CXII. THE GREAT VOICES.
Charles T. Brooks (b. 1813, d. 1833)[1] was born at Salem, Ma.s.s., and was the valedictorian of his cla.s.s at Harvard College, where he graduated in 1832. He shortly afterwards entered the ministry, and had charge of a congregation at Newport, R.I. He was a great student of German literature, and began his own literary career by a translations of Schiller"s "William Tell." This was followed by numerous translations from the German, mainly poetry, which have been published from time to time, in several volumes.
Of these translations, Goethe"s "Faust," Richter"s "t.i.tan" and "Hesperus,"
and a humorous poem by Dr. Karl Arnold Kortum, "The Life, Opinions, Actions, and Fate of Hieronimus Jobs, the Candidate," deserve especial mention. Mr. Brooks also published a number of original poems, addresses, etc.
[Transcriber"s Note 1: The correct dates are June, 20 1813 to June 14, 1883.]
1. A voice from the sea to the mountains, From the mountains again to the sea; A call from the deep to the fountains,-- "O spirit! be glad and be free."
2. A cry from the floods to the fountains; And the torrents repeat the glad song As they leap from the breast of the mountains,-- "O spirit! be free and be strong."
3. The pine forests thrill with emotion Of praise, as the spirit sweeps by: With a voice like the murmur of ocean To the soul of the listener they cry.
4. Oh! sing, human heart, like the fountains, With joy reverential and free, Contented and calm as the mountains, And deep as the woods and the sea.
CXIII. A PICTURE OF HUMAN LIFE.
Samuel Johnson (b. 1709, d. 1784). This remarkable man was born in Lichfield, Staffordshire, England. He was the son of a bookseller and stationer. He entered Pembroke College, Oxford, in 1728; but his poverty compelled him to leave at the end of three years. Soon after his marriage, in 1736, he opened a private school, but obtained only three pupils, one of whom was David Garrick, afterwards a celebrated actor. In 1737, he removed to London, where he resided most of the rest of his life. The most noted of his numerous literary works are his "Dictionary," the first one of the English language worthy of mention, "The Vanity of Human Wishes," a poem, "The Rambler," "Ra.s.selas," "The Lives of the English Poets," and his edition of Shakespeare. An annual pension of 300 pounds was granted him in 1762.
In person, Johnson was heavy and awkward; in manner, boorish and overbearing; but his learning and his great powers caused his company to be sought by many eminent men.
1. Obidah, the son of Abnesina, left the caravansary early in the morning, and pursued his journey through the plains of Hindostan. He was fresh and vigorous with rest; he was animated with hope; he was incited by desire; he walked swiftly forward over the valleys, and saw the hills gradually rising before him.
2. As he pa.s.sed along, his ears were delighted with the morning song of the bird of paradise; he was fanned by the last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with dew by groves of spices; he sometimes contemplated towering height of the oak, monarch of the hills; and sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, eldest daughter of the spring; all his senses were gratified, and all care was banished from his heart.
3. Thus he went on, till the sun approached his meridian, and the increasing heat preyed upon his strength; he then looked round about him for some more commodious path. He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed to wave its shades as a sign of invitation; he entered it, and found the coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. He did not, however, forget whither he was traveling, but found a narrow way, bordered with flowers, which appeared to have the same direction with the main road, and was pleased, that, by this happy experiment, he had found means to unite pleasure with business, and to gain the rewards of diligence without suffering its fatigues.
4. He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, without the least remission of his ardor, except that he was sometimes tempted to stop by the music of the birds, which the heat had a.s.sembled in the shade, and sometimes amused himself with picking the flowers that covered the banks on each side, or the fruits that hung upon the branches. At last, the green path began to decline from its first tendency, and to wind among the hills and thickets, cooled with fountains, and murmuring with waterfalls.
5. Here Obidah paused for a time, and began to consider whether it was longer safe to forsake the known and common track; but, remembering that the heat was now in its greatest violence, and that the plain was dusty and uneven, he resolved to pursue the new path, which he supposed only to make a few meanders, in compliance with the garieties of the ground, and to end at last in the common road.
6. Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, though he suspected he was not gaining ground. This uneasiness of his mind inclined him to lay hold on every new object, and give way to every sensation that might soothe or divert him. He listened to every echo, he mounted every hill for a fresh prospect, he turned aside to every cascade, and pleased himself with tracing the course of a gentle river that rolled among the trees, and watered a large region, with innumerable circ.u.mvolutions.
7. In these amus.e.m.e.nts, the hours pa.s.sed away uncounted; his deviations had perplexed his memory, and he knew not toward what point to travel. He stood pensive and confused, afraid to go forward lest he should go wrong, yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. While he was thus tortured with uncertainty, the sky was overspread with clouds, the day vanished from before him, and a sudden tempest gathered round his head.
8. He was now roused by his danger to a quick and painful remembrance of his folly; he now saw how happiness is lost when ease is consulted; he lamented the unmanly impatience that prompted him to seek shelter in the grove, and despised the petty curiosity that led him on from trifle to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew blacker and a clap of thunder broke his meditation.
9. He now resolved to do what remained yet in his power; to tread back the ground which he had pa.s.sed, and try to find some issue where the wood might open into the plain. He prostrated himself upon the ground, and commended his life to the Lord of nature. He rose with confidence and tranquillity, and pressed on with his saber in his hand; for the beasts of the desert were in motion, and on every hand were heard the mingled howls of rage, and fear, and ravage, and expiration; all the horrors of darkness and solitude surrounded him; the winds roared in the woods, and the torrents tumbled from the hills.
10. Thus, forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the wild without knowing whither he was going or whether he was every moment drawing nearer to safety or to destruction. At length, not fear but labor began to overcome him; his breath grew short, and his knees trembled, and he was on the point of lying down, in resignation to his fate, when he beheld, through the brambles, the glimmer of a taper. He advanced toward the light, and finding that it proceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he called humbly at the door, and obtained admission. The old man set before him such provisions as he had collected for himself, on which Obidah fed with eagerness and grat.i.tude.
11. When the repast was over, "Tell me," said the hermit, "by what chance thou hast been brought hither; I have been now twenty years an inhabitant of this wilderness, in which I never saw a man before." Obidah then related the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment or palliation.
12. "Son," said the hermit, "let the errors and follies, the dangers and escapes, of this day, sink deep into your heart. Remember, my son, that human life is the journey of a day. We rise in the morning of youth, full of vigor, and full of expectation; we set forward with spirit and hope, with gayety and with diligence, and travel on awhile in the straight road of piety toward the mansions of rest. In a short time we remit our fervor, and endeavor to find some mitigation of our duty, and some more easy means of obtaining the same end.
13. "We then relax our vigor, and resolve no longer to be terrified with crimes at a distance, but rely upon our own constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve never to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose in the shades of security. Here the heart softens, and vigilance subsides; we are then willing to inquire whether another advance can not be made, and whether we may not at least turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. We approach them with scruple and hesitation; we enter them, but enter timorous and trembling, and always hope to pa.s.s through them without losing the road of virtue, which we for a while keep in our sight, and to which we propose to return.
14. "But temptation succeeds temptation, and one compliance prepares us for another; we, in time, lose the happiness of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual gratifications. By degrees we let fall the remembrance of our original intention, and quit the only adequate object of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in business, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the labyrinths of inconstancy till the darkness of old age begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obstruct our way. We then look back upon our lives with horror, with sorrow, and with repentance; and wish, but too often vainly wish, that we had not forsaken the paths of virtue.
15. "Happy are they, my son, who shall learn, from thy example, not to despair, but shall remember that though the day is past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one effort to be made; that reformation is never hopeless, nor sincere endeavors ever una.s.sisted; that the wanderer may at length return after all his errors; and that he who implores strength and courage from above, shall find danger and difficulty give way before him. Go now, my son, to thy repose: commit thyself to the care of Omnipotence; and when the morning calls again to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life."
