Chapter 10

"Oh, what was that, sister? The thunder? Did the shag bring the storm and the cloud, The wind and the rain and the lightning?" "Little brother, the thunder roars loud.

"Run fast, for the rain sweeps the ocean; Look! over the lighthouse it streams; And the lightning leaps red, and above us The gulls fill the air with their screams."

O'er the beach, o'er the rocks, running swiftly, The little white cottage they gain; And safely they watch from the window The dance and the rush of the rain.

But the shag kept his place on the headland, And, when the brief storm had gone by, He shook his loose plumes, and they saw him Rise splendid and strong in the sky.

Clinging fast to the gown of his sister, The little boy laughed as he flew: "He is gone with the wind and lightning! And--I am not frightened,--are you?"

CELIA THAXTER.

* * * * *

THE LOST BIRD.

My bird has flown away, Far out of sight has flown, I know not where. Look in your lawn, I pray, Ye maidens kind and fair, And see if my beloved bird be there.

His eyes are full of light; The eagle of the rock has such an eye; And plumes, exceeding bright, Round his smooth temples lie, And sweet his voice and tender as a sigh.

Look where the grass is gay With summer blossoms, haply there he cowers; And search, from spray to spray, The leafy laurel bowers, For well he loves the laurels and the flowers.

Find him, but do not dwell, With eyes too fond, on the fair form you see, Nor love his song too well; Send him, at once, to me, Or leave him to the air and liberty.

For only from my hand He takes the seed into his golden beak, And all unwiped shall stand The tears that wet my cheek, Till I have found the wanderer I seek.

My sight is darkened o'er, Whene'er I miss his eyes, which are my day, And when I hear no more The music of his lay, My heart in utter sadness faints away.

_From the Spanish of_ CAROLINA CORONADO DE PERRY.

_Translated by_ W. C. BRYANT.

* * * * *

THE BIRDS MUST KNOW.

The birds must know. Who wisely sings Will sing as they; The common air has generous wings, Songs make their way. No messenger to run before, Devising plan; No mention of the place or hour To any man; No waiting till some sound betrays A listening ear; No different voice, no new delays, If steps draw near. "What bird is that? Its song is good." And eager eyes Go peering through the dusky wood, In glad surprise. Then late at night, when by his fire The traveller sits, Watching the flame grow brighter, higher, The sweet song flits By snatches through his weary brain To help him rest; When next he goes that road again An empty nest On leafless bough will make him sigh, "Ah me! last spring Just here I heard, in passing by, That rare bird sing!"

But while he sighs, remembering How sweet the song, The little bird on tireless wing, Is borne along In other air; and other men With weary feet, On other roads, the simple strain Are finding sweet. The birds must know. Who wisely sings Will sing as they; The common air has generous wings, Songs make their way.

H. H.

* * * * *

THE BIRD KING.

Dost thou the monarch eagle seek? Thou'lt find him in the tempest's maw, Where thunders with tornadoes speak, And forests fly as though of straw; Or on some lightning-splintered peak, Sceptred with desolation's law, The shrubless mountain in his beak, The barren desert in his claw.

ALGER'S _Oriental Poetry_.

* * * * *

SHADOWS OF BIRDS.

In darkened air, alone with pain, I lay. Like links of heavy chain The minutes sounded, measuring day, And slipping lifelessly away. Sudden across my silent room A shadow darker than its gloom Swept swift; a shadow slim and small, Which poised and darted on the wall, And vanished quickly as it came. A shadow, yet it lit like flame; A shadow, yet I heard it sing, And heard the rustle of its wing, Till every pulse with joy was stirred; It was the shadow of a bird!

Only the shadow! Yet it made Full summer everywhere it strayed; And every bird I ever knew Back and forth in the summer flew, And breezes wafted over me The scent of every flower and tree; Till I forgot the pain and gloom And silence of my darkened room. Now, in the glorious open air I watch the birds fly here and there; And wonder, as each swift wing cleaves The sky, if some poor soul that grieves In lonely, darkened, silent walls, Will catch the shadow as it falls!

H. H.

* * * * *

THE BIRD AND THE SHIP.

"The rivers rush into the sea, By castle and town they go; The winds behind them merrily Their noisy trumpets blow.

"The clouds are passing far and high, We little birds in them play; And everything, that can sing and fly, Goes with us, and far away.

