Fourth Reader
- -
- 100%
- +
YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND
Ye mariners of England!That guard our native seas;Whose flag has braved a thousand years,The battle and the breeze!Your glorious standard launch againTo match another foe!And sweep through the deepWhile the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.The spirits of your fathersShall start from every wave!For the deck it was their field of fame,And ocean was their grave:Where Blake and mighty Nelson fellYour manly hearts shall glow,As ye sweep through the deepWhile the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.Britannia needs no bulwarks,No towers along the steep;Her march is o’er the mountain-waves,Her home is on the deep.With thunders from her native oak,She quells the floods below,As they roar on the shoreWhen the stormy winds do blow;When the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.The meteor flag of EnglandShall yet terrific burn;Till danger’s troubled night depart,And the star of peace return.Then, then, ye ocean warriors!Our song and feast shall flowTo the fame of your name,When the storm has ceased to blow;When the fiery fight is heard no more,And the storm has ceased to blow!– Thomas Campbell.Do what you ought, come what may.THE APPLES OF IDUN
Once upon a time Odin, Loke, and Hœner started on a journey. They had often travelled together before on all sorts of errands, for they had a great many things to look after, and more than once they had fallen into trouble through the prying, meddlesome, malicious spirit of Loke, who was never so happy as when he was doing wrong. When the gods went on a journey, they travelled fast and hard, for they were strong, active, spirits who loved nothing so much as hard work, hard blows, storm, peril, and struggle. There were no roads through the country over which they made their way, only high mountains to be climbed by rocky paths, deep valleys into which the sun hardly looked during half the year, and swift-rushing streams, cold as ice, and treacherous to the surest foot and the strongest arm. Not a bird flew through the air, not an animal sprang through the trees. It was as still as a desert. The gods walked on and on, getting more tired and hungry at every step. The sun was sinking low over the steep, pine-crested mountains, and the travellers had neither breakfasted nor dined. Even Odin was beginning to feel the pangs of hunger, like the most ordinary mortal, when suddenly, entering a little valley, the famished gods came upon a herd of cattle. It was the work of a minute to kill a great ox and to have the carcass swinging in a huge pot over a roaring fire.
But never were gods so unlucky before! In spite of their hunger the pot would not boil. They piled on the wood until the great, flames crackled and licked the pot with their fiery tongues, but every time the cover was lifted there was the meat just as raw as when it was put in. It is easy to imagine that the travellers were not in very good humor. As they were talking about it, and wondering how it could be, a voice called out from the branches of the oak overhead, “If you will give me my fill, I’ll make the pot boil.”
The gods looked first at each other and then into the tree, and there they discovered a great eagle. They were glad enough to get their supper on almost any terms, so they told the eagle he might have what he wanted if he would only get the meat cooked. The bird was as good as his word, and, in less time than it takes to tell it, supper was ready. Then the eagle flew down and picked out both shoulders and both legs. This was a pretty large share, it must be confessed, and Loke, who was always angry when anybody got more than he, no sooner saw what the eagle had taken than he seized a great pole and began to beat the rapacious bird unmercifully. Whereupon a very singular thing happened: the pole stuck fast in the huge talons of the eagle at one end, and Loke stuck fast at the other end. Struggle as he might, he could not get loose, and as the great bird sailed away over the tops of the trees, Loke went pounding along on the ground, striking against rocks and branches until he was bruised half to death.
The eagle was not an ordinary bird by any means, as Loke soon found when he begged for mercy. The giant Thjasse happened to be flying abroad in his eagle plumage when the hungry travellers came under the oak and tried to cook the ox. It was into his hands that Loke had fallen, and he was not to get away until he had promised to pay roundly for his freedom.
If there was one thing which the gods prized above their other treasures in Asgard, it was the beautiful fruit of Idun, kept by the goddess in a golden casket and given to the gods to keep them forever young and fair. Without these Apples all their power could not have kept them from getting old like the meanest of mortals. Without the Apples of Idun, Asgard itself would have lost its charm; for what would heaven be without youth and beauty forever shining through it?
