; but the bright constellations of the west and north remained unchanged. Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on. Hands of angels, hidden from mortal eyes, s.h.i.+fted the scenery of the heavens; the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn.

The blue sky now turned more softly gray; the great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky; the whole celestial concave was filled with the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down from above in one great ocean of radiance; till at length, as we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon, and turned the dewy teardrops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds.

In a few seconds, the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his state.

I do not wonder at the superst.i.tion of the ancient [v]Magians, who, in the morning of the world, went up to the hilltops of Central Asia, and, ignorant of the true G.o.d, adored the most glorious work of His hand. But I am filled with amazement, when I am told that, in this enlightened age and in the heart of the Christian world, there are persons who can witness this daily manifestation of the power and wisdom of the Creator, and yet say in their hearts, "There is no G.o.d."

EDWARD EVERETT.

=HELPS TO STUDY=

What experience did Everett describe? What impresses the mood of the early morning? In what lat.i.tude did Everett live? What stars and constellations did he mention? Trace the steps by which he pictured the sunrise. Why did he not wonder at the belief of the "ancient Magians"? What thought does cause amazement?

SPRING

Spring, with that nameless [v]pathos in the air Which dwells with all things fair-- Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain, Is with us once again.

Out in the lonely woods, the jasmine burns Its fragrant lamps, and turns Into a royal court, with green festoons, The banks of dark [v]lagoons.

In the deep heart of every forest tree, The blood is all aglee; And there's a look about the leafless bowers, As if they dreamed of flowers.

Yet still, on every side we trace the hand Of Winter in the land, Save where the maple reddens on the lawn, Flushed by the season's dawn;

Or where, like those strange [v]semblances we find That age to childhood bind, The elm puts on, as if in Nature's scorn, The brown of Autumn corn.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Woods in Spring]

As yet the turf is dark, although you know That, not a span below, A thousand germs are groping through the gloom, And soon will burst their tomb.

In gardens, you may note, amid the dearth, The crocus breaking earth; And near the snowdrop's tender white and green, The violet in its screen.

But many gleams and showers need must pa.s.s Along the budding gra.s.s, And weeks go by, before the enamored South Shall kiss the rose's mouth.

Still there's a sense of blossoms yet unborn, In the sweet airs of morn; One almost looks to see the very street Grow purple at his feet.

At times, a fragrant breeze comes floating by, And brings, you know not why, A feeling as when eager crowds await Before a palace gate

Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce would start, If from a beech's heart, A blue-eyed [v]Dryad, stepping forth, should say, "Behold me! I am May!"

HENRY TIMROD.

AMONG THE CLIFFS

It was a critical moment. There was a stir other than that of the wind among the pine needles and dry leaves that carpeted the ground.

The wary wild turkeys lifted their long necks with that peculiar cry of half-doubting surprise so familiar to a sportsman, then all was still for an instant. The world was steeped in the noontide sunlight, the mountain air tasted of the fresh [v]sylvan fragrance that pervaded the forest, the foliage blamed with the red and gold of autumn, the distant [v]Chilhowee heights were delicately blue.

That instant's doubt sealed the doom of one of the flock. As the turkeys stood in momentary suspense, the sunlight gilding their bronze feathers to a brighter sheen, there was a movement in the dense undergrowth. The flock took suddenly to wing,--a flash from among the leaves, the sharp crack of a rifle, and one of the birds fell heavily over the bluff and down toward the valley.

The young mountaineer's exclamation of triumph died in his throat. He came running to the verge of the crag, and looked down ruefully into the depths where his game had disappeared.

"Waal, sir," he broke forth pathetically, "this beats my time! If my luck ain't enough ter make a horse laugh!"

He did not laugh, however; perhaps his luck was calculated to stir only [v]equine risibility. The cliff was almost perpendicular; at the depth of twenty feet a narrow ledge projected, but thence there was a sheer descent, down, down, down, to the tops of the tall trees in the valley far below.

As Ethan Tynes looked wistfully over the precipice, he started with a sudden surprise. There on the narrow ledge lay the dead turkey.

The sight sharpened Ethan's regrets. He had made a good shot, and he hated to relinquish his game. While he gazed in dismayed meditation, an idea began to kindle in his brain. Why could he not let himself down to the ledge by those long, strong vines that hung over the edge of the cliff?