But much he doubted if the King His work would note or know, And often with a weary heart He waded to and fro.
One night, as wrapped in sleep he lay, He sudden heard a call,-- "O Christopher, come, carry me!"
He sprang, looked out, but all
Was dark and silent on the sh.o.r.e, "It must be that I dreamed,"
He said, and laid him down again; But instantly there seemed Again the feeble, distant cry,-- "Oh, come and carry me!"
Again he sprang and looked: again No living thing could see.
The third time came the plaintive voice, Like infant"s, soft and weak; With lantern strode the giant forth, More carefully to seek.
Down on the bank a little child He found,--a piteous sight,-- Who weeping, earnestly implored To cross that very night.
With gruff good will he picked him up, And on his neck to ride He tossed him, as men play with babes, And plunged into the tide.
But as the water closed around His knees, the infant"s weight Grew heavier, and heavier, Until it was so great
The giant scarce could stand upright, His staff shook in his hand, His mighty knees bent under him, He barely reached the land.
And, staggering, set the infant down, And turned to scan his face; When, lo! he saw a halo bright Which lit up all the place.
Then Christopher fell down, afraid At marvel of the thing, And dreamed not that it was the face Of Jesus Christ, his King.
Until the infant spoke, and said: "O Christopher, behold!
I am the Lord whom thou hast served, Rise up, be glad and bold!
"For I have seen and noted well, Thy works of charity; And that thou art my servant good A token thou shalt see.
Plant firmly here upon this bank Thy stalwart staff of pine, And it shall blossom and bear fruit, This very hour, in sign."
Then, vanishing, the infant smiled.
The giant, left alone, Saw on the bank, with luscious dates, His stout pine staff bent down.
I think the lesson is as good To-day as it was then-- As good to us called Christians As to the heathen men-- The lesson of Saint Christopher, Who spent his strength for others, And saved his soul by working hard To help and save his brothers!
HELEN HUNT JACKSON
WILLIAM TELL AND HIS SON
The sun already shone brightly as William Tell entered the town of Altorf, and he advanced at once to the public place, where the first object that caught his eyes was a handsome cap, embroidered with gold, stuck upon the end of a long pole. Soldiers were walking around it in silence, and the people of Altorf, as they pa.s.sed, bowed their head to the symbol of authority. The cap had been set up by Gessler, the Austrian commander, for the purpose of discovering those who were not submissive to the Austrian power, which had ruled the people of the Swiss Cantons for a long time with great severity. He suspected that the people were about to break into rebellion, and with a view to learn who were the most discontented, he had placed the ducal cap of Austria on this pole, publicly proclaiming that every one pa.s.sing near, or within sight of it, should bow before it, in proof of his homage to the duke.
Tell was much surprised at this new and strange attempt to humble the people, and, leaning on his cross-bow, gazed scornfully on them and the soldiers. Berenger, captain of the guard, at length observed this man, who alone amidst the cringing crowd carried his head erect. He ordered him to be seized and disarmed by the soldiers, and then conducted him to Gessler, who put some questions to him, which he answered so haughtily that Gessler was both surprised and angry. Suddenly, he was struck by the likeness between him and the boy Walter Tell, whom he had seized and put in prison the previous day for uttering some seditious words; he immediately asked his name, which he no sooner heard than he knew him to be the archer so famous, as the best marksman in the Canton.
Gessler at once resolved to punish both father and son at the same time, by a method which was perhaps the most refined act of torture which man ever imagined. As soon, then, as the youth was brought out, the governor turned to Tell, and said: "I have often heard of thy great skill as an archer, and I now intend to put it to the proof. Thy son shall be placed at a distance of a hundred yards, with an apple on his head. If thou strikest the apple with thy arrow, I will pardon you both; but if thou refusest this trial, thy son shall die before thine eyes."
