Pendragon. But my home is yonder, and that is why I have come to you as
a vision in a dream ..." and, as he spoke, he pointed to the
constellation of the _Arth_, or Bear, which nightly prowls through the
vast abysses of the polar sky.
When the boy turned his gaze from the great constellation which hung in
the dark wilderness overhead, he saw that he was alone again. While he
yet wondered in great awe at what he had seen and heard, he felt himself
float like a mist and become like a cloud, rise beyond the brows of the
hills, and ascend the invisible stairways of the sky....
It seemed to him thereafter that a swoon came over him, in which he
passed beyond the far-off blazing fires of strange stars. At last,
suddenly, he stood on the verge of _Arth_, _Arth Uthyr_, the Great Bear.
There he saw, with the vision of immortal, not of mortal, eyes, a
company of most noble and majestic figures seated at what he thought a
circular abyss, but which had the semblance of a vast table. Each of
these seven great knights or lordly kings had a star upon his forehead,
and these were stars of the mighty constellation of the Bear which the
boy had seen night after night from his home among the mountains by the
sea.
It was with a burning throb at his heart that he recognized in the King
of all these kings no other than himself.
While he looked, in amazement so great that he could hear the pulse of
his heart, as in the silence of a wood one hears the tapping of a
woodpecker, he saw this mighty phantom self rise till he stood towering
over all there, and heard a voice as though an ocean rose and fell
through the eternal silences.
"Comrades in God," it said, "the time is come when that which is great
shall become small."
And when the voice was ended, the mighty figure faded in the blue
darkness, and only a great star shone where the uplifted dragon helm had
brushed the roof of heaven. One by one the white lords of the sky
followed in his mysterious way, till once more were to be seen only the
stars of the Bear.
The boy dreamed that he fell as a falling meteor, and that he floated
over land and sea as a cloud, and then that he sank as mist upon the
hills of his own land.
A noise of wind stirred in his ears. He rose stumblingly, and stood,
staring around him. He glanced upward and saw the stars of the Great
Bear in their slow march round the Pole.... Then he remembered.
He went slowly down the hill, his mind heavy with thought. When he was
come to his own place, lo! all the fierce chivalry of the land came out
to meet him; for the archdruid had foretold that the great King to be
had received his mystic initiation among the holy silences of the hills.
"I am no more Snowbird, the child," the boy said, looking at them
fearless and as though already King. "Henceforth I am Arth-Urthyr,[62]
for my place is in the Great Bear which we see yonder in the north."
So all there acclaimed him as Arthur, the wondrous one of the stars, the
Great Bear.
"I am old," said his father, "and soon you shall be King, Arthur, my
son. So ask now a great boon of me and it shall be granted to you."
Then Arthur remembered his dream.
"Father and King," he said, "when I am King after you, I shall make a
new order of knights, who shall be pure as the Immortal Ones, and be
tender as women, and simple as little children. But first I ask of you
seven flawless knights to be of my chosen company. To-morrow let the
wood wrights make for me a round table, such as that where we eat our
roasted meats, but round and of a size whereat I and my chosen knights
may sit at ease."
The king listened, and all there.
"So be it," said the king.
Then Arthur chose the seven flawless knights, and called them to him.
"Ye are now Children of the Great Bear," he said, "and comrades and
liegemen to me, Arthur, who shall be King of the West.
"And ye shall be known as the Knights of the Round Table. But no man
shall make a mock of that name and live: and in the end that name shall
be so great in the mouths and minds of men that they shall consider no
glory of the world to be so great as to be the youngest and frailest of
that knighthood."
And that is how Arthur, who three years later became King of the West,
read the rune of the stars that are called the Great Bear, and took
their name upon him, and from the strongest and purest and noblest of
the land made Knighthood, such as the world had not seen, such as the
world since has not seen.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 61: A Gaelic legend, by Fiona Macleod.]
[Footnote 62: Pronounced _Arth-Ur_. In the ancient British language,
_Arth_ means Bear, and _Urthyr_, great, wondrous.]