"I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither or whence, With thy fluttering golden band?" "I greet thee, little bird! To the wide sea, I haste from the narrow land.

"Full and swollen is every sail; I see no longer a hill, I have trusted all to the sounding gale, And it will not let me stand still.

"And wilt thou, little bird, go with us? Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall, For full to sinking is my house With merry companions all."

"I need not and seek not company, Bonny boat, I can sing all alone; For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, Bonny boat, I have wings of my own.

"High over the sails, high over the mast, Who shall gainsay these joys? When thy merry companions are still, at last, Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice.

"Who neither may rest, nor listen may, God bless them every one! I dart away, in the bright blue day, And the golden fields of the sun.

"Thus do I sing my weary song, Wherever the four winds blow; And this same song, my whole life long, Neither Poet nor Printer may know."

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

* * * * *

A MYTH.

Afloating, afloating Across the sleeping sea, All night I heard a singing bird Upon the topmast tree.

"Oh, came you from the isles of Greece, Or from the banks of Seine? Or off some tree in forests free That fringe the western main?"

"I came not off the old world, Nor yet from off the new; But I am one of the birds of God Which sing the whole night through."

"Oh, sing and wake the dawning! Oh, whistle for the wind! The night is long, the current strong, My boat it lags behind."

"The current sweeps the old world, The current sweeps the new; The wind will blow, the dawn will glow, Ere thou hast sailed them through."

C. KINGSLEY.

* * * * *

THE DOG.

* * * * *

CUVIER ON THE DOG.

"The domestic dog," says Cuvier, "is the most complete, the most singular, and the most useful conquest that man has gained in the animal world. The whole species has become our property; each individual belongs entirely to his master, acquires his disposition, knows and defends his property, and remains attached to him until death; and all this, not through constraint or necessity, but purely by the influences of gratitude and real attachment. The swiftness, the strength, the sharp scent of the dog, have rendered him a powerful ally to man against the lower tribes; and were, perhaps, necessary for the establishment of the dominion of mankind over the whole animal creation. The dog is the only animal which has followed man over the whole earth."

* * * * *

A HINDOO LEGEND.

In the Mahabhàrata, one of the two great Hindoo poems, and of unknown antiquity, there is a recognition of the obligation of man to a dependent creature not surpassed in pathos in all literature.

We copy only such portions of the legend as bear upon this point.

The hero, Yudhistthira, leaves his home to go to Mount Meru, among the Himalayas, to find Indra's heaven and the rest he so much desired; and with him,

"The five brothers set forth, and Draupadi, and the seventh was a dog that followed them."

On the way the Princess Draupadi perished, and, after her, one brother after another, until all had died, and the hero reached his journey's end accompanied only by his dog.

Lo! suddenly, with a sound which rang through heaven and earth, Indra came riding on his chariot, and he cried to the king, "Ascend!" _Then_, indeed, did the lord of justice look back to his fallen brothers, And thus unto Indra he spoke, with a sorrowful heart: "Let my brothers, who yonder lie fallen, go with me; Not even unto thy heaven would I enter, if they were not there. And yon fair-faced daughter of a king, Draupadi the all-deserving, Let _her_ too enter with us! O Indra, approve my prayer!"

INDRA.

In heaven thou shalt find thy brothers,--they are already there before thee; There are they all, with Draupadi; weep not, then, O son of Bharata! Thither have they entered, prince, having thrown away their mortal weeds; But thou alone shalt enter still wearing thy body of flesh.

YUDHISTTHIRA.

O Indra, and what of this dog? It hath faithfully followed me through; Let it go with me into heaven, for my soul is full of compassion.

INDRA.

Immortality and fellowship with me, and the height of joy and felicity, All these hast thou reached to-day; leave, then, the dog behind thee.

YUDHISTTHIRA.

The good may oft act an evil part, but never a part like this; Away, then, with that felicity whose price is to abandon the faithful!

INDRA.

My heaven hath no place for dogs; they steal away our offerings on earth: Leave, then, thy dog behind thee, nor think in thy heart that it is cruel.

YUDHISTTHIRA.

To abandon the faithful and devoted is an endless crime, like the murder of a Brahmin; Never, therefore, come weal or woe, will I abandon yon faithful dog. _Yon poor creature, in fear and distress, hath trusted in my power to save it: Not, therefore, for e'en life itself will I break my plighted word._

INDRA.