Thjasse told Loke that he could not go unless he would promise to bring him the Apples of Idun. Loke was wicked enough for anything; but when it came to robbing the gods of their immortality, even he hesitated. And while he hesitated the eagle dashed hither and thither, flinging him against the sides of the mountains and dragging him through the great tough boughs of the oaks until his courage gave out entirely, and he promised to steal the Apples out of Asgard and give them to the giant.
Loke was bruised and sore enough when he got on his feet again to hate the giant, who handled him so roughly, with all his heart, but he was not unwilling to keep his promise to steal the Apples, if only for the sake of tormenting the other gods. But how was it to be done? Idun guarded the golden fruit of immortality with sleepless watchfulness. No one ever touched it but herself, and a beautiful sight it was to see her fair hands spread it forth for the morning feasts in Asgard. The power which Loke possessed lay not so much in his own strength, although he had a smooth way of deceiving people, as in the goodness of others who had no thought of his doing wrong because they never did wrong themselves.
Not long after all this happened, Loke came carelessly up to Idun as she was gathering her Apples to put them away in the beautiful carven box which held them.
“Good morning, goddess,” said he. “How fair and golden your Apples are!”
“Yes,” answered Idun; “the bloom of youth keeps them always beautiful.”
“I never saw anything like them,” continued Loke, slowly, as if he were talking about a matter of no importance, “until the other day.”
Idun looked up at once with the greatest interest and curiosity in her face. She was very proud of her Apples, and she knew that no earthly trees, however large and fair, bore the immortal fruit.
“Where have you seen any Apples like them?” she asked.
“Oh, just outside the gates,” said Loke, indifferently. “If you care to see them, I’ll take you there. It will keep you but a moment. The tree is only a little way off.”
Idun was anxious to go at once.
“Better take your Apples with you to compare them with the others,” said the wily god, as she prepared to go.
Idun gathered up the golden Apples and went out of Asgard, carrying with her all that made it heaven. No sooner was she beyond the gates than a mighty rushing sound was heard, like the coming of a tempest, and before she could think or act, the giant Thjasse, in his eagle plumage, was bearing her swiftly away through the air to his desolate, icy home in Thrymheim, where, after vainly trying to persuade her to let him eat the Apples and be forever young like the gods, he kept her a lonely prisoner.
Loke, after keeping his promise and delivering Idun into the hands of the giant, strayed back into Asgard as if nothing had happened. The next morning, when the gods assembled for their feast, there was no Idun. Day after day went past, and still the beautiful goddess did not come. Little by little the light of youth and beauty faded from the home of the gods, and they themselves became old and haggard. Their strong, young faces were lined with care and furrowed by age, their raven locks passed from gray to white, and their flashing eyes became dim and hollow. Brage, the god of poetry, could make no music while his beautiful wife was gone he knew not whither.
Morning after morning the faded light broke on paler and ever paler faces, until even in heaven the eternal light of youth seemed to be going out forever.
Finally the gods could bear the loss of power and joy no longer. They made rigorous inquiry. They tracked Loke on that fair morning when he led Idun beyond the gates; they seized him and brought him into solemn council, and when he read in their haggard faces the deadly hate which flamed in all their hearts against his treachery, his courage failed, and he promised to bring Idun back to Asgard if the goddess Freyja would lend him her falconguise. No sooner said than done; and with eager gaze the gods watched him as he flew away, becoming at last only a dark, moving speck against the sky.
After long and weary flight, Loke came to Thrymheim, and was glad enough to find Thjasse gone to sea and Idun alone in his dreary house. He changed her instantly into a nut, and taking her thus disguised in his talons, flew away as fast as his falcon wings could carry him. And he had need of all his speed, for Thjasse, coming suddenly home and finding Idun and her precious fruit gone, guessed what had happened, and, putting on his eagle plumage, flew forth in a mighty rage, with vengeance in his heart. Like the rushing wings of a tempest, his mighty pinions beat the air and bore him swiftly onwards. From mountain peak to mountain peak he measured his wide course, almost grazing at times the murmuring pine forests, and then sweeping high in mid-air with nothing above but the arching sky and nothing beneath but the tossing sea.
