Chapter 1

Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Julia Miller, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

Transcriber's Note

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A list of changes is found at the end of the book. Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation have been maintained. A list of those words is found at the end of the book. Oe ligatures have been expanded. The original book used both numerical and symbolic footnote markers. This version follows the original usage.

Journeys Through Bookland

A NEW AND ORIGINAL PLAN FOR READING APPLIED TO THE WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE FOR CHILDREN

_BY_ CHARLES H. SYLVESTER _Author of English and American Literature_

VOLUME SIX _New Edition_

Chicago BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1922 BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY

CONTENTS

PAGE HORATIUS _Lord Macaulay_ 1 LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER _Thomas Campbell_ 23 SIR WALTER SCOTT _Grace E. Sellon_ 26 THE TOURNAMENT _Sir Walter Scott_ 38 THE RAINBOW _Thomas Campbell_ 91 THE LION AND THE MISSIONARY _David Livingstone_ 93 THE MOSS ROSE _Translated from Krummacher_ 98 FOUR DUCKS ON A POND _William Allingham_ 98 RAB AND HIS FRIENDS _John Brown, M.D._ 99 ANNIE LAURIE _William Douglas_ 119 THE BLIND LASSIE _T. C. Latto_ 120 BOYHOOD _Washington Allston_ 122 SWEET AND LOW _Alfred Tennyson_ 122 CHILDHOOD _Donald G. Mitchell_ 124 THE BUGLE SONG _Alfred Tennyson_ 133 THE IMITATION OF CHRIST _Thomas à Kempis_ 134 THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB _Lord Byron_ 141 RUTH 143 THE VISION OF BELSHAZZAR _Lord Byron_ 153 SOHRAB AND RUSTEM 157 SOHRAB AND RUSTUM _Matthew Arnold_ 173 THE POET AND THE PEASANT _Emile Souvestre_ 206 JOHN HOWARD PAYNE AND _Home, Sweet Home_ 221 AULD LANG SYNE _Robert Burns_ 228 HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD _Alfred Tennyson_ 231 CHARLES DICKENS 232 A CHRISTMAS CAROL _Charles Dickens_ 244 CHRISTMAS IN OLD TIME _Sir Walter Scott_ 356 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD _Thomas Gray_ 360 THE SHIPWRECK _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 371 ELEPHANT HUNTING _Roualeyn Gordon Cumming_ 385 SOME CLEVER MONKEYS _Thomas Belt_ 402 POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC _Benjamin Franklin_ 407 GEORGE ROGERS CLARK 422 THE CAPTURE OF VINCENNES _George Rogers Clark_ 428 THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK _Edgar Allan Poe_ 453 THE MODERN BELLE _Stark_ 463 WIDOW MACHREE _Samuel Lover_ 464 LIMESTONE BROTH _Gerald Griffin_ 467 THE KNOCK-OUT _Davy Crockett_ 471 THE COUNTRY SQUIRE _Thomas Yriarte_ 474 TO MY INFANT SON _Thomas Hood_ 478

PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES 481

For Classification of Selections, see General Index, at end of Volume X

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE THE TOURNAMENT (Color Plate) _Donn P. Crane_ FRONTISPIECE THE LONG ARRAY OF HELMETS BRIGHT _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 5 "LIE THERE," HE CRIED, "FELL PIRATE" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 13 HORATIO IN HIS HARNESS, HALTING UPON ONE KNEE _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 21 "BOATMAN, DO NOT TARRY" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 24 SIR WALTER SCOTT (Halftone) 26 ABBOTSFORD (Color Plate) 30 THRONG GOING TO THE LISTS _R. F. Babcock_ 41 THE DISINHERITED KNIGHT UNHORSES BRYAN _R. F. Babcock_ 59 THE ARMOUR MAKERS _R. F. Babcock_ 69 PRINCE JOHN THROWS DOWN THE TRUNCHEON _R. F. Babcock_ 85 ROWENA CROWNING DISINHERITED KNIGHT _R. F. Babcock_ 89 "RAB, YE THIEF!" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 103 JAMES BURIED HIS WIFE _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 117 SHE REACHES DOWN TO DIP HER TOE _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 125 POOR TRAY IS DEAD _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 132 "WHITHER THOU GOEST, I WILL GO" _R. F. Babcock_ 145 RUTH GLEANING _R. F. Babcock_ 147 THE WRITING ON THE WALL _Louis Grell_ 155 SOHRAB AND PERAN-WISA (Color Plate) _Louis Grell_ 174 PERAN-WISA GIVES SOHRAB'S CHALLENGE _R. F. Babcock_ 179 THE SPEAR RENT THE TOUGH PLATES _R. F. Babcock_ 191 RUSTUM SORROWS OVER SOHRAB _R. F. Babcock_ 203 MATTHEW ARNOLD (Halftone) 204 JOHN HOWARD PAYNE (Halftone) 222 THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME _Iris Weddell White_ 225 FOR AULD LANG SYNE _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 230 CHARLES DICKENS (Halftone) 232 THE CLERK SMILED FAINTLY _Iris Weddell White_ 255 "IN LIFE I WAS YOUR PARTNER, JACOB MARLEY" _Iris Weddell White_ 263 IN THE BEST PARLOR _Iris Weddell White_ 281 THE FIDDLER STRUCK UP "SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY" _Iris Weddell White_ 285 UPON THE COUCH THERE SAT A JOLLY GIANT _Iris Weddell White_ 297 BOB AND TINY TIM (Color Plate) _Hazel Frazee_ 304 THERE NEVER WAS SUCH A GOOSE _Iris Weddell White_ 307 "SO I AM TOLD," RETURNED THE SECOND _Iris Weddell White_ 329 HE READ HIS OWN NAME _Iris Weddell White_ 344 HE STOOD BY THE WINDOW--GLORIOUS! _Iris Weddell White_ 348 "A MERRY CHRISTMAS, BOB!" _Iris Weddell White_ 355 HOMEWARD PLODS HIS WEARY WAY _R. F. Babcock_ 361 THE COUNTRY CHURCHYARD _R. F. Babcock_ 369 I FOUND I WAS HOLDING TO A SPAR _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 372 WITH BEATING HEART I APPROACHED A VIEW _R. F. Babcock_ 397 A CEBUS MONKEY _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 405 THE SLEEPING FOX CATCHES NO POULTRY _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 411 CLARK TOOK THE LEAD _R. F. Babcock_ 433 WE MET AT THE CHURCH _R. F. Babcock_ 449 "WELL, THEN, BOBBY, MY BOY" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 455 IN KATE, HOWEVER, I HAD A FIRM FRIEND _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 458 "FAITH, I WISH YOU'D TAKE ME!" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 465 HE SOON SEES A FARMHOUSE AT A LITTLE DISTANCE _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 468 THE SQUIRE'S LIBRARY _Iris Weddell White_ 475 "THERE GOES MY INK!" _Lucille Enders_ 479

HORATIUS

_By_ LORD MACAULAY

NOTE.--This spirited poem by Lord Macaulay is founded on one of the most popular Roman legends. While the story is based on facts, we can by no means be certain that all of the details are historical.

According to Roman legendary history, the Tarquins, Lucius Tarquinius Priscus and Lucius Tarquinius Superbus, were among the early kings of Rome. The reign of the former was glorious, but that of the latter was most unjust and tyrannical. Finally the unscrupulousness of the king and his son reached such a point that it became unendurable to the people, who in 509 B. C. rose in rebellion and drove the entire family from Rome. Tarquinius Superbus appealed to Lars Porsena, the powerful king of Clusium for aid and the story of the expedition against Rome is told in this poem.

Lars Porsena of Clusium[1-1] By the Nine Gods[1-2] he swore That the great house of Tarquin Should suffer wrong no more. By the Nine Gods he swore it, And named a trysting day, And bade his messengers ride forth East and west and south and north, To summon his array.

East and west and south and north The messengers ride fast, And tower and town and cottage Have heard the trumpet's blast. Shame on the false Etruscan Who lingers in his home, When Porsena of Clusium Is on the march for Rome.

The horsemen and the footmen Are pouring in amain From many a stately market-place; From many a fruitful plain. From many a lonely hamlet, Which, hid by beech and pine, Like an eagle's nest, hangs on the crest Of purple Apennine;

* * * * *

There be thirty chosen prophets, The wisest of the land, Who alway by Lars Porsena Both morn and evening stand: Evening and morn the Thirty Have turned the verses o'er, Traced from the right on linen white[2-3] By mighty seers of yore.

And with one voice the Thirty Have their glad answer given: "Go forth, go forth, Lars Porsena; Go forth, beloved of Heaven: Go, and return in glory To Clusium's royal dome; And hang round Nurscia's[3-4] altars The golden shields of Rome."

And now hath every city Sent up her tale[3-5] of men: The foot are fourscore thousand, The horse are thousand ten. Before the gates of Sutrium[3-6] Is met the great array. A proud man was Lars Porsena Upon the trysting day.

For all the Etruscan armies Were ranged beneath his eye, And many a banished Roman, And many a stout ally; And with a mighty following To join the muster came The Tusculan Mamilius, Prince of the Latian[3-7] name.

But by the yellow Tiber Was tumult and affright: From all the spacious champaign[3-8] To Rome men took their flight. A mile around the city, The throng stopped up the ways; A fearful sight it was to see Through two long nights and days.