If a dog but beholds a sacrifice, men esteem it unholy and void; Forsake, then, the dog, O hero, and heaven is thine own as a reward. Already thou hast borne to forsake thy fondly loved brothers, and Draupadi; Why, then, forsakest thou not the dog? Wherefore now fails thy heart?

YUDHISTTHIRA.

Mortals, when they are dead, are dead to love or hate,--so runs the world's belief; I could not bring them back to life, but while they lived I never left them. To oppress the suppliant, to kill a wife, to rob a Brahmin, and to betray one's friend, These are the four great crimes; and _to forsake a dependent I count equal to them_.

ALGER'S _Oriental Poetry_.

* * * * *

ULYSSES AND ARGUS.

This story, from the Odyssey, is also of an unknown antiquity. Ulysses, after many years of absence, returns to his home to find himself unrecognized by his family. With Eumæus Ulysses walked about the familiar grounds:

Thus near the gates conferring as they drew, Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew; He, not unconscious of the voice and tread, Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head; Bred by Ulysses, nourished at his board, But, ah! not fated long to please his lord! To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain; The voice of glory called him o'er the main. Till then, in every sylvan chase renowned, With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around: With him the youth pursued the goat or fawn, Or traced the mazy leveret o'er the lawn; Now left to man's ingratitude he lay, Unhoused, neglected in the public way.

He knew his lord: he knew, and strove to meet; In vain he strove to crawl, and kiss his feet; Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes. Salute his master, and confess his joys. Soft pity touched the mighty master's soul; Adown his cheek a tear unhidden stole, Stole unperceived: he turned his head and dried The drop humane: then thus impassioned cried:

"What noble beast in this abandoned state Lies here all helpless at Ulysses' gate? His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise: If, as he seems, he was in better days, Some care his age deserves; or was he prized For worthless beauty? therefore now despised: Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state, And always cherished by their friends the great."

Not Argus so (Eumæus thus rejoined), But served a master of a nobler kind, Who never, never, shall behold him more! Long, long since perished on a distant shore! Oh, had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young, Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong: Him no fell savage on the plain withstood, None 'scaped him bosomed in the gloomy wood; His eye how piercing, and his scent how true, To wind the vapor in the tainted dew! Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast: Now years unnerve him, and his lord is lost.

_Odyssey, Pope's translation._

* * * * *

TOM.

Yes, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew. Just listen to this:-- When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through, And I with it, helpless there, full in my view What do you think my eyes saw through the fire That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher, But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see The shining? He must have come there after me, Toddled alone from the cottage without

Any one's missing him. Then, what a shout-- Oh! how I shouted, "For Heaven's sake, men, Save little Robin!" Again and again They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall. I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call, "Never mind, baby, sit still like a man! We're coming to get you as fast as we can." They could not see him, but I could. He sat Still on a beam, his little straw hat Carefully placed by his side; and his eyes Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise, Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept. The roar of the fire up above must have kept The sound of his mother's voice shrieking his name From reaching the child. But I heard it. It came Again and again. O God, what a cry! The axes went faster; I saw the sparks fly Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat That scorched them,--when, suddenly, there at their feet, The great beams leaned in--they saw him--then, crash, Down came the wall! The men made a dash,-- Jumped to get out of the way,--and I thought, "All's up with poor little Robin!" and brought Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide The sight of the child there,--when swift, at my side, Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame, Straight as a dart--caught the child--and then came Back with him, choking and crying, but--saved! Saved safe and sound! Oh, how the men raved, Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed! Then they all Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall Where I was lying, away from the fire, Should fall in and bury me. Oh! you'd admire To see Robin now: he's as bright as a dime, Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time. Tom, it was, saved him. Now, isn't it true Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew? There's Robin now! See, he's strong as a log! And there comes Tom, too-- Yes, Tom was our dog.

CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON.

* * * * *

WILLIAM OF ORANGE SAVED BY HIS DOG.