EXPRESSION: Read this selection very carefully to get at the true
meaning of each sentence and each thought. What peculiarities do
you notice in the style of the language employed? Talk about King
Arthur, and tell what you have learned elsewhere about him and his
knights of the Round Table. In what respects does this legend
differ from some other accounts of his boyhood? Now reread the
selection, picturing in your mind the peculiarities of place and
time.
ANTONY'S ORATION OVER CAESAR'S DEAD BODY[63]
_Antony._ Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears:
I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them;
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus
Hath told you Caesar was ambitious:
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Caesar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rest--
For Brutus is an honorable man;
So are they all, all honorable men--
Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me;
But Brutus says he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honorable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill;
Did this in Caesar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Caesar hath wept;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff.
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
And Brutus is an honorable man.
You all did see, that on the Lupercal,
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,
And, sure, he is an honorable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause;
What cause withholds you, then, to mourn for him?
O judgment! thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason.--Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Caesar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
But yesterday the word of Caesar might
Have stood against the world; now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.
O masters! If I were disposed to stir
Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honorable men.
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable men.
But here's a parchment with the seal of Caesar,
I found it in his closet; 'tis his will.
Let but the commons hear this testament,--
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,--
And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,
And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it as a rich legacy
Unto their issue.
_Citizen._ We'll hear the will: read it, Mark Antony.
_All._ The will, the will! we will hear Caesar's will.
_Ant._ Have patience, gentle friends, I must not read it;
It is not meet you know how Caesar loved you.
You are not wood, you are not stones, but men;
And, being men, hearing the will of Caesar,
It will inflame you, it will make you mad.
'Tis good you know not that you are his heirs;
For, if you should, oh, what would come of it!
_Cit._ Read the will! we'll hear it, Antony!
You shall read the will! Caesar's will!
_Ant._ Will you be patient? Will you stay awhile?
I have o'ershot myself to tell you of it.
I fear I wrong the honorable men
Whose daggers have stabbed Caesar. I do fear it.
_Cit._ They were traitors! honorable men!
_All._ The will! the testament!
_Ant._ You will compel me, then, to read the will?
Then make a ring about the corpse of Caesar,
And let me show you him that made the will.
Shall I descend? And will you give me leave?
_All._ Come down.
_2 Citizen._ Descend. You shall have leave.
[Illustration: "You all do know this mantle."]
(_Antony comes down from the pulpit._)
_Ant._ If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle; I remember
The first time ever Caesar put it on.
'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent,
That day he overcame the Nervii.
Look! in this place, ran Cassius's dagger through;
See what a rent the envious Casca made;
Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed;
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Caesar followed it,
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Caesar's angel.--
Judge, O you gods, how dearly Caesar loved him!--
This was the most unkindest cut of all;
For, when the noble Caesar saw him stab,
Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,
Even at the base of Pompey's statua,
Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar fell.
Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen!
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.
Oh, now you weep, and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity; these are gracious drops.
Kind souls, What! weep you when you but behold
Our Caesar's vesture wounded? Look you here,
Here is himself, marred, as you see, with traitors.
Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny.
They that have done this deed are honorable.
What private griefs they have, alas! I know not,
That made them do it; they are wise and honorable,
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts.
I am no orator, as Brutus is,
But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man,
That love my friend; and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him.
For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood: I only speak right on;
I tell you that which you yourselves do know;
Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,
And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Caesar that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny.
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote 63: From "Julius Caesar" by William Shakespeare (1564-1616).]
SELECTIONS TO BE MEMORIZED
I. THE PRAYER PERFECT[64]
Dear Lord! kind Lord!
Gracious Lord! I pray
Thou wilt look on all I love,
Tenderly to-day!
Weed their hearts of weariness;
Scatter every care
Down a wake of angel-wings,
Winnowing the air.
Bring unto the sorrowing
All release from pain;
Let the lips of laughter
Overflow again;
And with all the needy
Oh, divide, I pray,
This vast treasure of content
That is mine to-day!
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote 64: From "Rhymes of Childhood," by James Whitcomb Riley,
copyright, 1890. Used by special permission of the publishers, The
Bobbs-Merrill Company.]
