Will, like a presence, sometimes press,
And when his pulse is beating wild,
And life itself is in excess[63]—
When foot and hand, and ear and eye,
Are all with ardor[64] straining high—
How in his heart will spring
A feeling whose mysterious[65] thrall[66]
Is stronger, sweeter far than all!
And on its silent wing,
How, with the clouds, he’ll float away,
As wandering and as lost as they!
[61] UN-RE-PRESSED, not subdued or mastered.
[62] CARˊ-OL, a song of great joy.
[63] EX-CESSˊ, that which exceeds or surpasses what is usual or necessary.
[64] ARˊ-DOR, warmth or heat of passion or affection; eagerness.
[65] MYS-TEˊ-RI-OUS, secret; not easily understood.
[66] THRALL, bondage; slavery.
IX.—THE YOUNG SHEPHERD.
FENELON.
The illustrious Fenelon, archbishop of Cambray, in France, was
born in 1651 and died, at Cambray, in 1715. He was as remarkable
for sanctity as for genius. His purity, meekness and amiability,
won the hearts of all—even of his enemies, if it can be said that
he had any.
1. Sha-Abbas, king of Persia, being on his travels, withdrew from his
retinue,[67] in order to visit the country, and there, without being
known, to behold mankind in all their native freedom. He took with him
only one of his officers, as an attendant.
2. “I am weary,” said he, “of living among sycophants,[68] who take all
occasions to over-reach, while they flatter me. I am determined to visit
husbandmen and shepherds, who know nothing of me.”
3. He traveled, with his confidant, through several villages where the
peasants were dancing, and was overjoyed to see that his subjects,
though at such a distance from court, had their diversions, and those so
innocent and unexpensive.
4. After refreshing himself in a cottage, he crossed a meadow,
enameled[69] with flowers, which decked the borders of a limpid[70]
stream. Here he spied a young shepherd, playing on his pipe beneath a
shady elm, while his flocks were grazing around him.
5. The king accosts him, surveys him closely, finds his aspect agreeable,
and his air, though easy and natural, yet graceful and majestic. The
simple habit[71] in which the shepherd was clad, did not in the least
diminish the agreeableness of his person. The king supposed him at first
to be a youth of illustrious birth, who had disguised himself; but he
learned from the shepherd that his parents dwelt in an adjacent[72]
village, and that his name was Alibeg.
6. The more questions the king put to him, the more he admired the
strength and solidity of his genius. His eyes were lively, and
beaming[73] with intelligence; his voice was sweet and melodious; his
features were not rude, neither were they soft and effeminate.[74] The
shepherd, though sixteen years of age, did not seem conscious of those
perfections which were conspicuous to others. He imagined that his
thoughts, his conversation, and his person, were not unlike those of his
neighbors.
7. The king frequently smiled at the innocent freedom of the youth, who
gave him much information about the state of the people. He gave the
officer who accompanied him a private signal not to discover that he was
the king, for fear that Alibeg, if he once knew with whom he conversed,
would lose in an instant, his wonted[75] freedom, and all his native
graces.
8. “I am now convinced,” said the prince to his attendant, “that nature
is as beautiful in the lowest state as in the highest. No monarch’s son
was ever born with nobler faculties than this young shepherd. I should
think myself infinitely happy, had I a son equally handsome, intelligent,
and ingenuous.[76] I will have him educated at my own court.”
9. The king accordingly took Alibeg away with him; and the youthful
shepherd was much surprised to find that a prince should be so pleased
with his conversation. Taken to court, he was instructed by proper tutors
in all the graces which add to manly beauty, and in all the arts and
sciences which adorn the mind.
10. The grandeur of the court, and a sudden change of fortune, in some
measure influenced the temper of Alibeg. His crook, his pipe, and
shepherd’s dress, were now forsaken; and, instead of them, he appeared in
a purple robe embroidered with gold, and a turban enriched with jewels.
Alibeg was handsomer than any other man at court. He was qualified to
transact the most important affairs, and his master, placing the utmost
confidence in his integrity,[77] soon conferred on him the post of
jewel-keeper and treasurer of his household.
11. During the whole reign of the great Sha-Abbas, Alibeg’s reputation
daily increased. But, as he advanced in years, he frequently recalled to
mind his former state of life, and always with regret. “Oh, happy days!”
would he whisper to himself; “oh, innocent days! days, wherein I tasted
true joys without danger; days, since which I never saw one so pleasant,
shall I not see you any more? He who has deprived me of you, by making me
thus great, has utterly undone me.”
