Part 18 (1/2)

”And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win.”

”But what good came of it at last?”

Quoth little Peterkin.

”Why, that I cannot tell,” said he, ”But 'twas a famous victory.”

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

FIDELITY.

”Fidelity,” by William Wordsworth (1770-1850), is placed here out of respect to a boy of eleven years who liked the poem well enough to recite it frequently. The scene is laid on Helvellyn, to me the most impressive mountain of the Lake District of England. Wordsworth is a part of this country. I once heard John Burroughs say: ”I went to the Lake District to see what kind of a country it could be that would produce a Wordsworth.”

A barking sound the Shepherd hears, A cry as of a dog or fox; He halts--and searches with his eyes Among the scattered rocks; And now at distance can discern A stirring in a brake of fern; And instantly a Dog is seen, Glancing through that covert green.

The Dog is not of mountain breed; Its motions, too, are wild and shy; With something, as the Shepherd thinks, Unusual in its cry: Nor is there any one in sight All round, in hollow or on height; Nor shout, nor whistle strikes his ear; What is the Creature doing here?

It was a cove, a huge recess, That keeps, till June, December's snow.

A lofty precipice in front, A silent tarn below!

Far in the bosom of Helvellyn, Remote from public road or dwelling, Pathway, or cultivated land; From trace of human foot or hand.

There sometimes doth a leaping fish Send through the tarn a lonely cheer; The crags repeat the raven's croak, In symphony austere; Thither the rainbow comes--the cloud-- And mists that spread the flying shroud; And sunbeams; and the sounding blast, That, if it could, would hurry past, But that enormous barrier binds it fast.

Not free from boding thoughts, a while The Shepherd stood: then makes his way Toward the Dog, o'er rocks and stones, As quickly as he may; Nor far had gone, before he found A human skeleton on the ground; The appalled discoverer with a sigh Looks round, to learn the history.

From those abrupt and perilous rocks The Man had fallen, that place of fear!

At length upon the Shepherd's mind It breaks, and all is clear: He instantly recalled the name, And who he was, and whence he came; Remembered, too, the very day On which the traveller pa.s.sed this way.

But hear a wonder, for whose sake This lamentable tale I tell!

A lasting monument of words This wonder merits well.

The Dog, which still was hovering nigh, Repeating the same timid cry, This Dog had been through three months s.p.a.ce A dweller in that savage place.

Yes, proof was plain that, since the day When this ill-fated traveller died, The Dog had watched about the spot, Or by his master's side: How nourished here through such long time He knows, who gave that love sublime; And gave that strength of feeling, great Above all human estimate.

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

People are more and more coming to recognise the fact that each individual soul has a right to its own stages of development. ”The Chambered Nautilus” is for that reason beloved of the ma.s.ses. It is one of the grandest poems ever written. ”Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul!” This line alone would make the poem immortal. (1809-94.)

This is the s.h.i.+p of pearl, which, poets feign, Sailed the unshadowed main,-- The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wrecked is the s.h.i.+p of pearl!

And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing sh.e.l.l, Before thee lies revealed,-- Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his l.u.s.trous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its s.h.i.+ning archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn!

From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!

While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:--