At last he sees the falcon far ahead, and now his flight becomes like the flash of the lightning for swiftness, and like the rushing of clouds for uproar. The haggard faces of the gods line the walls of Asgard and watch the race with tremulous eagerness. Youth and immortality are staked upon the winning of Loke. He is weary enough and frightened enough too, as the eagle sweeps on close behind him; but he makes desperate efforts to widen the distance between them. Little by little the eagle gains on the falcon. The gods grow white with fear; they rush off and prepare great fires upon the walls. With fainting, drooping wing the falcon passes over and drops exhausted by the wall. In an instant the fires have been lighted, and the great flames roar to heaven. The eagle sweeps across the fiery line a second later, and falls, maimed and burned, to the ground, where a dozen fierce hands smite the life out of him, and the great giant Thjasse perishes among his foes.
Idun resumes her natural form as Brage rushes to meet her. The gods crowd around her. She spreads the feast, the golden Apples gleaming with unspeakable lustre in the eyes of the gods. They eat; and once more their faces glow with the beauty of immortal youth, their eyes flash with the radiance of divine power, and, while Idun stands like a star for beauty among the throng, the song of Brage is heard once more; for poetry and immortality are wedded again. – Hamilton Wright Mabie.
From “Norse Stories,” by permission of the author and of the publishers, Dodd, Mead and Company, New York.He that is not wise will not be taught.
HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX
I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he;I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three;“Good speed!” cried the watch as the gate bolts undrew;“Speed!” echoed the wall to us galloping through.Behind shut the postern, the light sank to rest,And into the midnight we galloped abreast.Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace,Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place;I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight,Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right,Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chained slacker the bit,Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit.’Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew nearLokeren, the cocks crew, and twilight dawned clear;At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see;At Duffeld, ’twas morning as plain as could be;And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime.So Joris broke silence with, “Yet there is time!”At Aershot, up leaped of a sudden the sun,And against him the cattle stood black every one,To stare through the mist at us galloping past,And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,With resolute shoulders, each butting awayThe haze, as some bluff river-headland its spray:And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent backFor my voice, and the other pricked out on his track;And one eye’s black intelligence – ever that glanceO’er its white edge at me, his own master, askance!And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anonHis fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on.By Hasselt, Dirck groaned; and cried Joris, “Stay spur!Your Roos galloped bravely; the fault’s not in her,We’ll remember at Aix,” – for one heard the quick wheezeOf her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees,And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank,As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank.So, we were left galloping, Joris and I,Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky;The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh,’Neath our foot broke the brittle, bright stubble, like chaff;Till over by Dalhem a dome-tower sprang white,And “Gallop,” cried Joris, “for Aix is in sight!”“How they’ll greet us!” – and all in a moment his roanRolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone;And there was my Roland to bear the whole weightOf the news, which alone could save Aix from her fate,With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim,And with circles of red for his eye-sockets’ rim.Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall,Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all,Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear,Called my Roland his pet name, my horse without peer;Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good,Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood!And all I remember is, – friends flocking roundAs I sat with his head ’twixt my knees on the ground;And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine,As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine,Which (the burgesses voted by common consent)Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent.– Robert Browning.MARMION AND DOUGLAS
