On thy bald, awful head, O sovereign Blanc !!
The Arve and Arveiron 2 at thy base
Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form,
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently! Around thee, and above,
Deep is the air and dark, substantial black,
An ebon mass: methinks thou piercest it
As with a wedge. But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity.
O dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought; entranced in praycr I worshipped the invisible alone.
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
So sweet we know not we are listening to it,
Thou the meanwhile wast blending with my thought,
Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy;
Till the dilating soul, enrapt, transfused,
Into the mighty vision passing-there,
As in her natural form, swelled vast to heaven.
Awake, my soul! not only passive praise
Thou owest! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy! Awake,
Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake!
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the vale!
O struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink :
Companion of the morning star at dawn,
1 Blanc, the highest mountain in Europe, 15,700 feet.
2 Arve and Arveiron, torrents which rise in Mont Blanc.
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald wake, O wake, and utter praise !
Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth?
Who fill'd thy countenance with rosy light?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents1 fiercely glad!
Who call'd you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns call'd you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
For ever shatter'd and the same for ever?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder and eternal foam ?
And who commanded-and the silence came-
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest'?
Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain—
Torrents methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopp'd at once amid their maddest plunge!
Motionless torrents! 2 silent cataracts!
Who made you glorious as the gates of heaven,
Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue, spread garments at your feet?-
God!-let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer; and let the ice-plains echo, God!
God! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice!
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds!
1 Five wild torrents. 'Besides the rivers Arvë and Arveiron, which rise in Mont Blanc, five other torrents dash down its sides.'
2 Motionless torrents, glaciers, or masses of ice, which form in the slopes of lofty mountains, and which never melt. Those in the Alps are well known, the one in the vale of Chamouni being the most remarkable.
And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder-God!
THE SCHOOLBOY AND THE ORCHARD. (COWPER.)
A YOUNGSTER at school, more sedate than the rest,
Had once his integrity put to the test :
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And asked him to go and assist in the job.
He was shocked and annoyed, and answered-'Oh no!
What, rob our poor neighbour! I pray you don't go;
Besides, the man's poor, his orchard's his bread;
Then think of his children, for they must be fed.'
'You speak very fine and you look very grave,
But apples we want and apples we'll have;
If
you will go with us, we'll give you a share If not you shall neither have apple nor pear.'
They spoke, and Tom pondered-'I see they will go : Poor man! what a pity to injure him so !
Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could, But staying behind will do him no good.
'If the matter depended alone upon me,
His apples might hang till they dropped from the
But since they will take them, I think I'll go too; He will lose none by me though I get a few.'
His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease, And went with his comrades the apples to seize ; He blamed and protested, but joined in the plan : He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man.
MARK ANTONY'S ORATION OVER THE
DEAD BODY OF CÆSAR.
(SHAKESPEARE.)
FRIENDS, Romans, countrymen ! lend me your ears.
I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him.
The evil that men do lives after them,
The good is oft interred with their bones;
So let it be with Cæsar! Noble Brutus
Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious;
If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cæsar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus and the rcst-
For Brutus is an honourable man;
So are they all, all honourable men—
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me ;
But Brutus says he was ambitious :
And Brutus is an honourable man.
He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill;
Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?
When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff!
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And Brutus is an honourable man.
You all did see that, on the Lupercal,1
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse.
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious;
And, sure, he is an honourable man.
I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke;
But here I am to speak what I do know.
You all did love him once, not without cause:
What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?
O judgment thou art fled to brutish beasts,
And men have lost their reason! Bear with me:
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.
1 Lupercal, an annual festival.
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