For aged folks on crutches, And women great with child, And mothers sobbing over babes That clung to them and smiled, And sick men borne in litters High on the necks of slaves, And troops of sunburnt husbandmen With reaping-hooks and staves,

And droves of mules and asses Laden with skins of wine, And endless flocks of goats and sheep, And endless herds of kine, And endless trains of wagons That creaked beneath the weight Of corn-sacks and of household goods, Choked every roaring gate.

Now, from the rock Tarpeian[4-9] Could the wan burghers spy The line of blazing villages Red in the midnight sky. The Fathers of the City,[5-10] They sat all night and day, For every hour some horseman came With tidings of dismay.

To eastward and to westward Have spread the Tuscan bands; Nor house nor fence nor dovecote In Crustumerium stands. Verbenna down to Ostia[5-11] Hath wasted all the plain; Astur hath stormed Janiculum,[5-12] And the stout guards are slain.

Iwis,[5-13] in all the Senate, There was no heart so bold, But sore it ached, and fast it beat, When that ill news was told. Forthwith up rose the Consul,[5-14] Uprose the Fathers all; In haste they girded up their gowns, And hied them to the wall.

They held a council standing Before the River-Gate; Short time was there, ye well may guess, For musing or debate. Out spake the Consul roundly: "The bridge must straight go down; For since Janiculum is lost, Naught else can save the town."

Just then a scout came flying, All wild with haste and fear; "To arms! to arms! Sir Consul: Lars Porsena is here." On the low hills to westward The Consul fixed his eye, And saw the swarthy storm of dust Rise fast along the sky.

And nearer fast and nearer Doth the red whirlwind come; And louder still and still more loud, From underneath that rolling cloud, Is heard the trumpet's war-note proud, The trampling, and the hum. And plainly and more plainly Now through the gloom appears, Far to left and far to right, In broken gleams of dark-blue light, The long array of helmets bright, The long array of spears.

And plainly, and more plainly Above that glimmering line, Now might ye see the banners Of twelve fair cities shine; But the banner of proud Clusium Was highest of them all, The terror of the Umbrian, The terror of the Gaul.

Fast by the royal standard, O'erlooking all the war, Lars Porsena of Clusium Sat in his ivory car. By the right wheel rode Mamilius, Prince of the Latian name, And by the left false Sextus,[7-15] That wrought the deed of shame.

But when the face of Sextus Was seen among the foes, A yell that bent the firmament From all the town arose. On the house-tops was no woman But spat toward him and hissed, No child but screamed out curses, And shook its little fist.

But the Consul's brow was sad, And the Consul's speech was low, And darkly looked he at the wall, And darkly at the foe. "Their van will be upon us Before the bridge goes down; And if they once may win the bridge, What hope to save the town?"

Then out spake brave Horatius, The Captain of the Gate: "To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his gods,

"And for the tender mother Who dandled him to rest, And for the wife who nurses His baby at her breast, And for the holy maidens Who feed the eternal flame,[8-16] To save them from false Sextus That wrought the deed of shame?

"Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, With all the speed ye may; I, with two more to help me, Will hold the foe in play. In yon strait path a thousand May well be stopped by three. Now who will stand on either hand, And keep the bridge with me?"

Then out spake Spurius Lartius; A Ramnian proud was he: "Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, And keep the bridge with thee." And out spake strong Herminius; Of Titian blood was he: "I will abide on thy left side, And keep the bridge with thee."

"Horatius," quoth the Consul, "As thou sayest, so let it be." And straight against that great array Forth went the dauntless Three. For Romans in Rome's quarrel Spared neither land nor gold, Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, In the brave days of old.

Then none was for a party; Then all were for the state; Then the great man helped the poor, And the poor man loved the great: Then lands were fairly portioned; Then spoils were fairly sold: The Romans were like brothers In the brave days of old.

Now while the Three were tightening Their harness on their backs, The Consul was the foremost man To take in hand an axe: And Fathers mixed with Commons[10-17] Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, And smote upon the planks above, And loosed the props below.

Meanwhile the Tuscan army, Right glorious to behold, Came flashing back the noonday light, Rank behind rank, like surges bright Of a broad sea of gold. Four hundred trumpets sounded A peal of warlike glee, As that great host, with measured tread, And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head, Where stood the dauntless Three.

The Three stood calm and silent, And looked upon the foes, And a great shout of laughter From all the vanguard rose; And forth three chiefs came spurring Before that deep array; To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, And lifted high their shields, and flew To win the narrow way;

Aunus from green Tifernum,[11-18] Lord of the Hill of Vines; And Seius, whose eight hundred slaves Sicken in Ilva's mines; And Picus, long to Clusium Vassal in peace and war, Who led to fight his Umbrian powers From that gray crag where, girt with towers, The fortress of Nequinum lowers O'er the pale waves of Nar.