On the night of the 11th and 12th of September, 1572, a chosen band of six hundred Spaniards made an attack within the lines of the Dutch army. The sentinels were cut down, the whole army surprised and for a moment powerless. The Prince of Orange and his guards were in profound sleep; "but a small spaniel dog," says Mr. Motley, "who always passed the night upon his bed, was a most faithful sentinel. The creature sprang forward, barking furiously at the sound of hostile footsteps, and scratching his master's face with his paws. There was but just time for the Prince to mount a horse which was ready saddled, and to effect his escape through the darkness, before his enemies sprang into the tent. His servants were cut down, his master of the horse and two of his secretaries, who gained their saddles a moment later, all lost their lives, and but for the little dog's watchfulness, William of Orange, upon whose shoulders the whole weight of his country's fortune depended, would have been led within a week to an ignominious death. To his death, the Prince ever afterwards kept a spaniel of the same race in his bed-chamber."

MOTLEY'S _Rise of the Dutch Republic_.

* * * * *

The mausoleum of William the Silent is at Delft. It is a sort of small temple in black and white marble, loaded with ornaments and sustained by columns between which are four statues representing Liberty, Providence, Justice, and Religion. Upon the sarcophagus lies the figure of the Prince in white marble, and _at his feet the effigy of the little dog that saved his life at the siege of Malines_.

DE AMICIS' _Holland_.

* * * * *

THE BLOODHOUND.

Come, Herod, my hound, from the stranger's floor! Old friend--we must wander the world once more! For no one now liveth to welcome us back; So, come!--let us speed on our fated track. What matter the region,--what matter the weather, So you and I travel, till death, together? And in death?--why, e'en _there_ I may still be found By the side of my beautiful black bloodhound.

We've traversed the desert, we've traversed the sea, And we've trod on the heights where the eagles be; Seen Tartar, and Arab, and swart Hindoo; (How thou pull'dst down the deer in those skies of blue;) No joy did divide us; no peril could part The man from his friend of the noble heart; Aye, his _friend_; for where, where shall there ever be found A friend like his resolute, fond bloodhound?

What, Herod, old hound! dost remember the day When I fronted the wolves like a stag at bay? When downward they galloped to where we stood, Whilst I staggered with fear in the dark pine wood? Dost remember their howlings? their horrible speed? God, God! how I prayed for a friend in need! And--he came! Ah, 'twas then, my dear Herod, I found That the best of all friends was my bold bloodhound.

Men tell us, dear friend, that the noble hound Must forever be lost in the worthless ground: Yet "Courage," "Fidelity," "Love" (they say), Bear _Man_, as on wings, to his skies away. Well, Herod--go tell them whatever may be, I'll hope I may ever be found by thee. If in sleep,--in sleep; if with skies around, Mayst thou follow e'en thither, my dear bloodhound!

BARRY CORNWALL.

* * * * *

HELVELLYN.

This fine poem was suggested by the affection of a dog, which kept watch over the dead body of its master until found by friends three months afterwards. The young man had lost his way on Helvellyn. Time, 1805.

I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, And starting around me the echoes replied. On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died.

Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain heather, Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay, Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay. Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended, The much-loved remains of her master defended, And chased the hill-fox and the raven away.

How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start? How many long days and long weeks didst thou number, Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? And, oh! was it meet, that--no requiem read o'er him-- No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him-- Unhonored the Pilgrim from life should depart?

When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall; With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, And pages stand mute by the canopied pall: Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming; In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming, Far adown the long isle the sacred music is streaming, Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall.

But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, When, 'wildered he drops from some cliff huge in stature, And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam.

WALTER SCOTT.

* * * * *

LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG.

The spearmen heard the bugle sound, And cheerily smiled the morn, And many a brach, and many a hound, Attend Llewellyn's horn. And still he blew a louder blast, And gave a louder cheer; "Come, Gelert! why art thou the last, Llewellyn's horn to hear?

"Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam? The flower of all his race! So true, so brave--a lamb at home, A lion in the chase!" That day Llewellyn little loved The chase of hart or hare; And scant and small the booty proved, For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, When near the portal seat, His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet. But when he gained the castle door, Aghast the chieftain stood: The hound was smeared with drops of gore; His lips and fangs ran blood.

Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise, Unused such looks to meet; His favorite checked his joyful guise, And crouched and licked his feet. Onward in haste Llewellyn passed, (And on went Gelert too;) And still, where'er his eyes were cast, Fresh blood-drops shocked his view.

O'erturned his infant's bed he found, The blood-stained cover rent And all around the walls and ground With recent blood besprent. He called his child--no voice replied; He searched--with terror wild; Blood! blood! he found on every side, But nowhere found the child!