Chapter 1

Chapter 16,683 wordsPublic domain

_New Edition_

Chicago BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY PUBLISHERS

CONTENTS

PAGE THE DAFFODILS _William Wordsworth_ 1 TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN _William Cullen Bryant_ 4 TO A MOUSE _Robert Burns_ 5 TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY _Robert Burns_ 8 THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET _Samuel Wordsworth_ 11 BANNOCKBURN _Robert Burns_ 15 BOAT SONG _Sir Walter Scott_ 17 THE GOVERNOR AND THE NOTARY _Washington Irving_ 20 THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER _Samuel T. Coleridge_ 29 THE BLACK HAWK TRAGEDY _Edwin D. Coe_ 58 THE PETRIFIED FERN _Mary Bolles Branch_ 77 AN EXCITING CANOE RACE _J. Fenimore Cooper_ 79 THE BUFFALO _Francis Parkman_ 96 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE _Alfred Tennyson_ 147 FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT _Robert Burns_ 149 BREATHES THERE THE MAN _Sir Walter Scott_ 151 HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE _William Collins_ 151 QUEEN VICTORIA _Anna McCaleb_ 152 THE RECESSIONAL _Rudyard Kipling_ 164 THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER _Francis Scott Key_ 167 HOW'S MY BOY? _Sydney Dobell_ 169 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM _Thomas Campbell_ 170 MAKE WAY FOR LIBERTY _James Montgomery_ 172 THE OLD CONTINENTALS _Guy Humphreys McMaster_ 175 THE PICKET-GUARD _Mrs. Ethel Lynn Beers_ 177 MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME _Stephen Collins Foster_ 179 THE FORSAKEN MERMAN _Matthew Arnold_ 180 TOM AND MAGGIE TULLIVER _George Eliot_ 186 A GORILLA HUNT _Paul du Chaillu_ 247 THE CLOUD _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 257 BRUTE NEIGHBORS _Henry David Thoreau_ 260 ODE TO A SKYLARK _Percy Bysshe Shelley_ 275 THE POND IN WINTER _Henry David Thoreau_ 280 SALMON FISHING _Rudyard Kipling_ 285 WINTER ANIMALS _Henry David Thoreau_ 293 TREES AND ANTS THAT HELP EACH OTHER _Thomas Belt_ 306 THE FAMILY OF MICHAEL AROUT _Emile Souvestre_ 314 ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE _William Cowper_ 331 THOSE EVENING BELLS _Thomas Moore_ 340 ANNABEL LEE _Edgar Allan Poe_ 341 THE THREE FISHERS _Charles Kingsley_ 343 THE REAPER'S DREAM _Thomas Buchanan Read_ 345 THE RECOVERY OF THE HISPANIOLA _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 352 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER _Grace E. Sellon_ 381 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT 391 TO A WATERFOWL _William Cullen Bryant_ 395 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES _Grace E. Sellon_ 398 THE CUBES OF TRUTH _Oliver Wendell Holmes_ 406 THE LOST CHILD _James Russell Lowell_ 409 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL _Grace E. Sellon_ 411 A CHILD'S THOUGHT OF GOD _Elizabeth Barrett Browning_ 418 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING 419 DON QUIXOTE _Cervantes_ 431

PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES 487

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

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE THE CANOE RACE (Color Plate) _R. F. Babcock_ FRONTISPIECE A HOST OF GOLDEN DAFFODILS _Albert H. Winkler_ 2 THE FRINGED GENTIAN _G. H. Mitchell_ 4 THOU NEED NA START AWA _Albert H. Winkler_ 6 ROBERT BURNS (Halftone) 8 THOU BONNY GEM _Albert H. Winkler_ 9 INCLINED TO MY LIPS _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 12 THE NOTARY ENTERS THE CARRIAGE _R. F. Babcock_ 26 HE CANNOT CHOOSE BUT HEAR (Heading) _Donn P. Crane_ 29 I SHOT THE ALBATROSS _Donn P. Crane_ 33 AND STRAIGHT THE SUN WAS FLECKED WITH BARS _Donn P. Crane_ 38 I WATCHED THE WATER-SNAKES _Donn P. Crane_ 42 THEY GROANED, THEY STIRRED, THEY ALL UPROSE _Donn P. Crane_ 45 SLOWLY AND SMOOTHLY WENT THE SKIP (Color Plate) _Donn P. Crane_ 48 "O SHRIEVE ME, SHRIEVE ME, HOLY MAN" _Donn P. Crane_ 55 I PASS FROM LAND TO LAND (Ending) _Donn P. Crane_ 57 BLACK HAWK AND THE TWO RUFFIANS _R. F. Babcock_ 63 THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN CROSSED THE RIVER _R. F. Babcock_ 71 HAWKEYE ON THE TRAIL _R. F. Babcock_ 80 JAMES FENIMORE COOPER (Halftone) 82 HAWKEYE _R. F. Babcock_ 85 GRADUALLY I CAME ABREAST OF HIM _R. F. Babcock_ 106 ONE VAST HOST OF BUFFALO _R. F. Babcock_ 125 ON DUNE AND HEADLAND _G. H. Mitchell_ 165 THE LITTLE GRAY CHURCH ON THE WINDY HILL _Walter O. Reese_ 181 "TOM'S COMING HOME!" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 188 "OH, HE IS CRUEL" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 199 "IS IT THE TIPSY CAKE, THEN?" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 206 "HERE, LUCY!" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 224 "AH, YOU'RE FONDEST O' ME, AREN'T YOU?" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 243 GORILLA WITH HER YOUNG _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 251 THE BATTLE OF THE ANTS _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 265 WATCHING FOR THE LOON _R. F. Babcock_ 272 THE SKYLARK _R. F. Babcock_ 276 KNEELING TO DRINK _R. F. Babcock_ 281 SALMON FISHING (Color Plate) _R. F. Babcock_ 286 THE RED SQUIRREL STEALING CORN _R. F. Babcock_ 296 "HOW MUCH DO WE OWE YOU?" _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 320 MICHAEL IS COME BACK _Herbert N. Rudeen_ 326 "MY MOTHER!" _Iris Weddell White_ 336 IN HER SEPULCHRE THERE BY THE SEA _Donn P. Crane_ 342 THE NIGHT RACK CAME ROLLING UP _G. H. Mitchell_ 344 THE CRESCENT MOON WENT BY _G. H. Mitchell_ 347 I LOOKED INTO THE CABIN _R. F. Babcock_ 354 WHITTIER'S BIRTHPLACE (Color Plate) 382 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER (Halftone) 386 WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT (Halftone) 392 THY FIGURE FLOATS ALONG _Jerome Rozen_ 396 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES (Halftone) 398 DOWN THE SUNNY GLADE _Walter O. Reese_ 409 JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL (Halftone) 412 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING (Halftone) 420 DON QUIXOTE (Heading) _Donn P. Crane_ 431 DON QUIXOTE TILTS WITH THE WINDMILLS _Donn P. Crane_ 439 "DEFEND THYSELF, MISERABLE BEING!" _Donn P. Crane_ 444 THE LION PUT HIS HEAD OUT OF THE CAGE _Donn P. Crane_ 455 SANCHO FELL ON HIS KNEES _Donn P. Crane_ 464 THE HORSE BLEW UP, WITH A PRODIGIOUS NOISE _Donn P. Crane_ 475

THE DAFFODILS

_By_ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

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 shine And twinkle on the Milky Way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a 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 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.

When we look at this little poem we see at a glance that the stanzas are all the same length, that the rhyme scheme is _ababcc_ (see "To My Infant Son," Vol. VI), and that the indentation at the beginning of the lines corresponds with the rhymes. This poem, then, is perfectly regular in form.

There are other things, however, which go to make up perfect structure in a poem. First and foremost, the words are so arranged that the accented syllables in any given line come at regular intervals. Take, for instance, the first two lines of this poem. Each line contains eight syllables. If you number these syllables 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, 1, 2, you will see that it is the second one each time that bears the accent, thus:

I wan´dered lone´ly as´ a cloud´ That floats´ on high´ o'er vales´ and hills´.

Now, if you read the four remaining lines of the stanza you will see that in each one of these the second syllable bears the accent, until you come to the last line, where in the word _fluttering_, which, by the way, you pronounce _flutt´ring_, the accent is on the first syllable. If the poet did not now and then change the accent a little it would become tedious and monotonous.

It is a very simple matter, you see, to separate every line of poetry into groups of syllables, and in every group to place one accented syllable and one or more syllables that are not accented. Such a group is called a _foot_. Thus in each of the first two lines in this poem there are four _feet_. Each _foot_ contains an accented and an unaccented syllable.