Stout Lartius hurled down Aunus Into the stream beneath: Herminius struck at Seius, And clove him to the teeth: At Picus brave Horatius Darted one fiery thrust; And the proud Umbrian's gilded arms Clashed in the bloody dust.

Then Ocnus of Falerii Rushed on the Roman Three: And Lausulus of Urgo, The rover of the sea; And Aruns of Volsinium, Who slew the great wild boar, The great wild boar that had his den Amidst the reeds of Cosa's fen, And wasted fields, and slaughtered men, Along Albinia's shore.

Herminius smote down Aruns: Lartius laid Ocnus low: Right to the heart of Lausulus Horatius sent a blow. "Lie there," he cried, "fell pirate! No more, aghast and pale, From Ostia's walls the crowd shall mark The track of thy destroying bark. No more Campania's[12-19] hinds[12-20] shall fly To woods and caverns when they spy Thy thrice accursed sail."

But now no sound of laughter Was heard among the foes. A wild and wrathful clamor From all the vanguard rose. Six spears' lengths from the entrance Halted that deep array, And for a space no man came forth To win the narrow way.

But hark! the cry is Astur: And lo! the ranks divide; And the great Lord of Luna Comes with his stately stride. Upon his ample shoulders Clangs loud the fourfold shield, And in his hand he shakes the brand Which none but he can wield.

He smiled on those bold Romans A smile serene and high; He eyed the flinching Tuscans, And scorn was in his eye. Quoth he, "The she-wolf's litter[14-21] Stand savagely at bay: But will ye dare to follow, If Astur clears the way?"

Then, whirling up his broadsword With both hands to the height, He rushed against Horatius, And smote with all his might. With shield and blade Horatius Right deftly turned the blow. The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh; It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh: The Tuscans raised a joyful cry To see the red blood flow.

He reeled, and on Herminius He leaned one breathing-space; Then, like a wild-cat mad with wounds, Sprang right at Astur's face. Through teeth, and skull, and helmet, So fierce a thrust he sped, The good sword stood a handbreadth out Behind the Tuscan's head.

And the great Lord of Luna Fell at that deadly stroke, As falls on Mount Alvernus A thunder-smitten oak. Far o'er the crashing forest The giant arms lie spread; And the pale augurs, muttering low, Gaze on the blasted head.

On Astur's throat Horatius Right firmly pressed his heel, And thrice and four times tugged amain, Ere he wrenched out the steel. "And see," he cried, "the welcome, Fair guests, that waits you here! What noble Lucumo comes next To taste our Roman cheer?"

But at his haughty challenge A sullen murmur ran, Mingled of wrath and shame and dread, Along that glittering van. There lacked not men of prowess, Nor men of lordly race; For all Etruria's noblest Were round the fatal place.

But all Etruria's noblest Felt their hearts sink to see On the earth the bloody corpses, In the path the dauntless Three: And, from the ghastly entrance Where those bold Romans stood, All shrank, like boys who unaware, Ranging the woods to start a hare, Come to the mouth of the dark lair Where, growling low, a fierce old bear Lies amidst bones and blood.

Was none who would be foremost To lead such dire attack: But those behind cried "Forward!" And those before cried "Back!" And backward now and forward Wavers the deep array; And on the tossing sea of steel, To and fro the standards reel; And the victorious trumpet-peal Dies fitfully away.

Yet one man for one moment Stood out before the crowd; Well known was he to all the Three, And they gave him greeting loud. "Now welcome, welcome, Sextus! Now welcome to thy home! Why dost thou stay, and turn away? Here lies the road to Rome."

Thrice looked he at the city; Thrice looked he at the dead; And thrice came on in fury, And thrice turned back in dread; And, white with fear and hatred, Scowled at the narrow way Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, The bravest Tuscans lay.

But meanwhile axe and lever Have manfully been plied; And now the bridge hangs tottering Above the boiling tide. "Come back, come back, Horatius!" Loud cried the Fathers all. "Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! Back, ere the ruin fall!"

Back darted Spurius Lartius; Herminius darted back: And, as they passed, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack. But when they turned their faces, And on the farther shore Saw brave Horatius stand alone, They would have crossed once more.

But with a crash like thunder Fell every loosened beam, And, like a dam, the mighty wreck Lay right athwart the stream; And a long shout of triumph Rose from the walls of Rome, As to the highest turret-tops Was splashed the yellow foam.

And, like a horse unbroken When first he feels the rein, The furious river struggled hard, And tossed his tawny mane, And burst the curb, and bounded, Rejoicing to be free, And whirling down, in fierce career, Battlement, and plank, and pier, Rushed headlong to the sea.

Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. "Down with him!" cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face. "Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, "Now yield thee to our grace."