[67] RETˊ-I-NUE, a train of attendants.
[68] SYCˊ-O-PHANTS, mean flatterers.
[69] EN-AMˊ-ELED, covered; filled.
[70] LIMˊ-PID, clear; pure.
[71] HABˊ-IT, dress; garb.
[72] AD-JAˊ-CENT, near by; adjoining.
[73] BEAMˊ-ING, glowing; shining.
[74] EF-FEMˊ-I-NATE, feminine; delicate.
[75] WONTˊ-ED, accustomed; usual.
[76] IN-GENˊ-U-OUS, open; frank; candid.
[77] IN-TEGˊ-RI-TY, honesty; uprightness.
X. THE YOUNG SHEPHERD—CONTINUED.
1. Alibeg, after a long absence, revisited his native village. Here he
gazed with fondness on those places where he had formerly danced, sung,
and tuned his pipe with his fellow-swains.[78] He made presents to
all his friends and relations; but advised them, as they valued their
peace of mind, never to resign their rural pleasures, never to expose
themselves to the anxieties and misfortunes of a court. Alibeg felt the
weight of those misfortunes, soon after the death of his good master
Sha-Abbas.
2. Sha-Sephi succeeded his father. Some envious, artful courtiers[79]
found means to prejudice the young prince against him. “He has,” said
they, “betrayed the trust reposed in him by the late king. He has hoarded
up immense treasures, and embezzled[80] valuable effects.”
3. Sha-Sephi was young, and a monarch; which was more than sufficient to
make him credulous[81] and inconsiderate. He had, besides, the vanity
to think himself qualified to reform his fathers acts, and to judge of
things better than the latter had done. To have some plea for removing
Alibeg from his post, he commanded him to produce the cimeter,[82] set
with diamonds of an immense value, which his royal grandsire used to wear
in battle. Sha-Abbas had formerly ordered these to be taken off; and
Alibeg brought witnesses to prove that they were so removed long before
his promotion.
4. When Alibeg’s enemies found this scheme too weak to effect his ruin,
they prevailed on Sha-Sephi to give him strict orders to produce an exact
inventory[83] of all the rich furniture intrusted to his care. Alibeg
opened the doors, and showed every thing committed to his charge. No one
article was missing: each was in its proper place, and preserved with
great care.
5. The king, surprised to see such order every where observed, began
to entertain a favorable opinion of Alibeg, till he espied, at the
end of a long gallery, an iron door, with three strong locks. “There
it is,” whispered the envious courtiers in his ear, “that Alibeg has
concealed all the valuable effects which he has purloined.”[84] The
king now angrily exclaimed, “I will see what is in that room. What have
you concealed there? Show it me.” Alibeg fell prostrate at his feet,
beseeching him not to take from him all that he now held valuable upon
earth.
6. Sha-Sephi now took it for granted that Alibeg’s ill-gotten treasure
lay concealed within. He commanded the door to be opened. Alibeg, who had
the keys in his pocket, unlocked the door. Nothing, however, was found
there, but his crook, his pipe, and the shepherd’s dress which he wore in
his youth.
7. “Behold great sir,” said he, “the remains of my former felicity,[85]
which neither fortune nor your majesty have taken from me. Behold my
treasure, which I reserve to make me rich, when you shall think proper
to make me poor. Take back every thing besides; but leave me these dear
pledges of my rural[86] station. These are my substantial riches which
will never fail me.
8. “These, O king! are the precious, yet innocent possessions of those
who can live contented with the necessaries of life, without tormenting
themselves about superfluous[87] enjoyments. These are riches which
are possessed with liberty and safety; riches which never give me one
moment’s disquiet. Oh, ye dear implements of a plain, but happy life!
I value none but you; with you I will live, and with you die. I here
resign, great sir, the many favors which your royal bounty[88] has
bestowed upon me.”
9. The king, convinced of Alibeg’s innocence, instantly banished his
accusers from court. Alibeg became his prime minister, and was intrusted
with the most important secrets. He visited, however, every day, his
crook, his pipe, and rural habit, that he might remember them, should
fickle fortune deprive him of a monarchˊs favor. He died in a good old
age, without wishing to have his enemies punished, or to increase his
possessions; and left his relations no more than what would maintain them
in the station of shepherds, which he always thought the safest and most
happy.
[78] SWAINS, peasants; shepherds.
[79] COURTˊ-IERS, those who frequent courts.
[80] EM-BEZˊ-ZLED, purloined; robbed; stolen.
[81] CREDˊ-U-LOUS, easy of belief; unsuspecting.