If you examine _To the Fringed Gentian_, _To a Mouse_, and _To a Mountain Daisy_, the three poems which follow this, you will see the same structure, except that in _To a Mouse_ and in _To A Mountain Daisy_ there are some short lines and some double rhymes, making the last foot a little different in character from the others.

When a line of poetry is composed of two-syllable feet in which the second syllable bears the accent we call that meter _iambic_. It is the prevalent foot in English poetry, and if you examine the different poems in these volumes you will be surprised to find out how many of them are written substantially on the plan of _The Daffodils_.

In naming the meter of a poem two things are considered: First the _character_ of the feet, and second, the _number_ of feet. In this poem the feet are iambic and there are four of them, consequently we name the meter of this poem _iambic tetrameter_. Whenever you hear those words you think of a poem whose meter is exactly like that of _The Daffodils_.

These words seem long and hard to remember. It may help you to remember them if you think that the word _iam´bic_ contains an iambic foot.

In naming the meter we use the Greek numerals--_mono_ (one), _di_ (two), _tri_ (three), _tetra_ (four), _penta_ (five), _hexa_ (six), _hepta_ (seven), and _octa_ (eight), and add to them the word _meter_, thus: _Mo-nom´e-ter_, a line containing one foot, _dim´e-ter_, _trim´e-ter_, _te-tram´e-ter_, _pen-tam´e-ter_, _hex-am´e-ter_, _hep-tam´e-ter_, _and oc-tam´e-ter_.

TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN

_By_ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

Thou blossom, bright with autumn dew, And colored with the heaven's own blue, That openest when the quiet light Succeeds the keen and frosty night;

Thou comest not when violets lean O'er wandering brooks and springs unseen, Or columbines, in purple dressed, Nod o'er the ground-bird's hidden nest.

Thou waitest late, and com'st alone, When woods are bare and birds are flown, And frosts and shortening days portend The aged Year is near his end.

Then doth thy sweet and quiet eye Look through its fringes to the sky, Blue--blue--as if that sky let fall A flower from its cerulean wall.

I would that thus, when I shall see The hour of death draw near to me, Hope, blossoming within my heart, May look to heaven as I depart.

TO A MOUSE

ON TURNING HER UP IN HER NEST WITH THE PLOW, NOVEMBER, 1785

_By_ ROBERT BURNS

Wee, sleekit,[5-1] cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, O, what a panic's in thy breastie! Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle![5-2] I wad be laith to rin an' chase thee, Wi' murdering pattle![5-3]

I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken Nature's social union, An' justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion, An' fellow-mortal!

I doubt na, whyles, but thou may thieve; What then? poor beastie, thou maun live! A daimen-icker[6-4] in a thrave[6-5] 'S a sma' request: I'll get a blessin' wi' the lave[6-6] And never miss't!

Thy wee bit housie, too, in ruin! Its silly wa's the win's are strewin'! An' naething, now, to big a new ane, O' foggage[7-7] green! An' bleak December's winds ensuin', Baith snell[7-8] and keen!

Thou saw the fields laid bare an' waste, And weary winter comin' fast, And cozie, here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till crash! the cruel coulter[7-9] past Out thro' thy cell.

That wee bit heap o' leaves an' stibble, Has cost thee mony a weary nibble! Now thou's turn'd out, for a' thy trouble, But house or hald,[7-10] To thole[7-11] the winter's sleety dribble, An' cranreuch[7-12] cauld!

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane,[7-13] In proving foresight may be vain; The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men, Gang aft a-gley,[7-14] An' lea'e us nought but grief and pain, For promis'd joy.

Still them are blest, compar'd wi' me! The present only toucheth thee: But, Och! I backward cast my e'e On prospects drear; An' forward, tho' I canna see,[8-15] I guess an' fear.

FOOTNOTES:

[5-1] _Sleekit_ means _sly_.

[5-2] _Brattle_ means a short race.

[5-3] A _pattle_ is a scraper for cleaning a plow.

[6-4] _Daimen-icker_ means an ear of corn occasionally.

[6-5] A _thrave_ is twenty-four sheaves.

[6-6] _Lave_ is the Scotch word for _remainder_.

[7-7] _Foggage_ is coarse uncut grass.

[7-8] _Snell_ means _sharp_.