The train from out the castle drew;But Marmion stopped to bid adieu.“Though something I might plain,” he said,“Of cold respect to stranger guest,Sent hither by your king’s behest,While in Tantallon’s towers I stayed,Part we in friendship from your land,And, noble earl, receive my hand.”But Douglas round him drew his cloak,Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:“My manors, halls, and bowers shall stillBe open, at my sovereign’s will,To each one whom he lists, howe’erUnmeet to be the owner’s peer.My castles are my king’s alone,From turret to foundation stone:The hand of Douglas is his own,And never shall, in friendly grasp,The hand of such as Marmion clasp.”Burned Marmion’s swarthy cheek like fire,And shook his very frame for ire;And “This to me?” he said;“An ’twere not for thy hoary beard,Such hand as Marmion’s had not sparedTo cleave the Douglas’ head.And first, I tell thee, haughty peer,He who does England’s message here,Although the meanest in her state,May well, proud Angus, be thy mate.“And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,Even in thy pitch of pride,Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,I tell thee thou’rt defied!And if thou saidst I am not peerTo any lord in Scotland here,Lowland or Highland, far or near,Lord Angus, thou hast lied.”On the earl’s cheek the flush of rageO’ercame the ashen hue of age:Fierce he broke forth: “And dar’st thou thenTo beard the lion in his den,The Douglas in his hall?And hop’st thou hence unscathed to go?No, by Saint Bride of Bothwell, no! —Up drawbridge, grooms! – what, warder, ho!Let the portcullis fall!”Lord Marmion turned, – well was his need, —And dashed the rowels in his steed;Like arrow through the archway sprung;The ponderous gate behind him rung;To pass there was such scanty room,The bars, descending, grazed his plume.The steed along the drawbridge flies,Just as it trembled on the rise;Nor lighter does the swallow skimAlong the smooth lake’s level brim.And when Lord Marmion reached his band,He halts, and turns with clenchèd hand,And shout of loud defiance pours,And shook his gauntlet at the towers.– Sir Walter Scott.THE TEMPEST
Upon a lonely island of the sea, far from the haunts of humanity, there dwelt an old man and his beautiful daughter. She had been very young when she was taken there, so young that she could not remember ever having seen a human face, excepting the face of Prospero, her father.
Their home was in a rocky cavern, which was divided into two or three apartments, and in one of these the old man kept his books, which treated of a strange art, much thought of in olden time. It was called magic; and it is said that by this means Prospero had released many good spirits which a bad witch named Sycorax had managed to confine in the hollow trunks of large old trees, just because they would not do the wicked things she commanded.
One of these released spirits had the pretty name of Ariel; a lively little sprite, who, in gratitude to Prospero, was always ready to do his will. But Ariel had a dislike to a monster called Caliban, – the son of wicked Sycorax, – and took great pleasure in tormenting him.
Though Prospero found this ugly Caliban in the woods, and took him home to his cavern, treating him with great kindness, it seemed impossible to teach him anything really useful; so at length he was put to draw water and carry wood, while Ariel watched to see how he executed these duties.
Ariel was such a delicate sprite that no mortal’s eye could perceive him save the eye of Prospero; and thus, when Caliban was lazy, he was not able to see that it was Ariel who would pinch him and tease him, or else take some fantastic shape and tumble in his way, and so vex him, as a punishment for not doing the will of Prospero.
Strange as it may seem, this old man of the island could get the spirits to rouse the winds and the waves at his pleasure. Once, when a violent storm was raging, he showed his daughter Miranda a ship quite full of human beings, whose lives were in peril from the surging waves. “Oh, dear father,” cried the maiden, “if indeed your power has raised this storm, have pity on these poor creatures and calm the wind. If I could, I would rather sink the sea beneath the earth, than have the ship and so many lives destroyed.”
“No person on board the vessel shall be harmed,” said Prospero, soothing her alarm. “I have done this for your sake, Miranda. You wonder – ah! you know not who you are, or whence you came; in fact, you only know that I am your father, and that this cavern is our home. You were scarce three years old when I brought you here; you cannot then remember any previous time?”
“Yes, my father, I can,” replied Miranda.
Then Prospero entreated her to say what remembrance she had of the days of her infancy.
“It is but little,” said the maiden. “It seems indeed like unto a dream, and yet surely there was a time when several women were in attendance on me.”
“That is quite true,” replied Prospero. “How can you recall this? – can it be possible that you remember our coming here?”
“No, I can recall nothing more than I have said, father.”