II. BE JUST AND FEAR NOT[65]
Be just and fear not;
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's.
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote 65: By William Shakespeare.]
III. IF I CAN LIVE[66]
If I can live
To make some pale face brighter and to give
A second luster to some tear-dimmed eye,
Or e'en impart
One throb of comfort to an aching heart,
Or cheer some wayworn soul in passing by;
If I can lend
A strong hand to the falling, or defend
The right against one single envious strain,
My life, though bare,
Perhaps, of much that seemeth dear and fair
To us of earth, will not have been in vain.
The purest joy,
Most near to heaven, far from earth's alloy,
Is bidding cloud give way to sun and shine;
And 'twill be well
If on that day of days the angels tell
Of me, "She did her best for one of Thine."
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote 66: Author unknown.]
IV. THE BUGLE SONG[67]
The splendor falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long light shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, dearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river;
Our echoes roll from soul to soul,
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
And answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying.
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote 67: By Alfred Tennyson.]
V. THE NINETIETH PSALM
Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations.
Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the
earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God.
Thou turns man to destruction; and sayest, Return, ye children of men.
For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past,
and as a watch in the night.
Thou carried them away as with a flood; they are as a sleep: in the
morning they are like grass which groweth up.
In the morning it flourisheth, and groweth up; in the evening it is cut
down, and withereth.
For we are consumed by thine anger, and by thy wrath are we troubled.
Thou hast set our iniquities before thee, our secret sins in the light
of thy countenance.
For all our days are passed away in thy wrath; we spend our years as a
tale that is told.
The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of
strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labor and
sorrow; for it is soon cut off, and we fly away.
Who knoweth the power of thine anger? even according to thy fear, so is
thy wrath.
So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto
wisdom....
Oh, satisfy us early with thy mercy; that we may rejoice and be glad all
our days....
Let thy work appear unto thy servants, and thy glory unto their
children.
VI. RECESSIONAL[68]
God of our fathers, known of old--
Lord of our far-flung battle line--
Beneath Whose awful Hand we hold
Dominion over palm and pine--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!
The tumult and the shouting dies--
The captains and the kings depart--
Still stands Thine ancient Sacrifice,
A humble and a contrite heart.
God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!
Far-called, our navies melt away--
On dune and headland sinks the fire--
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Nineveh and Tyre!
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!
If, drunk with sight of power, we loose
Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe--
Such boasting as the Gentiles use
Or lesser breeds without the Law--
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet,
Lest we forget--lest we forget!
For heathen heart that puts her trust
In reeking tube and iron shard,