[7-9] The coulter is the sharp iron which cuts the sod before the plow.

[7-10] _Hald_ means a resting place. _But_ here means _without_.

[7-11] _Thole_ is the Scotch word for _endure_.

[7-12] _Cranreuch_ is hoar-frost.

[7-13] _No thy lane_ means _not alone_.

[7-14] _Gang aft a-gley_ means _often go wrong_.

[8-15] In this poem and the one _To a Mountain Daisy_, does the allusion to the poet's own hard fate add to or detract from the beauty of the composition? Do these allusions give any insight into his character? What was always uppermost in his mind?

TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786

_By_ ROBERT BURNS

Wee, modest, crimson-tippéd flower, Thou's met me in an evil hour, For I maun[8-1] crush amang the stoure[8-2] Thy slender stem; To spare thee now is past my power, Thou bonny gem.

Alas! it's no thy neibor sweet, The bonny lark, companion meet, Bending thee' mang the dewy weet, Wi' spreckled[8-3] breast, When upward springing, blithe, to greet The purpling east.

Cauld blew the bitter biting north Upon thy early, humble birth; Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth Amid the storm, Scarce reared above the parent earth Thy tender form.

The flaunting flowers our gardens yield, High sheltering woods and wa's maun shield. But thou beneath the random bield[9-4] O' clod or stane, Adorns the histie[9-5] stibble-field, Unseen, alane.

There, in thy scanty mantle clad, Thy snawie bosom sunward spread, Thou lifts thy unassuming head In humble guise; But now the share uptears thy bed, And low thou lies!

Such is the fate of artless maid, Sweet floweret of the rural shade! By love's simplicity betrayed, And guileless trust, Till she, like thee, all soiled, is laid Low i' the dust.

Such is the fate of simple bard, On life's rough ocean luckless starred! Unskilful he to note the card Of prudent lore, Till billows rage, and gales blow hard And whelm him o'er!

Such fate to suffering worth is given, Who long with wants and woes has striven, By human pride or cunning driven To misery's brink, Till wrenched of every stay but Heaven, He, ruined, sink!

Even thou who mourn'st the daisy's fate, That fate is thine,--no distant date: Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives, elate, Full on thy bloom, Till crushed beneath the furrow's weight, Shall be thy doom!

FOOTNOTES:

[8-1] _Maun_ is the Scotch word for _must_.

[8-2] _Stoure_ is the Scotch name for dust.

[8-3] _Spreckled_ is the Scotch and provincial English form of _speckled_.

[9-4] _Bield_ means _shelter_.

[9-5] _Histie_ means _dry_ or _barren_.

THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET[11-1]

_By_ SAMUEL WOODWORTH

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood, When fond[11-2] recollection presents them to view; The orchard, the meadow, the deep, tangled wild-wood, And every loved spot that my infancy[11-3] knew. The wide-spreading pond, and the mill[11-4] that stood by it; The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell; The cot of my father, the dairy house[11-5] nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket which hung in the well-- The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.

That moss-covered bucket I hail as a treasure; For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell[12-6]; Then soon with the emblem of truth[12-7] overflowing, And dripping with coolness it rose from the well-- The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb,[12-8] it inclined to my lips! Not a full blushing goblet[13-9] could tempt me to leave it, Though filled with the nectar[13-10] that Jupiter sips. And now, far removed from the loved situation,[13-11] The tear of regret will oftentimes swell, As fancy returns to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well-- The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well.

If we compare _The Old Oaken Bucket_ with _The Daffodils_ (page 1), we will see that the lines of the former are longer, and when we read aloud a few lines from the one and compare the other, we see that the movement is very different. In _The Old Oaken Bucket_ the accents are farther apart, and the result is to make the movement long and smooth, like that of a swing with long ropes.

Let us examine more closely the lines of _The Old Oaken Bucket_ in a manner similar to that suggested on page 2, for _The Daffodils_. If we place the accent on the proper syllables in the first four lines, they will read as follows:

The vertical lines above are drawn at the ends of the feet. How many feet are there in the first line; how many in the second; how many in the third; how many in the fourth? How many syllables in the first foot in the first line? How many other feet do you find containing the same number of syllables? How many syllables are there in the second foot in the first line? How many other feet are there containing the same number of syllables? Examine the feet that contain three syllables. On which syllable is the accent placed when there are three syllables in the foot? A poetic foot of three syllables which bears the accent on the third syllable is called an _anapestic_ foot. The meter of this poem, then is _anapestic tetrameter_, varied by an added syllable in most of the odd-numbered lines and by an iambic foot at the beginning of each line.