[82] CIMˊ-E-TER, a short Turkish sword.
[83] INˊ-VEN-TO-RY, catalogue; account.
[84] PUR-LOINˊ-ED, stolen.
[85] FE-LICˊ-I-TY, happiness.
[86] RUˊ-RAL, pertaining to the country.
[87] SU-PERˊ-FLU-OUS, more than is necessary.
[88] BOUNˊ-TY, generosity; liberality.
XI.—OLD TIMES.
GERALD GRIFFIN.
Gerald Griffin was born in Ireland in 1803. He was a
distinguished novelist and dramatist. He has also written some
short poems remarkable for their tenderness of feeling and beauty
of expression.
While still a young man he withdrew from the pursuits of
literature and joined the Brothers of the Christian Schools. He
died in 1840 at the early age of thirty-seven.
1. Old times! old times! the gay old times!
When I was young and free,
And heard the merry Easter chimes,
Under the sally tree;
My Sunday palm beside me placed,
My cross upon my hand,
A heart at rest within my breast,
And sunshine on the land!
Old times! old times!
2. It is not that my fortunes flee,
Nor that my cheek is pale,
I mourn whene’er I think of thee,
My darling native vale!
A wiser head I have, I know,
Than when I loitered there;
But in my wisdom there is woe,
And in my knowledge care,
Old times! old times!
3. I’ve lived to know my share of joy,
To feel my share of pain,
To learn that friendship’s self can cloy,
To love and love in vain—
To feel a pang and wear a smile,
To tire of other climes,
To like my own unhappy isle,
And sing the gay old times!
Old times! old times!
4. And sure the land is nothing changed,
The birds are singing still;
The flowers are springing where we ranged,
There’s sunshine on the hill;
The sally waving o’er my head,
Still sweetly shades my frame,
But ah, those happy days are fled,
And I am not the same!
Old times! old times!
5. Oh, come again, ye merry times!
Sweet, sunny, fresh, and calm;
And let me hear those Easter chimes,
And wear my Sunday palm.
If I could cry away mine eyes,
My tears would flow in vain;
If I could waste my heart in sighs,
They’ll never come again!
Old times! old times!
XII.—THE BROKEN HEART.
IRVING.
Washington Irving was born in the City of New York, in 1783 and
died in 1859. His writings are deservedly popular. His “Sketch
Book,” “Life of Goldsmith,” “Life of Columbus,” “Conquest of
Granada,” and other works, have made him as well known to
European as to American readers.
1. Every one must recollect the tragical[89] story of young Emmet, the
Irish patriot; it was too touching to be soon forgotten. His fate made
a deep impression on public sympathy. During the troubles in Ireland he
was tried, condemned, and executed[90] on a charge of treason. He was so
young, so intelligent, so generous, so brave, so everything that we are
apt to like in a young man. His conduct under trial, too, was so lofty
and intrepid. The noble indignation with which he repelled[91] the charge
of treason against his country, the eloquent vindication of his name, and
his pathetic appeal to posterity, in the hopeless hour of condemnation,
all these entered deeply into every generous bosom, and even his enemies
lamented the stern policy that dictated his execution.
2. But there was _one_ heart whose anguish it would be impossible to
describe. In happier days and fairer fortunes, he had won the affections
of a beautiful and interesting girl, the daughter of a late celebrated
Irish barrister. She loved him with the disinterested fervor[92] of a
woman’s first and early love. When every worldly maxim arrayed itself
against him; when blasted in fortune, and disgrace and danger darkened
around his name, she loved him the more ardently for his sufferings. If,
then, his fate could awaken the sympathy even of his foes, what must have
been the agony of her whose whole soul was occupied by his image! Let
_those_ tell who have had the portals[93] of the tomb suddenly closed
between them and the being they most loved on earth, who have sat at its
threshold, as one shut out in a cold and lonely world, whence all that
was most lovely and loving had departed.
3. But then the horrors of such a grave! so frightful, so dishonored!
there was nothing for memory to dwell on, that could soothe the pangs
of separation, none of those tender, though melancholy circumstances,
which endear the parting scene, nothing to melt sorrow into those blessed
tears, sent like the dews of heaven to revive the heart in the parting
hour of anguish.
4. To render her widowed situation more desolate, she had incurred her
fathers displeasure by her unfortunate attachment, and was an exile from
the paternal roof. But could the sympathy and kind offices of friends
have reached a spirit so shocked and driven in by horror, she would
have experienced no want of consolation, for the Irish are a people of
quick and generous sensibilities.[94] The most delicate and cherishing
attentions were paid her by families of wealth and distinction. She was
led into society, and they tried by all kinds of occupation and amusement
to dissipate[95] her grief, and wean her from the tragical story of her
love.