Tell implored Gessler to spare him so cruel a trial, in which he might perhaps kill his beloved boy with his own hand. The governor would not alter his purpose; so Tell at last agreed to shoot at the apple, as the only chance of saving his son"s life. Walter stood with his back to a linden tree. Gessler, some distance behind, watched every motion. His cross-bow and one arrow were handed to Tell; he tried the point, broke the weapon, and demanded his quiver. It was brought to him and emptied at his feet. He stooped down, and taking a long time to choose an arrow, he managed to hide a second in his girdle.
After being in doubt a long time, his whole soul beaming in his face, his love for his son rendering him almost powerless, he at length roused himself--drew the bow--aimed--shot--and the apple, struck to the core, was carried away by the arrow.
The market-place of Altorf was filled by loud cheers. Walter flew to embrace his father, who, overcome by his emotion, fell fainting to the ground, thus exposing the second arrow to view. Gessler stood over him, awaiting his recovery, which speedily taking place, Tell rose, and turned away from the governor with horror. The latter, however, scarcely yet believing his senses, thus addressed him: "Incomparable archer, I will keep my promise; but what needed you with that second arrow which I see in your girdle?"
Tell replied: "It is the custom of the bowmen of Uri to have always one arrow in reserve."
"Nay, nay," said Gessler, "tell me thy real motive; and, whatever it may have been, speak frankly, and thy life is spared."
"The second shaft," replied Tell, "was to pierce thy heart, tyrant, if I had chanced to harm my son."
CHAMBER"S "Tracts."
A MIDSUMMER SONG
O, father"s gone to market-town, he was up before the day, And Jamie"s after robins, and the man is making hay, And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill, While mother from the kitchen door is calling with a will: "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
O, where"s Polly?"
From all the misty morning air there comes a summer sound-- A murmur as of waters from skies and trees and ground.
The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and coo, And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo: "Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
O, where"s Polly?"
Above the trees the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and boom, And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom.
Within the farmer"s meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows, And down at the edge of the hollow a red and th.o.r.n.y rose.
But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
O, where"s Polly?
How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop its clatter!
The farmer"s wife is listening now and wonders what"s the matter.
O, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill, While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds the mill.
But Polly!--Polly!--The cows are in the corn!
O, where"s Polly?
RICHARD WATSON GILDER
THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW
On every side death stared us in the face; no human skill could avert it any longer. We saw the moment approach when we must bid farewell to earth, yet without feeling that unutterable horror which must have been experienced by the unhappy victims at Cawnpore. We were resolved rather to die than yield, and were fully persuaded that in twenty-four hours all would be over. The engineer had said so, and all knew the worst. We women strove to encourage each other, and to perform the light duties which had been a.s.signed to us, such as conveying orders to the batteries, and supplying the men with provisions, especially cups of coffee, which we prepared day and night.
I had gone out to try to make myself useful, in company with Jessie Brown, the wife of a corporal in my husband"s regiment. Poor Jessie had been in a state of restless excitement all through the siege, and had fallen away visibly within the last few days. A constant fever consumed her, and her mind wandered occasionally, especially that day when the recollections of home seemed powerfully present to her. At last, overcome with fatigue, she lay down on the ground, wrapped up in her plaid. I sat beside her, promising to awaken her when, as she said, her "father should return from the ploughing."
She fell at length into a profound slumber, motionless and apparently breathless, her head resting in my lap. I myself could no longer resist the inclination to sleep, in spite of the continual roar of the cannon.
Suddenly I was aroused by a wild, unearthly scream close to my ear; my companion stood upright beside me, her arms raised, and her head bent forward in the att.i.tude of listening.
A look of intense delight broke over her countenance. She grasped my hand, drew me toward her, and exclaimed: "Dinna ye hear it? dinna ye hear it? Aye. I"m no dreaming: it"s the slogan o" the Highlanders!
We"re saved! we"re saved!" Then, flinging herself on her knees, she thanked G.o.d with pa.s.sionate fervour.
I felt utterly bewildered; my English ears heard only the roar of artillery, and I thought my poor Jessie was still raving, but she darted to the batteries, and I heard her cry incessantly to the men: "Courage!