Charles Herbert Sylvester.

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Transcriber's Note

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. A list of changes is
found at the end of the book. Oe ligatures have been expanded.




[Illustration: THE CANOE RACE]




Journeys
Through Bookland


A NEW AND ORIGINAL
PLAN FOR READING APPLIED TO THE
WORLD'S BEST LITERATURE
FOR CHILDREN

_BY_
CHARLES H. SYLVESTER
_Author of English and American Literature_


VOLUME SEVEN
_New Edition_

[Illustration]

Chicago
BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY
PUBLISHERS




Copyright, 1922
BELLOWS-REEVE COMPANY




CONTENTS


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

PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES 487

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




ILLUSTRATIONS


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




THE DAFFODILS

_By_ WILLIAM WORDSWORTH


I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd, -
A host of golden daffodils
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I, at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Outdid the sparkling waves in glee;
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company;
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.

For oft, when on my couch I lie,
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

[Illustration: A HOST OF GOLDEN DAFFODILS]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN

_By_ WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT


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

[Illustration]

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

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

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

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




TO A MOUSE

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

_By_ ROBERT BURNS


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

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

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

[Illustration: THOU NEED NA START AWA]

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

[5-1] _Sleekit_ means _sly_.

[5-2] _Brattle_ means a short race.

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

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

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

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

[7-7] _Foggage_ is coarse uncut grass.

[7-8] _Snell_ means _sharp_.

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

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

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

[7-12] _Cranreuch_ is hoar-frost.

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

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

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


[Illustration: ROBERT BURNS
1759-1796]




TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY

ON TURNING ONE DOWN WITH THE PLOUGH IN APRIL, 1786

_By_ ROBERT BURNS


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

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

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

[Illustration: THOU BONNY GEM]

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

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

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

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

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

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

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

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

[9-4] _Bield_ means _shelter_.

[9-5] _Histie_ means _dry_ or _barren_.




THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET[11-1]

_By_ SAMUEL WOODWORTH


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

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

[Illustration: INCLINED TO MY LIPS]

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


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

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

How dear´| to my heart´| are the scenes´| of my child´|hood,
When fond´| rec-ol-lec´|tion pre-sents´| them to view';
The or´|chard, the mead´|ow, the deep´| tan-gled wild´|-wood,
And ev´|'ry loved spot´| that my in´|fan-cy knew.´

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

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


FOOTNOTES:

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



Online LibraryCharles Herbert SylvesterJourneys Through Bookland, Vol. 7 → online text (page 1 of 29)