5. But it was all in vain. There are some strokes of calamity which
scathe and scorch the soul, which penetrate to the vital seat of
happiness, and blast it, never again to put forth bud or blossom. She
never objected to frequent the haunts of pleasure, but was as much alone
there as in the depths of solitude[96] walking about in a sad reverie,
apparently unconscious of the world around her. She carried with her an
inward woe, that mocked at all the blandishments[97] of friendship, and
“heeded not the song of the charmer, charm he never so wisely”.
6. The person who told me her story had seen her at a masquerade[98].
There can be no exhibition of far-gone wretchedness more striking and
painful than to meet it in such a scene; to find it wandering like a
specter, lone and joyless, where all around is gay, to see it dressed
out in the trappings of mirth, and looking so wan and woe-begone,
as if it had tried in vain to cheat the poor heart into a momentary
forgetfulness of sorrow.
7. After strolling through the splendid rooms and giddy crowd with an
air of utter abstraction,[99] she sat herself down on the steps of an
orchestra,[100] and, looking about for some time with a vacant air, that
showed her insensibility to the garish[101] scene, she began with the
capriciousness[102] of a sickly heart, to warble a little plaintive air.
She had an exquisite voice; but on this occasion it was so simple, so
touching, it breathed forth such a soul of wretchedness, that she drew a
crowd mute and silent around her, and melted every one into tears.
8. The story of one so true and tender, could not but excite great
interest in a country remarkable for enthusiasm. It completely won the
heart of a brave officer, who paid his address to her, and thought that
one so true to the dead could not but prove affectionate to the living.
She declined his attentions, for her thoughts were irrevocably engrossed
by the memory of her former lover. He, however, persisted in his suit.
He solicited not her tenderness, but her esteem. He was assisted by her
conviction of his worth, and her sense of her own destitute and dependent
situation, for she was existing on the kindness of friends. In a word, he
at length succeeded in gaining her hand, though with the solemn assurance
that her heart was unalterably another’s.
9. He took her with him to Sicily, hoping that a change of scene might
wear out the remembrance of her early woes. She was an amiable and
exemplary wife, and made an effort to be a happy one; but nothing could
cure the silent and devouring melancholy that had entered into her very
soul. She wasted away in a slow but hopeless decline, and, at length,
sank into the grave, the victim of a broken heart.
10. She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
And lovers are around her, sighing;
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
For her heart in his grave is lying!
11. She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
Every note which he loved awaking;
Ah! little they think who delight in her strains,
How the heart of the Minstrel is breaking!
12. He had lived for his love, for his country he died,
They were all that to life had entwined him;
Nor soon shall the tears of his country be dried,
Nor long will his love stay behind him.
13. O! make her a grave where the sunbeams rest,
When they promise a glorious morrow;
They’ll shine o’er her sleep, like a smile from the West,
From her own loved island of sorrow!
[89] TRAGˊ-I-CAL, mournful, calamitous.
[90] EXˊ-E-CUTED (here means) put to death.
[91] RE-PELLEDˊ, resisted.
[92] FERˊVOR, warmth, ardor.
[93] PORTˊAL, an entrance, a gateway.
[94] SEN-SI-BIL-I-TYˊ, delicate feeling, tenderness.
[95] DISˊ-SI-PATE, to disperse, to scatter.
[96] SOLˊ-I-TUDE, loneliness, seclusion.
[97] BLANDˊ-ISH-MENTS, artful caresses, soothing words.
[98] MASˊ-QUER-ADEˊ, an assemblage of persons for amusement in which
masks are worn.
[99] AB-STRACˊ-TION, absence of mind.
[100] ORˊ-CHES-TRA, a place or gallery for musicians.
[101] GARˊ-ISH, gaudy, showy.
[102] CA-PRIˊ-CIOUS-NESS, freak, whimsicalness.
XIII.—LITTLE VICTORIES.
REMARK.—In conversational pieces like the following, the manner
of each speaker should be imitated, as in a dialogue.
1. “Oh, mother, now that I have lost my limb, I can never be a soldier
or a sailor; I can never go round the world!” And Hugh burst into tears,
now more really afflicted than he had ever been yet. His mother sat on
the bed beside him, and wiped away his tears as they flowed, while he
told her, as well as his sobs would let him, how long and how much he had
reckoned on going round the world, and how little he cared for anything
else in future; and now this was the very thing he should never be able
to do!