Upon this Prospero decided that the time had come when he should tell his daughter the story of her life. “Twelve years ago, Miranda,” he began, “I was duke of Milan, and you the heiress of my wealth and a princess. I had a brother younger than myself, to whom I trusted the management of my affairs, little dreaming of his unworthiness. Buried among my books, I neglected all else, and Antonio used this opportunity to gain an influence over my subjects; and then, with the aid of an enemy of mine, the king of Naples, to make himself duke in my place.
“He feared to take our lives by violence, but having forced us on board a vessel, Antonio put out to sea, and then removing us into a smaller boat without sail or mast, left us to what he believed would prove a certain death.
“A lord of my court, by name Gonzalo, had, however, felt some presentiment of danger, and thus had, out of his love for me, taken the precaution of putting food, apparel, and my highly valued books into the boat.”
“Oh, father,” said Miranda, “what a care, what a trouble must I, a little child, have been to you, then!”
“Nay, my child,” replied Prospero, passing his hand fondly over her hair; “not a care, but a comforter, a consoler! I could hardly have borne up under such misfortunes, but for your innocent face and baby tongue. Our food lasted till the boat touched this island; and here my great joy has been to watch over and instruct you.”
“But tell me, father, why this furious storm?” cried Miranda.
“By this storm my cruel brother and the king of Naples are cast ashore upon this island.”
As he spoke these words Prospero touched his daughter with his magic wand, and her eyes closed in sleep.
Just then Ariel came to his master to tell how he had treated the company on board the ship, describing their great alarm, and how the young Ferdinand, son of the king, had leaped into the sea, to the grief of his father, who believed him lost. “But he is not lost,” said Ariel. “He is sitting now in a corner of the island, with not one hair of his head injured; but he is grieving sadly, because he concludes that the king, his father, has been drowned.”
“Bring the young prince hither, Ariel,” said Prospero. “Where is the king, and where my brother Antonio?”
“Searching for Ferdinand,” replied the sprite. “Searching with a very faint hope, for they believe they saw him perish. In fact, although all the ship’s company is safe, each believes himself the only survivor; and even the ship is invisible to them, though it lies in the harbor.”
“Thy duty has been well done,” said Prospero. “There is more work yet for thee, Ariel.”
“More work!” cried the sprite. “But, master, you promised me my liberty; and pray remember I have done you good service. I have made no mistakes, told no lies, neither have I murmured at the commands laid upon me.”
“How now?” said Prospero. “Do you forget from what I freed you? Do you forget Sycorax, the wicked witch? Where was she born? Tell me, Ariel.”
“Sir, she was born in Algiers.”
“Was she?” said Prospero. “Now let me remind you of something which methinks you have forgotten. Sycorax was for her wicked witchcraft banished from Algiers, and left upon this lonely island by some sailors; and because you were not able to obey her commands, she shut you up in a hollow tree. Do you forget that I found you howling there, and set you free?”
Ariel was ashamed of having seemed ungrateful. “Pardon me, dear master,” he said. “I will continue to obey your orders.”
“Do so, and then I shall set you free,” said Prospero; and having received his directions, Ariel went off to where Ferdinand sat upon the grass with a sad countenance.
“Come, young gentleman,” said the sprite. “Come, and let the lady Miranda have a sight of you;” and he began to sing this song, which gave Ferdinand news of his father, and roused him from his silent grief: —
“Full fathom five thy father lies:Of his bones are coral made;Those are pearls that were his eyes:Nothing of him that doth fadeBut doth suffer a sea-changeInto something rich and strange.Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:Hark! now I hear them, – Ding-dong, bell.”Following the sound of Ariel’s sweet voice, Ferdinand found himself in the presence of Prospero and Miranda, who stood under the shade of a large tree.
“O father,” cried the maiden, who had never before seen any human being besides Prospero, “surely this must be a spirit coming towards us?”
“It is a young man who was one of the company in the ship,” said Prospero. “He is in great grief, which somewhat lessens the beauty of his features. Having lost his companions, he is wandering in search of them.”
Ferdinand now saw with amazement and delight the beautiful Miranda, and he began to address her as if she were the goddess of an enchanted island.