All valiant dust that builds on dust,
And guarding calls not Thee to guard--
For frantic boast and foolish word,
Thy mercy on Thy people, Lord!
Amen.
FOOTNOTE:
[Footnote 68: By Rudyard Kipling.]
PROPER NAMES
Ad i ron'dacks
AE t[=o]'li a
Ag a mem'non
A lon'zo
A m[=e]'li a
An a t[=o]'li a
An'to ny
A pol'lo
Ar'g[=i]ve
Ar'thur
Assisi ([:a]s s[=e] z[=e])
As s[)y]r'i a
Bar'ba ra
Ba v[=a]'ri a
Ber'lin
Bevagno (ba v[=a]n'yo)
Boetia (be [=o]'sh[)i] a)
Bo'na parte
Bozzaris (bo z[)a]r'is)
Brit'ta ny
Bru'tus
Bun'yan
Bur'gun dy
Bysshe (b[)i]sh)
Ca'diz
Cal e do'ni a
Ca thay'
Cau'dle
Charn'wood
Chat ta hoo'chee
Chi[+s]'_w_ick
Col i s[=e]'um
Cop'per field
C[=o]v'er ley
Cr[=e]a'kle
Cris'sa
D[=a]'na
D[)a]n'ube
D[=a]v'en port
Delft
Domitian (do m[)i]sh'i an)
Eb en [=e]'zer
Espanola ([)e]s pan y[=o]'la)
Eu'taw
Fer nan'do
F[)e]z'z[)i] wig
Fran'cis
Gal i l[=e]'o
Get'tys burg
Gib'son
Gu[:a] n[:a] h[)a]'n[:i]
Hab'er sham
H[=a]'man
H[:a]m'elin
Har'le quin
H[)e]l'las
Hel'les pont
Hu'bert
Ja m[=a]_i_'ca
Je m[=i]'ma
John'son
Juana (hw[:a]'na)
Knick'erbock er
La n_i_[=e]r'
Lannes (l[:a]n)
Leg'horn
Locks'ley
Lor raine'
Mag ne'si a
M[)a]r'i on
Mas'sa soit
M[)i]c_h_'ael mas
Mon'mouth
Mont calm'
Mon te bel'lo
Mont g[:o]m'er y
Na p[=o]'le on
Need'wood
Nic_h_'o las
Nin'e veh
Or'e gon
O res't[=e]s
Pal'las
Phoe'bus
Pinzon (p[=e]n th[=o]n')
Pla tae'a
Po to'mac
Pro vence' (-v[)a]ns)
R[)a]ph'a el
R[)a]t'is bon
Rieti (r[=e] [)e]'t[=e])
Rog'er
Rouen (r[=o][=o] [:a]n')
Sa'lem
San'c_h_ez
San Sal va dor'
San tee'
Sar a to'ga
Sed'ley
Shel'ley
Spoun'cer
T[=o]'bit
T[=o]'phet
Tul'l[)i] ver
T[=y]re
Um'br[)i] a
V[)a]l'en t[=i]ne
Wake' field
Y[+s]'a bel
LIST OF AUTHORS
(Place of birth in parentheses. Title of one noted book in italics.
Title of most famous poem in quotation marks.)
_Browning, Robert._ English poet. _The Ring and the Book._ (Born near
London.) Lived in Italy. 1812-1889.
_Bryant, William Cullen._ American poet and journalist. "Thanatopsis."
(Massachusetts.) New York. 1794-1878.
_Buckley, Arabella B._ (_Mrs. Fisher_). English writer on popular
science. (Brighton, England.) 1840----.
_Bunyan, John._ English preacher and writer. _Pilgrim's Progress._
(Bedford.) London. 1628-1688.
_Burns, Robert._ Scottish poet. "Tam O'Shanter." (Alloway.) Dumfries.
1759-1796.
_Campbell, Thomas._ Scottish poet. "Hohenlinden." (Glasgow.) 1777-1844.
_Canton, William._ English journalist and writer. 1845----.
_Carnegie (k[:a]r n[)e]g'[)i]), Andrew._ American manufacturer and
philanthropist. (Scotland.) New York. 1837----.
_Cherry, Andrew._ Irish poet and dramatist. _All for Fame._ (Ireland.)
1762-1812.
_Collins, William._ English poet. (Chichester.) 1721-1759.
_Columbus, Christopher._ The discoverer of America. (Genoa, Italy.)
Spain. 1446(?)-1506.
_Cook, Eliza._ English poet. "The Old Arm-Chair." 1818-1889.
_Dickens, Charles._ English novelist. _David Copperfield._ (Portsmouth.)
London. 1812-1870.
_Domett (d[)o]m'et), Alfred._ English poet and statesman. "Christmas
Hymn." 1811-1887.
_Dumas (d[:u] m[:a]'), Alexandre._ French novelist and dramatist. _The
Count of Monte Cristo._ 1802-1870.
_Eliot, George (Mrs. Mary Ann Evans Cross)._ English novelist. _The Mill
on the Floss._ 1819-1880.
_Emerson, Ralph Waldo._ American philosopher and poet. _Essays._
(Boston.) 1803-1882.
_Everett, Edward._ American statesman and orator. _Orations and
Speeches._ (Massachusetts.) 1794-1865.
_Fields, James T._ American publisher and author. (New Hampshire.)
Massachusetts. 1817-1881.
_Giberne, Agnes._ English writer on scientific subjects.
_Goldsmith, Oliver._ English poet and novelist. _Vicar of Wakefield._
(Ireland.) 1728-1774.
