By his cart"s side the wagoner Is slouching slowly at his ease, Half-hidden in the windless blur Of white dust puffing to his knees.

This wagon on the height above, From sky to sky on either hand, Is the sole thing that seems to move In all the heat-held land.

Beyond me in the fields the sun Soaks in the gra.s.s and hath his will; I count the marguerites one by one; Even the b.u.t.tercups are still.

On the brook yonder not a breath Disturbs the spider or the midge.

The water-bugs draw close beneath The cool gloom of the bridge.

Where the far elm-tree shadows flood Dark patches in the burning gra.s.s, The cows, each with her peaceful cud, Lie waiting for the heat to pa.s.s.

From somewhere on the slope near by Into the pale depths of the noon A wandering thrush slides leisurely His thin revolving tune.

In intervals of dreams I hear The cricket from the droughty ground; The gra.s.shoppers spin into mine ear A small innumerable sound.

I lift mine eyes sometimes to gaze: The burning sky-line blinds my sight: The woods far off are blue with haze: The hills are drenched in light.

And yet to me not this or that Is always sharp or always sweet; In the sloped shadow of my hat I lean at rest, and drain the heat; Nay more, I think some blessed power Hath brought me wandering idly here: In the full furnace of this hour My thoughts grow keen and clear.

Archibald Lampman

THE TWO PATHS

Hear, O my son, and receive my sayings; And the years of thy life shall be many.

I have taught thee in the way of wisdom; I have led thee in paths of uprightness.

When thou goest, thy steps shall not be straitened; And if thou runnest, thou shalt not stumble.

Take fast hold of instruction; Let her not go: Keep her; For she is thy life.

Enter not into the Path of the Wicked, And walk not in the way of evil men.

Avoid it, Pa.s.s not by it; Turn from it, And pa.s.s on.

For they sleep not, except they have done mischief; And their sleep is taken away, unless they cause some to fall.

For they eat the bread of wickedness, And drink the wine of violence.

But the Path of the Righteous is as the light of dawn, That shineth more and more unto the perfect day.

The way of the wicked is as darkness: They know not at what they stumble.

Proverbs, IV.

BERNARDO DEL CARPIO

(The Spanish champion, Bernardo del Carpio, having made many ineffectual efforts to procure the release of his father, the Count Saldana, who had been imprisoned by King Alfonso, at last took up arms. The war proved so destructive that the people demanded of the King, Saldana"s liberty.

Alfonso offered Bernardo possession of his father"s person in exchange for his castle. Bernardo accepted the offer, gave up his castle, and rode forth with the king to meet his father.)

The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire: "I bring thee here my fortress keys, I bring my captive train, I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord!--oh, break my father"s chain!"

"Rise, rise! even now thy father comes a ransomed man this day: Mount thy good horse, and thou and I will meet him on his way."

Then lightly rose that loyal son, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger"s foamy speed.

And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, With one that midst them stately rode, as a leader in the land; "Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see."

His dark eye flashed, his proud breast heaved, his cheek"s blood came and went, He reached that gray-haired chieftain"s side, and there, dismounting, bent: A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father"s hand he took,-- What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook?

That hand was cold--a frozen thing--it dropped from his like lead: He looked up to the face above--the face was of the dead!

A plume waved o"er the n.o.ble brow--the brow was fixed and white; He met at last his father"s eyes--but in them was no sight!

Up from the ground he sprang, and gazed, but who could paint that gaze?

They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze; They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood, For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood.

"Father!" at length he murmured low, and wept like childhood, then-- Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears of warlike men!-- He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown,-- He flung the falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down.

Then, covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow, "No more, there is no more," he said, "to lift the sword for now.

My king is false, my hope betrayed, my father--oh! the worth, The glory and the loveliness, are pa.s.sed away from earth!

"I thought to stand where banners waved, my sire! beside thee yet-- I would that _there_ our kindred blood on Spain"s free soil had met!

Thou wouldst have known my spirit then--for thee my fields were won,-- And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son!"

Then, starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch"s rein, Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train; And with a fierce, o"ermastering grasp, the rearing war-horse led, And sternly set them face to face--the king before the dead!--

"Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father"s hand to kiss?-- Be still, and gaze thou on, false king!

and tell me what is this!

The voice, the glance, the heart I sought--give answer, where are they?-- If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay!

"Into these gla.s.sy eyes put light--be still! keep down thine ire,-- Bid these white lips a blessing speak--this earth is _not_ my sire!

Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed,-- Thou canst not--and a king! His dust be mountains on thy head!"

He loosed the steed; his slack hand fell--upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look--then turned from that sad place: His hope was crushed, his after-fate untold in martial strain,-- His banner led the spears no more amidst the hills of Spain.

Felicia Hemans

--To thine own self be true; And it must follow, as the night the day, Thou canst not then be false to any man.

Shakespeare

MOSES" BARGAINS

"My second boy, Moses, whom I designed for business," says the vicar, "received a sort of miscellaneous education at home."

As we were now to hold up our heads a little higher in the world, it would be proper to sell the colt, which was grown old, at a neighbouring fair, and buy us a horse that would carry single or double upon an occasion, and make a pretty appearance at church or upon a visit. This at first I opposed stoutly; but it was as stoutly defended. However, as I weakened, my antagonists gained strength, till at last it was resolved to part with him.