2. He had practiced climbing ever since he could remember, and now this
was of no use; he had practiced marching, and now he should never march
again. When he had finished his complaint, there was a pause, and his
mother said, “Hugh, you have heard of Huber.”
“The man who found out so much about bees?” said Hugh.
“Bees and ants. When Huber had discovered[103] more than had ever been
known about these, and when he was sure that he could learn still more,
and was more and more anxious to peep into their tiny[104] homes, and
curious ways, he became blind.”
3. Hugh sighed, and his mother went on.
“Did you ever hear of Beethoven? He was one of the greatest musical
composers[105] that ever lived. His great, his sole delight, was in
music. It was the passion of his life. When all his time and all his mind
were given to music, he suddenly became deaf, perfectly deaf; so that
he never more heard _one single note_ from the loudest orchestra[106].
While crowds were moved and delighted with his compositions[107] it was
all silence to him.” Hugh said nothing.
4. “Now do you think,” asked his mother—and Hugh saw that a mild and
gentle smile beamed from her countenance—“do you think that these people
were without a heavenly Parent?”
“Oh no! but were they patient?” asked Hugh.
“Yes, in their different ways and degrees. Would you suppose that they
were hardly treated? Or would you not rather suppose, that their Father
gave them something better to do, than they had planned for themselves?”
5. “He must know best, of course; but it does seem very hard, that _that
very thing_ should happen to them. Huber would not have so much minded
being deaf, perhaps; or that musical man being blind.”
“No doubt their hearts often swelled within them, at their
disappointments; but I fully believe that they very soon found God’s
will to be wiser than their wishes. They found, if they bore their trial
well, that there was work for their hearts to do, far nobler than any the
head could do through the eye, or the ear. And they soon felt a new and
delicious pleasure, which none but the bitterly disappointed can feel.”
“What is that?”
6. “The pleasure of rousing the soul to bear pain, and of agreeing
with God silently, when nobody knows what is in the breast. There is
no pleasure like that of exercising one’s soul in bearing pain, and of
finding one’s heart glow with the hope that one is pleasing God.”
“Shall I feel that pleasure?”
“Often and often, I have no doubt; every time you can willingly give
up your wish to be a soldier, or a sailor, or any thing else you have
set your mind upon, you will feel that pleasure. But I do not expect it
of you yet. I dare say, it was long a bitter thing to Beethoven to see
hundreds of people in raptures[108] with his music when he could not hear
a note of it.”
7. “But did he ever smile again?” asked Hugh.
“If he did, he was happier than all the fine music in the world could
have made him,” replied his mother.
“I wonder, oh, I wonder if I shall ever feel so!”
“We will pray to God that you may. Shall we ask him now?”
Hugh clasped his hand. His mother kneeled beside the bed, and, in a very
few words, prayed that Hugh might be able to bear his misfortune[109]
well, and that his friends might give him such help and comfort as God
should approve.
[103] DIS-COVˊ-ERED, found out.
[104] TINˊ-Y, very small.
[105] COM-POSˊER, an author.
[106] ORˊ-CHES-TRA, a body of musicians.
[107] COM-PO-SIˊ-TIONS, musical pieces.
[108] RAPTˊ-URES, extreme delight.
[109] MIS-FORˊ-TUNE, calamity.
XIV.—LITTLE VICTORIES.—CONTINUED.
8. Hugh found himself subject to very painful feelings sometimes, such as
no one quite understood, and such as he feared no one was able to pity
as they deserved. On one occasion, when he had been quite merry for a
while, and his mother and sister Agnes were chatting[110] they thought
they heard a sob from the sofa. They spoke to Hugh, and found that he was
indeed crying bitterly.
“What is it, my dear,” said his mother. “Agnes, have we said anything
that could hurt his feelings?”
“No, no,” sobbed Hugh. “I will tell you presently.”
9. And presently he told them, that he was so busy listening to what
they said, that he forgot every thing else, when he felt as if something
got between two of his toes; unconsciously he put down his hand, as if
his foot was there! Nothing could be plainer than the feeling in his
toes; and, then, when he put out his hand, and found nothing, it was so
terrible! it startled him so! It was a comfort to find that his mother
knew about this. She came, and kneeled by his sofa, and told him that
many persons who had lost a limb, considered this the most painful thing
they had to bear, for some time; but that, though the feeling would
return occasionally through life, it would cease to be painful.
10. Hugh was very much dejected[111], and when he thought of the months
and years, to the end of his life, and that he should never run and play,
and never be like other people, he almost wished that he was dead.