« PreviousContinue »
< With the fierce native daring II which instils
< The stirring memory of a thousand years ; [II. v] And Èvan's, Donald's fame || rings , in each clans
man's ears! [x.-) And Ardennes * ! waves above them' her green
Dewy, with nature's tear-drops, -as they páss, [b m.s.]
Grieving,-if aught inanimate' e'er grieves,-
Of living valor | [u] rolling on the fòe, < [u] And burning with high hópe, (x..=] shall moulder !
cold and low. > [ ] Last noon | beheld them full of lusty life, [b] Last éve ll in beauty's circle proudly gày,
< The midnight | brought the signal sound of strife, < The mórn ll the marshalling in arms,--the day 11
< Battle's magnificently stern array ! [x. - ] The thunder-clouds | close ò'er it, which 'when rént,
The earth | is cover'd thick | with other clay, [x.. = ] Which her own clay shall cover, héap'd and pènt, Rider and hòrse,-friend, foe,- in one i red burial
LESSON LIV.--PRUSSIAN BATTLE HYMN.— Translated from
[Marked as Lesson LII.) [x.-) FATHER of éarth ' and hèaven! I call Thy ndme!
Round me the smoke and shout of battle | ròll; [1 ) My eyes I are dàzzled | with the rustling Adme; [x.-) Father, sustdin, an untried soldier's soul. -] Or life, or death, whatever be the goal
That crówns / or closes round I this struggling hour,
Thòu knowest, if ever | from my spirit ' stole! One dèeper práyer, 't was I that no clòud ' might
lower ! On my young fame!--[1.-] Oh! HÈAR! God of eter
nal power ! * Pronounced Arden.
+ The o in this word has no correspondent sound in English : it is nearly, as the French @u.
Gód! Thou art mèrciful. The wintry storm,
To Faith's raised eye | as càlm, as lovely come,
As splendors of the autumnal | evening står, [xx°-] As roses | shaken by the breeze's plūme,
When I like cool incense | comes the dewy áir,
And on the golden wave, the sùn-set búrns afar. [1.-) Gód! Thou art mighty !-At thy footstool bound,
Lie gazing to thée, Chánce, and Life, and Death; < Nor in the Angel-circle | flaming round,
Nor in the million worlds | that blaze benéath,
Wò , in Thy frówn—in Thy smile | victory! [..] Hear my lást prayer !-I ask no mòrtal wreath;
Let but these eyes my rescued country see, [.] Then take my spirit, Ail Omnipotent, to Thèe. [ll ou] Now for the fight !—now for the CÀNNON-PEAL!
FÒRWARD through blood, and toil, and cloud,
The VÒLLEY'S ROLL, the RÒCKET'S BLASTING SPÈRE !
wheel! [1.-] This hour Il to Europe's fate Il shall set the triumph
LESSON LV.-BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.-Mrs. Hemans. [This, and whatever other lessons the teacher thinks proper to select, may be marked, by the reader, as Lesson LII.) The celebrated 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 of Asturias, almost from the time of Bernardo's birth, at last took up arms in despair. The war which he maintained, proved so destructive, that the men of the land gathered round the king, and united in demanding came and went, He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there dismounting
Saldana's liberty. Alfonso accordingly offerec Bernardo immediate possession of his father's person, in exchange tɔr his castle at Carpio. Bernardo, without hesitation, gave up his strong hold, with all his captives, and being assured that his father was then on his way from prison, rode forth with the king to meet him. “And when he saw his father approaching, he exclaimed,” says the ancient chronicle, "Oh! God, is the Count Saldana indeed coming ?" “ Look where he is," replied the cruel king, “and now go and greet him, whom you have so long desired to see.”—The remainder of the story will be found related in the ballad. The chronicles and romances leave us nearly in the dark, as to Bernardo's future history after this event, with the exception of the final interview in which he renounced his allegiance
to the king 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 hue My king is false, my hope betrayed! My father-oh! the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth!
bent, A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he tookWhat 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 noble 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 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 thenTalk 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 his 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,
“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 ihou 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 glassy eyes put light,---be still! keep down thino 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.
LESSON LVI.-WILLIAM KIEFT.-WASHINGTON IRVING.
Wilhelmus Kieft was in form, features, and character, the very reverse of Wouter Van Twiller, his renowned predecessor. He was of very respectable descent, his father being inspector of windmills, in the ancient town of
Saardam; and our hero, we are told, made very curious 5 investigations into the nature and operations of those ma
chines, when a boy, which is one reason why he after-
ruption of Kyver, that is to say, wrangler or scolder, and 10 expressed the hereditary disposition of his family ; which,
for nearly two centuries, had kept the windy town of Saardam in hot water, and produced more tartars and brimstones, than any ten families in the place ;-and so
His name, ap
truly did Wilhelmus Kieft inherit this family endowment, that he had scarcely been a year in the discharge of his government, before he was universally known by the
pellation of WILLIAM, THE Testy. 5 He was a brisk, waspish, little old gentleman, who had
dried and withered away, partly through the natural process of years, and partly from being parched and burnt up by his fiery soul; which blazed like a vehement rushlight
in his bosom, constantly inciting him to most valorous 10 broils, altercations, and misadventures. I have heard it
observed, by a profound and philosophical judge of human nature, that if a woman waxes fat, as she grows old, the tenure of her life is very precarious, but if happily she
withers, she lives forever.- Such likewise was the case 15 with William, the Testy, who grew tougher in pieportion
as he dried. He was some such a little Dutchman, as we may now and then see stumping briskly about the streets of our city, in a broad-skirted coat, with huge buttons, an
old-fashioned cocked hat stuck on the back of his head, 20 and a cane as high as his chin. His visage was broad,
and his features sharp, his nose turned up with the most petulent curl; his cheeks were scorched into a dusky red,
-doubtless in consequence of the neighborhood of two
fierce little gray eyes, through which his torrid soul 25 beamed with tropical fervor. The corners of his mouth
were curiously modelled into a kind of fretwork, not a little resembling the wrinkled proboscis of an irritable pug dog ;-in a word, he was one of the most positive, restless,
ugly, little men, that ever put himself in a passion about 30 nothing.
Such were the personal endowments of William, the Testy; but it was the sterling riches of his mind, that raised him to dignity and power. In his youth, he had
passed, with great credit, through a celebrated academy at 35 the Hague, noted for producing finished scholars, with a
despatch unequalled, except by certain of our American colleges. Here he skirmished very smartly, on the frontiers of several of the sciences, and made so gallant an
inroad in the dead languages, as to bring off captive a 40 host of Greek nouns and Latin verbs, together with divers
pithy saws and apothegms, all which he constantly paraded in conversation and writing, with as much vain-glory as would a triumphant general of yore display the spoils of the countries he had ravaged.