"How they'll greet us!" and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 5 With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. Then I cast loose my buffcoat, each holster let fall, 10 Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is- friends flocking round As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; 15 And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. Ghent: a city of Belgium, more than ninety miles from Aix. Joris : pronounced yo ́ris. – pique (pēk): the pommel of the saddle. Lo'keren, Boom (bōme), Düffeld (düf'fel), Mech ́eln, Aershot (är'skot), Hasselt, Aix (āks), Looz (lōz), Tongres (tongr), Dalhem: towns in Belgium. Roos: pronounced rōz. — croup: hind-quarters. — holster: a case for a pistol. — burgesses: citizens. PEACE AND WAR HENRY WARE Henry Ware (1794-1843) was a New England preacher and writer. Peace Lovely art thou, O Peace! and lovely are thy children, and lovely are the prints of thy footsteps in the green valleys. Blue wreaths of smoke ascend through the trees and 5 betray the half-hidden cottage; the eye contemplates wellthatched ricks and barns bursting with plenty; the peasant laughs at the approach of winter. White houses peep through the trees; cattle stand cooling in the pool; the casement of the farmhouse is covered 10 with jessamine and honeysuckle; the stately greenhouse exhales the perfume of summer climates. Children climb the green mound of the rampart, and ivy holds together the half-demolished buttress. The old men sit at their doors; the gossip leans over 15 her counter; the children shout and frolic in the streets. The housewife's stores of bleached linen, whiter than snow, are laid up with fragrant herbs; they are the pride of the matron, the toil of many a winter's night. The wares of the merchant are spread abroad in the 20 shops or stored in the high-piled warehouses; the labor of each profits all; the inhabitant of the north drinks the fragrant herb of China; the peasant's child wears the webs of Hindustan. Justice is dispensed to all. throne, and the sword is her Law sits steady on her servant. War 5 They have rushed through like a hurricane; like an army of locusts they have devoured the earth; the war has fallen like a waterspout and deluged the land with blood. The smoke rises not through the trees, for the hearth of the cottager is cold; but it rises from villages burned 10 with fire, and from warm ruins spread over the now naked plain. The ear is filled with the confused bellowing of oxen and sad bleating of overdriven sheep; they are swept from their peaceful plains; with shouting and goading 15 are they driven away; the peasant folds his arms and resigns his faithful fellow-laborers; the farmer weeps over his barns consumed by fire, and his demolished roof, and anticipates the driving of the winter snows. On that rising ground, where the green turf looks black 20 with fire, yesterday stood a noble mansion; the owner had said in his heart: "Here will I spend the evening of my days and enjoy the fruit of my years of toil; my name shall descend with mine inheritance, and my children's children shall sport under the trees which I have 25 planted." The fruit of his years of toil is swept away in a moment; wasted, not enjoyed; and the evening of his days is left desolate. Law and order are forgotten; violence and rapine are abroad; the golden cords of society are loosed. Here are the shriek of woe and the cry of anguish ; and there is sup- . 5 pressed indignation bursting the heart with silent despair. Look at that youth; yesterday he bounded as the roebuck; was glowing as the summer fruits; active in sports, strong to labor; he has passed in one moment from youth to age; his comeliness is departed; helplessness is his 10 portion for the days of future years. He is more decrepit than his grandsire on whose head are the snows of eighty winters; but those were the snows of nature; this is the desolation of man. Everything unholy and unclean comes abroad from its 15 lurking place, and deeds of darkness are done beneath the eye of day. The villagers no longer start at horrible sights; the soothing rites of burial are denied, and human bones are tossed by human hands. No one careth for another; every one, hardened by 20 misery, careth for himself alone. Lo! these are what God has set before thee; child of reason! son of woman! unto which does thine heart incline? MILTON THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY THOMAS BABINGTON, LORD MACAULAY (1800-1859) was an English author who was famous as historian, poet, essayist, and statesman. His style is said to possess every excellence, strength, brilliancy, clearness, melody, and elegance. 5 Ariosto tells a pretty story of a fairy, who, by some mysterious law of her nature, was condemned to appear at certain seasons in the form of a foul and poisonous snake. Those who injured her during the period of her disguise were forever excluded from participation in the 10 blessings which she bestowed. But to those who, in spite of her loathsome aspect, pitied and protected her, she afterwards revealed herself in the beautiful and celestial form which was natural to her, accompanied their steps, granted all their wishes, filled their houses with wealth, 15 made them happy in love and victorious in war. Such a spirit is Liberty. At times she takes the form of a hateful reptile. She grovels, she hisses, she stings. But woe to those who in disgust shall venture to crush her! And happy are those who, having dared to receive her in her 20 degraded and frightful shape, shall at length be rewarded by her in the time of her beauty and her glory! There is only one cure for the evils which newly acquired freedom produces; and that cure is freedom. |