DEFINITIONS.--1. Car-a-van sa-ry, a kind of inn in the East, where caravans (or large companies of traders) rest at night. 5. Me-an"ders, windings, turnings. 6. Cir-c.u.m-vo-lu"tions, windings or flowings around.
7. De-vi-a"tions, wanderins from one"s course. 9. Ex-pi-ra"tion, death.
11. Pal-li-a"tion, concealment of the most blamable circ.u.mstances of an offence. 12. Mit-i-ga"tion, abatement, the act of rendering less severe.
14. Ad"e-quate, fully sufficient. Lab"y-rinth, a place full of winding pa.s.sages.
CXIV. A SUMMER LONGING.
George Arnold (b. 1834, d. 1865) was born in New York, but removed with his parents to Illinois while yet an infant. There he pa.s.sed his boyhood, being educated at home by his parents. In 1849 the family again removed to Strawberry Farms, Monmouth County, N.J. When eighteen years old he began to study painting, but soon gave up the art and devoted himself to literature. He became a journalist of New York City, and his productions include almost every variety of writings found in the literary magazines.
After his death, two volumes of his poems, "Drift: a Seash.o.r.e Idyl," and "Poems, Grave and Gay," were edited by Mr. William Winter.
1. I must away to the wooded hills and vales, Where broad, slow streams flow cool and silently And idle barges flap their listless sails.
For me the summer sunset glows and pales, And green fields wait for me.
2. I long for shadowy founts, where the birds Twitter and chirp at noon from every tree; I long for blossomed leaves and lowing herds; And Nature"s voices say in mystic words, "The green fields wait for thee."
3. I dream of uplands, where the primrose shines And waves her yellow lamps above the lea; Of tangled copses, swung with trailing vines; Of open vistas, skirted with tall pines, Where green fields wait for me.
4. I think of long, sweet afternoons, when I May lie and listen to the distant sea, Or hear the breezes in the reeds that sigh, Or insect voices chirping shrill and dry, In fields that wait for me.
5. These dreams of summer come to bid me find The forest"s shade, the wild bird"s melody, While summer"s rosy wreaths for me are twined, While summer"s fragrance lingers on the wind, And green fields wait for me.
CXV. FATE.
Francis Bret Harte (b. 1839,--) was born in Albany, N.Y. When seventeen years old he went to California, where he engaged in various employments.
He was a teacher, was employed in government offices, worked in the gold mines, and learned to be a compositor in a printing office. In 1868 he started the "Overland Monthly," and his original and characteristic poems and sketches soon made it a popular magazine. Mr. Harte has been a contributor to some of the leading periodicals of the country, but princ.i.p.ally to the "Atlantic Monthly."
1. "The sky is clouded, the rocks are bare; The spray of the tempest is white in air; The winds are out with the waves at play, And I shall not tempt the sea to-day.
2. "The trail is narrow, the wood is dim, The panther clings to the arching limb; And the lion"s whelps are abroad at play, And I shall not join in the chase to-day."
3. But the ship sailed safely over the sea, And the hunters came from the chase in glee; And the town that was builded upon a rock Was swallowed up in the earthquake shock.
CXVI. THE BIBLE THE BEST OF CLa.s.sICS.
Thomas S. Grimke (b. 1786, d. 1834). This eminent lawyer and scholar was born in Charleston, S.C. He graduated at Yale College in 1807. He gained considerable reputation as a politician, but is best known as an advocate of peace, Sunday schools, and the Bible. He was a man of deep feeling, earnest purpose, and pure life.
1. There is a cla.s.sic the best the world has ever seen, the n.o.blest that has ever honored and dignified the language of mortals. If we look into its antiquity, we discover a t.i.tle to our veneration unrivaled in the history of literature. If we have respect to its evidences, they are found in the testimony of miracle and prophecy; in the ministry of man, of nature, and of angels, yea, even of "G.o.d, manifest in the flesh," of "G.o.d blessed forever."