_Halleck, Fitz-Greene._ American poet. "Marco Bozzaris." (Connecticut.)
1790-1867.
_Hawthorne, Nathaniel._ American novelist. _The Wonder Book._
(Massachusetts.) 1804-1864.
_Henry, Patrick._ American patriot. (Virginia.) 1736-1799.
_Herrick, Robert._ English poet. 1591-1674.
_Holmes, Oliver Wendell._ American author. _Autocrat of the Breakfast
Table._ (Massachusetts.) 1809-1894.
_Hugo, Victor._ French novelist and poet. 1802-1885.
_Hunt, Leigh (James Henry Leigh Hunt)._ English essayist and poet. "Abou
ben Adhem." 1784-1859.
_Irving, Washington._ American prose writer. _The Sketch Book._ (New
York.) 1783-1859.
_Jerrold, Douglas William._ English humorist. _Mrs. Caudle's Curtain
Lectures._ (London.) 1803-1857.
_Jonson, Ben._ English dramatist. 1573-1637.
_Kipling, Rudyard._ English writer. _The Jungle Book._ (Bombay, India.)
England. 1865----.
_Lamb, Charles._ English essayist. (London.) 1775-1834.
_Lanier, Sidney._ American musician and author. _Poems._ (Georgia.)
Maryland. 1842-1881.
_Lee, Henry._ American general, father of Robert E. Lee. (Virginia.)
1756-1818.
_Lincoln, Abraham._ Sixteenth president of the United States.
(Kentucky.) Illinois. 1809-1865.
_Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth._ American poet. _Poems._ (Maine.)
Massachusetts. 1807-1882.
_Lowell, James Russell._ American poet and essayist. (Massachusetts.)
1819-1891.
_Macleod, Fiona (True name William Sharp)._ Scottish poet and
story-writer. 1856-1905.
_Mitchell, Donald G._ American essayist. _Reveries of a Bachelor._
(Connecticut.) 1822-1908.
_Parker, Theodore._ American clergyman and author. (Massachusetts.)
1810-1860.
_Poe, Edgar Allan._ American poet and story-writer. "The Raven."
(Massachusetts.) Virginia. 1809-1849.
_Pope, Alexander._ English poet. (London.) 1688-1744.
_Proctor, Richard A._ English astronomer. 1837-1888.
_Riley, James Whitcomb._ American poet. (Indiana.) 1852----.
_Rogers, Samuel._ English poet. (London.) 1763-1855.
_Ryan, Abram J._ American clergyman and poet. (Virginia.) Georgia;
Kentucky. 1839-1886.
_Scott, Sir Walter._ Scottish poet and novelist. _Ivanhoe._ (Edinburgh.)
1771-1832.
_Shakespeare, William._ The greatest of English dramatists.
(Stratford-on-Avon.) 1564-1616.
_Sharp, William._ See Macleod, Fiona.
_Shelley, Percy Bysshe (b[)i]sh)._ English poet. _Poems._ 1792-1822.
_Simms, William Gilmore._ American novelist and poet. (South Carolina.)
1806-1870.
_Sophocles (s[)o]f'o kl[=e]z)._ Greek tragic poet. 495-406 B.C.
_Sylvester, Joshua._ English poet. 1563-1618.
_Tennyson, Alfred._ English poet. _In Memoriam._ (Lincolnshire.)
1809-1892.
_Thackeray, William Makepeace._ English novelist and critic. (Calcutta,
India.) London. 1811-1863.
_Timrod, Henry._ American poet. (South Carolina.) 1829-1867.
_Whitman, Walt._ American poet. _Leaves of Grass._ (New York.)
Washington, D.C.; New Jersey. 1819-1892.
_Whittier, John Greenleaf._ American poet. _Poems._ (Massachusetts.)
1807-1892.
_Winslow, Edward._ Governor of Plymouth colony. (Worcestershire, Eng.)
Plymouth, Massachusetts. 1595-1655.
_Wotton, Sir Henry._ English poet. 1568-1639.
End of Project Gutenberg's Eighth Reader, by James Baldwin and Ida C. Bender