Can you find any other poem in this volume in which the meter is the same? Can you find such poems in other volumes?

FOOTNOTES:

[11-1] Samuel Woodworth, the author of this familiar song, was an American, the editor of many publications and the writer of a great many poems; but no one of the latter is now remembered, except _The Old Oaken Bucket_.

[11-2] This means that the author remembers fondly the scenes of his childhood, or remembers the things of which he was fond in his childhood.

[11-3] As the term is used in the law-books, a person is an _infant_ until he is twenty-one years of age; though, probably the word _infancy_ here means the same as _childhood_.

[11-4] Let us picture a large mill-pond with a race running out of one side of it past the old-fashioned mill, which has a big wooden water wheel on the outside of it.

[11-5] The dairy house was probably a low, broad building through which the water from the stream ran. The milkpans were set on low shelves or in a trough so that the water could run around them and keep the milk cool.

[12-6] If he could see the white-pebbled bottom of the well, it must have been a shallow one, or perhaps merely a square box built around a deep spring.

[12-7] Water is usually spoken of as an emblem of _purity_, not of _truth_; but sometimes truth is spoken of as hiding at the bottom of a well.

[12-8] The curb is the square box usually built around the mouth of the well to a height of a few feet, to protect the water from dirt. Sometimes three of the sides are carried up to a height of six or eight feet, and a roof is built over the whole, making a little house of the curb. The fourth side is left open, except for two or three feet at the bottom. In these old wells two buckets were often used. They were attached to a rope which ran over a wheel suspended from the roof of the well house. When a bucket was drawn up it was often rested on the low curb in front, while people drank from it.

[13-9] _Blushing goblet_ alludes to wine or some other liquor that has a reddish color.

[13-10] Nectar was the drink of the old Greek gods, of whom Jupiter was the chief.

[13-11] _Situation_ and _plantation_ do not rhyme well, and _situation_ is scarcely the right word to use. _Location_ would be better, so far as the meaning is concerned.

BANNOCKBURN

ROBERT BRUCE'S ADDRESS TO HIS ARMY

_By_ ROBERT BURNS

Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled; Scots, wham Bruce has aften led; Welcome to your gory bed, Or to glorious victorie!

Now's the day and now's the hour-- See the front o' battle lour; See approach proud Edward's power-- Edward! chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward's grave? Wha sae base as be a slave? Traitor! coward! turn and flee!

Wha for Scotland's king and law Freedom's sword will strongly draw! Freeman stand or freeman fa', Caledonian! on wi' me!

By oppression's woes and pains! By our sons in servile chains! We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be--shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow! Forward! let us do or die!

On pages 2, and 13, of this volume we talked about the different meters in which poetry is written. In iambic poetry each foot contains two syllables, the second of which is accented. There is another kind of foot composed of two syllables. In this the accent falls on the first syllable. _Bannockburn_ gives examples of this. To illustrate, we will rewrite the first stanza, using the words in their English form, and mark off the feet and the accent:

Each one of these lines ends with an accented syllable, but that may be disregarded in studying the feet. This foot is called the _trochee_, and it will help you to remember it if you will think that the word _tro´chee_ has two syllables and is accented on the first. This poem, then, is in _trochaic trimeter_, with added accented syllables at the ends of the lines. Read the other stanzas carefully, throwing the accent prominently on the first syllable of each foot.

When you read to bring out the meter of a poem you are said to be _scanning_ it. When you are in the habit of scanning poetry you will find that you can do it very nicely and without spoiling the sound. At first you will probably accent the syllables too strongly, and then people will say that you are reading in a _sing-song_ way, a thing to be avoided. Of course you will understand that the only way to bring out the meter of a poem is to read it aloud, but after you have become familiar with the various meters and have read aloud a great deal, you will be conscious of the rhythm when you read to yourself. It is this consciousness of rhythm that gives much of the enjoyment to those who love poetry, even when they do not read it aloud.

BOAT SONG

_From_ LADY OF THE LAKE

_By_ SIR WALTER SCOTT

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances! Honored and blest be the evergreen pine! Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! Heaven send it happy dew, Earth lend it sap anew, Gayly to bourgeon, and broadly to grow, While every Highland glen Sends our shout back again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Ours is no sapling, chance sown by the fountain, Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain The more shall Clan Alpine exult in her shade. Moored in the rifted rock, Proof to the tempest's shock, Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow: Menteith and Breadalbane, then Echo his praise again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied; Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch-Lomond lie dead on her side. Widow and Saxon maid Long shall lament our raid, Think of Clan Alpine with fear and with woe; Lennox and Leven-glen Shake when they hear again, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

Row, vassals, row for the pride of the Highlands! Stretch to your oars for the evergreen pine! O that the rosebud that graces yon islands Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine! O that some seedling gem, Worthy such noble stem, Honored and blessed in their shadow might grow! Loud should Clan Alpine then Ring from her deepmost glen, "Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!"

The last of the common feet which we shall have to consider in reading English poetry is called _dactyl_. This foot consists of three syllables, the first of which is accented. Scott's _Boat Song_ is a very fine example of _dactylic tetrameter_, in which the last foot consists either of a _trochee_ (see page 16) or of a single accented syllable. In every stanza there are four short lines of _dactylic dimeter_. Study the four lines which we have divided for you below:

This is one of the finest meters in which poetry may be written, and one which you will learn to recognize and like whenever you see it.

To assist you in remembering what we have said on this subject in the four poems we have studied, we will give this brief outline:

Poetic feet

There are two other feet which are found occasionally in English poetry, namely the _spondee_, which has two accented syllables, and the _amphilbrach_, which consists of three syllables with the accent on the middle one.

Of course it is not necessary for you to know the names of these different feet in order to enjoy poetry, but it is interesting information. What you must do is to notice whenever you read poetry the kind of feet that compose the lines and how many there are in the line. After a while this becomes second nature to you, and while you may not really pause to think about it at any time, yet you are always conscious of the rhythm and remember that it is produced by a fixed arrangement of the accented syllables. If you would look over the poems in these volumes, beginning even with the nursery rhymes, it would not take you long to become familiar with all the different forms.

While study of this kind may seem tiresome at first, you will soon find that you are making progress and will really enjoy it, and you will never be sorry that you took the time when you were young to learn to understand the structure of poetry.

THE GOVERNOR AND THE NOTARY

_By_ WASHINGTON IRVING

In former times there ruled, as governor of the Alhambra[20-1], a doughty old cavalier, who, from having lost one arm in the wars, was commonly known by the name of El Gobernador Manco, or the one-armed governor. He in fact prided himself upon being an old soldier, wore his mustachios curled up to his eyes, a pair of campaigning boots, and a toledo[20-2] as long as a spit, with his pocket handkerchief in the basket-hilt.

He was, moreover, exceedingly proud and punctilious, and tenacious of all his privileges and dignities. Under his sway, the immunities of the Alhambra, as a royal residence and domain, were rigidly exacted. No one was permitted to enter the fortress with firearms, or even with a sword or staff, unless he were of a certain rank, and every horseman was obliged to dismount at the gate and lead his horse by the bridle. Now, as the hill of the Alhambra rises from the very midst of the city of Granada, being, as it were, an excrescence of the capital, it must at all times be somewhat irksome to the captain-general, who commands the province, to have thus an _imperium in imperio_,[21-3] a petty, independent post in the very core of his domains. It was rendered the more galling in the present instance, from the irritable jealousy of the old governor, that took fire on the least question of authority and jurisdiction, and from the loose, vagrant character of the people that had gradually nestled themselves within the fortress as in a sanctuary, and from thence carried on a system of roguery and depredation at the expense of the honest inhabitants of the city. Thus there was a perpetual feud and heart-burning between the captain-general and the governor; the more virulent on the part of the latter, inasmuch as the smallest of two neighboring potentates is always the most captious about his dignity. The stately palace of the captain-general stood in the Plaza Nueva, immediately at the foot of the hill of the Alhambra, and here was always a bustle and parade of guards, and domestics, and city functionaries. A beetling bastion of the fortress overlooked the palace and the public square in front of it; and on this bastion the old governor would occasionally strut backward and forward, with his toledo girded by his side, keeping a wary eye down upon his rival, like a hawk reconnoitering his quarry from his nest in a dry tree.

Whenever he descended into the city it was in grand parade, on horseback, surrounded by his guards, or in his state coach, an ancient and unwieldy Spanish edifice of carved timber and gilt leather, drawn by eight mules, with running footmen, outriders, and lackeys, on which occasions he flattered himself he impressed every beholder with awe and admiration as vicegerent of the king, though the wits of Granada were apt to sneer at his petty parade, and, in allusion to the vagrant character of his subjects, to greet him with the appellation of "the king of the beggars."

One of the most fruitful sources of dispute between these two doughty rivals was the right claimed by the governor to have all things passed free of duty through the city, that were intended for the use of himself or his garrison. By degrees, this privilege had given rise to extensive smuggling. A nest of contrabandistas[22-4] took up their abode in the hovels of the fortress and the numerous caves in its vicinity, and drove a thriving business under the connivance of the soldiers of the garrison.

The vigilance of the captain-general was aroused. He consulted his legal adviser and factotum, a shrewd, meddlesome Escribano or notary, who rejoiced in an opportunity of perplexing the old potentate of the Alhambra, and involving him in a maze of legal subtilities. He advised the captain-general to insist upon the right of examining every convoy passing through the gates of his city, and he penned a long letter for him, in vindication of the right. Governor Manco was a straightforward, cut-and-thrust old soldier, who hated an Escribano worse than the devil, and this one in particular, worse than all other Escribanoes.

"What!" said he, curling up his mustachios fiercely, "does the captain-general set this man of the pen to practice confusions upon me? I'll let him see that an old soldier is not to be baffled by schoolcraft."

He seized his pen, and scrawled a short letter in a crabbed hand, in which he insisted on the right of transit free of search, and denounced vengeance on any custom-house officer who should lay his unhallowed hand on any convoy protected by the flag of the Alhambra.

While this question was agitated between the two pragmatical potentates, it so happened that a mule laden with supplies for the fortress arrived one day at the gate of Xenil, by which it was to traverse a suburb of the city on its way to the Alhambra. The convoy was headed by a testy old corporal, who had long served under the governor, and was a man after his own heart--as trusty and stanch as an old Toledo blade. As they approached the gate of the city, the corporal placed the banner of the Alhambra on the pack saddle of the mule, and drawing himself up to a perfect perpendicular, advanced with his head dressed to the front, but with the wary side glance of a cur passing through hostile grounds, and ready for a snap and a snarl.

"Who goes there?" said the sentinel at the gate.

"Soldier of the Alhambra," said the corporal, without turning his head.

"What have you in charge?"

"Provisions for the garrison."

"Proceed."

The corporal marched straight forward, followed by the convoy, but had not advanced many paces before a posse of custom-house officers rushed out of a small toll-house.

"Halloo there!" cried the leader. "Muleteer, halt and open those packages."

The corporal wheeled round, and drew himself up in battle array. "Respect the flag of the Alhambra," said he; "these things are for the governor."

"A fig for the governor, and a fig for his flag. Muleteer, halt, I say."

"Stop the convoy at your peril!" cried the corporal, cocking his musket. "Muleteer, proceed."

The muleteer gave his beast a hearty thwack, the custom-house officer sprang forward and seized the halter; whereupon the corporal leveled his piece and shot him dead.

The street was immediately in an uproar. The old corporal was seized, and after undergoing sundry kicks and cuffs, and cudgelings, which are generally given impromptu by the mob in Spain, as a foretaste of the after penalties of the law, he was loaded with irons, and conducted to the city prison; while his comrades were permitted to proceed with the convoy, after it had been well rummaged, to the Alhambra.

The old governor was in a towering passion, when he heard of this insult to his flag and capture of his corporal. For a time he stormed about the Moorish halls, and vapored about the bastions, and looked down fire and sword upon the palace of the captain-general. Having vented the first ebullition of his wrath, he dispatched a message demanding the surrender of the corporal, as to him alone belonged the right of sitting in judgment on the offenses of those under his command. The captain-general, aided by the pen of the delighted Escribano, replied at great length, arguing that as the offense had been committed within the walls of his city, and against one of his civil officers, it was clearly within his proper jurisdiction. The governor rejoined by a repetition of his demand; the captain-general gave a surrejoinder of still greater length, and legal acumen; the governor became hotter and more peremptory in his demands, and the captain-general cooler and more copious in his replies; until the old lion-hearted soldier absolutely roared with fury at being thus entangled in the meshes of legal controversy.

While the subtle Escribano was thus amusing himself at the expense of the governor, he was conducting the trial of the corporal; who, mewed up in a narrow dungeon of the prison, had merely a small grated window at which to show his iron-bound visage, and receive the consolations of his friends; a mountain of written testimony was diligently heaped up, according to Spanish form, by the indefatigable Escribano; the corporal was completely overwhelmed by it. He was convicted of murder, and sentenced to be hanged.

It was in vain the governor sent down remonstrance and menace from the Alhambra. The fatal day was at hand, and the corporal was put _in capilla_, that is to say, in the chapel of the prison; as is always done with culprits the day before execution, that they may meditate on their approaching end and repent them of their sins.

Seeing things drawing to an extremity, the old governor determined to attend to the affair in person. He ordered out his carriage of state and, surrounded by his guards, rumbled down the avenue of the Alhambra into the city. Driving to the house of the Escribano, he summoned him to the portal.

The eye of the old governor gleamed like a coal at beholding the smirking man of the law advancing with an air of exultation.

"What is this I hear," cried he, "that you are about to put to death one of my soldiers?"

"All according to law--all in strict form of justice," said the self-sufficient Escribano, chuckling and rubbing his hands. "I can show your excellency the written testimony in the case."

"Fetch it hither," said the governor.

The Escribano bustled into his office, delighted with having another opportunity of displaying his ingenuity at the expense of the hard-headed veteran. He returned with a satchel full of papers, and began to read a long deposition with professional volubility. By this time a crowd had collected, listening with outstretched necks and gaping mouths.

"Prithee man, get into the carriage out of this pestilent throng, that I may the better hear thee," said the governor. The Escribano entered the carriage, when in a twinkling the door was closed, the coachman smacked his whip, mules, carriage, guards, and all dashed off at a thundering rate, leaving the crowd in gaping wonderment, nor did the governor pause until he had lodged his prey in one of the strongest dungeons of the Alhambra.

He then sent down a flag of truce in military style, proposing a cartel or exchange of prisoners, the corporal for the notary. The pride of the captain-general was piqued, he returned a contemptuous refusal, and forthwith caused a gallows, tall and strong, to be erected in the center of the Plaza Nueva, for the execution of the corporal.

"Oho! is that the game?" said Governor Manco; he gave orders, and immediately a gibbet was reared on the verge of the great beetling bastion that overlooked the Plaza. "Now," said he, in a message to the captain-general, "hang my soldier when you please; but at the same time that he is swung off in the square, look up to see your Escribano dangling against the sky."

The captain-general was inflexible; troops were paraded in the square; the drums beat; the bell tolled; an immense multitude of amateurs had collected to behold the execution; on the other hand, the governor paraded his garrison on the bastion, and tolled the funeral dirge of the notary from the Torre de la Campana, or tower of the bell.

The notary's wife pressed through the crowd with a whole progeny of little embryo Escribanoes at her heels, and throwing herself at the feet of the captain-general implored him not to sacrifice the life of her husband and the welfare of herself and her numerous little ones to a point of pride.

The captain-general was overpowered by her tears and lamentations, and the clamors of her callow brood. The corporal was sent up to the Alhambra under a guard, in his gallows garb, like a hooded friar; but with head erect and a face of iron. The Escribano was demanded in exchange, according to the cartel. The once bustling and self-sufficient man of the law was drawn forth from his dungeon, more dead than alive. All his flippancy and conceit had evaporated; his hair, it is said, had nearly turned gray with fright, and he had a downcast, dogged look, as if he still felt the halter round his neck.

The old governor stuck his one arm akimbo, and for a moment surveyed him with an iron smile. "Henceforth, my friend," said he, "moderate your zeal in hurrying others to the gallows; be not too certain of your own safety, even though you should have the law on your side; and, above all, take care how you play off your schoolcraft another time upon an old soldier."

FOOTNOTES:

[20-1] The Alhambra was the fortified palace, or citadel, of the Moorish kings when they reigned over Granada, in Spain. It was built in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, and is one of the most beautiful examples of Moorish architecture.

[20-2] A toledo is a sword having a blade made at Toledo, in Spain, a place famous for blades of remarkably fine temper and great elasticity.

[21-3] _Imperium in imperio_ is a Latin phrase meaning a _government within a government_.

[22-4] _Contrabandista_ is a Spanish name for a smuggler.

THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER[29-*]

_By_ SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE