Part 13
From Bleymard after dinner, although it was already late, I set out to scale a portion of the Lozère. An ill-marked stony droveroad guided me forward; and I met nearly half a dozen bullock carts descending from the woods, each laden with a whole pine tree for the winter's firing. 5 At the top of the woods, which do not climb very high upon this cold ridge, I struck leftward by a path among the pines, until I hit on a dell of green turf, where a streamlet made a little spout over some stones to serve me for a water tap. "In a more sacred or sequestered bower . . . nor 10 nymph, nor faunus, haunted." The trees were not old, but they grew thickly round the glade; there was no outlook, except northeastward upon distant hilltops or straight upward to the sky; and the encampment felt secure and private like a room. By the time I had made my arrangements 15 and fed Modestine, the day was already beginning to decline. I buckled myself to the knees into my sack and made a hearty meal; and as soon as the sun went down, I pulled my cap over my eyes and fell asleep.
Night is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but in the open world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews and perfumes, and the hours are marked by changes in the face of Nature. What seems a kind of temporal death to people choked between walls and curtains, is only a light 5 and living slumber to the man who sleeps afield. All night long he can hear Nature breathing deeply and freely; even as she takes her rest, she turns and smiles; and there is one stirring hour unknown to those who dwell in houses, when a wakeful influence goes abroad over the sleeping 10 hemisphere, and all the outdoor world are on their feet. It is then that the cock first crows, not this time to announce the dawn, but like a cheerful watchman speeding the course of the night. Cattle awake on the meadows; sheep break their fast on dewy hillsides, and change to a new lair among 15 the ferns; and houseless men, who have lain down with the fowls, open their dim eyes and behold the beauty of the night.
At what inaudible summons, at what gentle touch of Nature, are all these sleepers thus recalled in the same hour 20 to life? Do the stars rain down an influence, or do we share some thrill of mother earth below our resting bodies? Even shepherds and old country folk, who are the deepest read in these arcana, have not a guess as to the means or purpose of this nightly resurrection. Towards two in the 25 morning, they declare the thing takes place; and neither know nor inquire further. And at least it is a pleasant incident. We are disturbed in our slumber only, like the luxurious Montaigne, "that we may the better and more sensibly relish it." We have a moment to look upon the 30 stars, and there is a special pleasure for some minds in the reflection that we share the impulse with all outdoor creatures in our neighborhood, that we have escaped out of the Bastille of civilization, and are become, for the time being, a mere kindly animal and a sheep of Nature's flock.
When that hour came to me among the pines, I wakened thirsty. My tin was standing by me, half full of water. 5 I emptied it at a draft. The stars were clear, colored and jewellike, but not frosty. A faint silvery vapor stood for the Milky Way. All around me the black fir points stood upright and stock-still. By the whiteness of the packsaddle, I could see Modestine walking round and round at the 10 length of the tether; I could hear her steadily munching at the sward; but there was not another sound, save the indescribable quiet talk of the runnel over the stones. I lay lazily smoking and studying the color of the sky, as we call the void of space, from where it showed a reddish 15 gray behind the pines to where it showed a glossy blue-black between the stars.
A faint wind, more like a moving coolness than a stream of air, passed down the glade from time to time; so that even in my great chamber the air was being renewed all 20 night long. I have not often enjoyed a more serene possession of myself, nor felt more independent of material aids. The outer world, from which we cower into our houses, seemed after all a gentle, habitable place; and night after night a man's bed, it seemed, was laid and waiting for him in the 25 fields, where God keeps an open house. I thought I had rediscovered one of those truths which are revealed to savages and hid from political economists: at the least, I had discovered a new pleasure for myself. And yet even while I was exulting in my solitude I became aware of a 30 strange lack. I wished a companion to lie near me in the starlight, silent and not moving, but ever within touch. For there is a fellowship more quiet even than solitude, and which, rightly understood, is solitude made perfect.
As I thus lay, between content and longing, a faint noise stole towards me through the pines. I thought, at first, it was the crowing of cocks or the barking of dogs at 5 some very distant farm; but steadily and gradually it took articulate shape in my ears, until I became aware that a passenger was going by upon the highroad of the valley and singing loudly as he went. There was more of good will than grace in his performance; but he trolled with ample 10 lungs; and the sound of his voice took hold upon the hillside and set the air shaking in the leafy glens. I have heard people passing by night in sleeping cities; some of them sang; one, I remember, played loudly on the bagpipes. I have heard the rattle of a cart or carriage spring 15 up suddenly after hours of stillness and pass, for some minutes, within the range of my hearing as I lay abed. There is a romance about all who are abroad in the black hours, and with something of a thrill we try to guess their business. But here the romance was double: first, this 20 glad passenger, who sent up his voice in music through the night; and then I, on the other hand, buckled into my sack, and smoking alone in the pine woods between four and five thousand feet towards the stars.
When I awoke again (Sunday, 29th September) many of 25 the stars had disappeared, only the stronger companions of the night still burned visibly overhead; and away towards the east I saw a faint haze of light upon the horizon, such as had been the Milky Way when I was last awake. Day was at hand. I lit my lantern, and by its glowworm 30 light put on my boots and gaiters; then I broke up some bread for Modestine, filled my can at the water tap, and lit my spirit lamp to boil myself some chocolate. The blue darkness lay long in the glade where I had so sweetly slumbered; but soon there was a broad streak of orange melting into gold along the mountain top of Vivarais. A solemn glee possessed my mind at this gradual and lovely 5 coming in of day. I heard the runnel with delight; I looked round me for something beautiful and unexpected; but the still black pine trees, the hollow glade, the munching ass, remained unchanged in figure. Nothing had altered but the light, and that, indeed, shed over all a 10 spirit of life and of breathing peace, and moved me to a strange exhilaration.
I drank my water chocolate, which was hot if it was not rich, and strolled here and there, and up and down about the glade. While I was thus delaying, a gush of steady 15 wind, as long as a heavy sigh, poured direct out of the quarter of the morning. It was cold and set me sneezing. The trees near at hand tossed their black plumes in its passage; and I could see the thin, distant spires of pines along the edge of the hill, rock slightly to and fro against the 20 golden east. Ten minutes after, the sunlight spread at a gallop along the hillside, scattering shadows and sparkles, and the day had come completely.
I hastened to prepare my pack, and tackle the steep ascent that lay before me; but I had something on my 25 mind. It was only a fancy; yet a fancy will sometimes be importunate. I had been most hospitably received and punctually served in my green caravansary. The room was airy, the water excellent, and the dawn had called me to a moment. I say nothing of the tapestries or the inimitable 30 ceiling, nor yet of the view which I commanded from the windows; but I felt I was in some one's debt for all this liberal entertainment. And so it pleased me, in a half-laughing way, to leave pieces of money on the turf as I went along, until I had left enough for my night's lodging. I trust they did not fall to some rich and churlish drover. 5
--_Travels with a Donkey._
1. What did Stevenson _see_ during the night? What did he _hear_? How did he _feel_? The details are not unlike those in _Robinson Crusoe_.
2. Re-read the first paragraph, page 178, and tell what its chief idea is. Select the paragraph in which the description is clearest to you. Read it aloud. Observe how the simple words are arranged to make pictures and to produce rhythm. Stevenson rewrote many times to get this easy clearness.
3. If you have ever slept out of doors what impressed you most? What sounds did Stevenson probably fail to hear? Was he a naturalist?
4. Stevenson was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1850. He belonged to a family of civil engineers. His health was always poor, so he traveled a great deal. He went to France and to Switzerland. He came to America and spent some time in the Adirondacks. Finally he settled on an island far out in the Pacific Ocean, where he lived till his death, in 1894. In spite of his poor health, he was a busy writer of novels, essays, short stories, and verse.
AUTUMN ON THE FARM
BY JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER
This is a poetic description of an old-fashioned autumn scene on a England farm. The huskers in the field merely jerked the ear of corn from its stalk, leaving the husk on the ear. The husks were afterwards removed in the barn at a big husking bee or picnic, in which the neighbors took part. Read the poem for its pictures.
It was late in mild October, And the long autumnal rain Had left the summer harvest fields All green with grass again; The first sharp frosts had fallen, 5 Leaving all the woodlands gay With the hues of summer's rainbow Or the meadow flowers of May.
Through a thin, dry mist, that morning, The sun rose broad and red; 10 At first a rayless disk of fire, He brightened as he sped; Yet even his noontide glory Fell chastened and subdued On the cornfields and the orchards 15 And softly pictured wood.
And all that quiet afternoon, Slow sloping to the night, He wove with golden shuttle The haze with yellow light; 20
Slanting through the painted beeches, He glorified the hill; And beneath it pond and meadow Lay brighter, greener still.
And shouting boys in woodland haunts 5 Caught glimpses of that sky, Flecked by many-tinted leaves, And laughed, they knew not why; And schoolgirls, gay with aster flowers, Beside the meadow brooks, 10 Mingled the glow of autumn With the sunshine of sweet looks.
From spire and barn, looked westerly The patient weathercocks; But even the birches on the hill 15 Stood motionless as rocks. No sound was in the woodlands Save the squirrel's dropping shell, And the yellow leaves among the boughs, Low rustling as they fell. 20
The summer grains were harvested; The stubble fields lay dry, Where June winds rolled, in light and shade, The pale-green waves of rye; But still on gentle hill slopes, 25 In valleys fringed with wood, Ungathered, bleaching in the sun, The heavy corn crop stood.
Bent low by autumn's wind and rain, Through husks that, dry and sere, Unfolded from their ripened charge, Shone out the yellow ear; Beneath, the turnip lay concealed 5 In many a verdant fold, And glistened in the slanting light The pumpkin's sphere of gold.
There wrought the busy harvesters; And many a creaking wain 10 Bore slowly to the long barn floor Its load of husk and grain; Till, broad and red as when he rose, The sun sank down at last, And like a merry guest's farewell, 15 The day in brightness passed.
And lo! as through the western pines, On meadow, stream, and pond, Flamed the red radiance of a sky, Set all afire beyond, 20 Slowly o'er the eastern sea bluffs A milder glory shone, And the sunset and the moonrise Were mingled into one!
--_The Huskers._
1. What is Indian summer? Is this a description of an Indian summer day? Sketch the field described, or the sunset. Observe the color words in the last stanza.
2. What was happening in the woods on that October day? In the fields? Describe the scene in each.
GOLDENROD
BY ELAINE GOODALE EASTMAN
Most of our wild flowers that blossom in the fall are of brilliant colors. In September the fields and fence rows are a blaze of reds, yellows, buffs, and browns. Conspicuous among these is the stately yellow plume of the goldenrod, strikingly described in the following poem. Read this selection slowly. Every line adds to the picture--every word means one more idea. Try to sense the entire meaning of the author.
(Used by special permission of the author.)
When the wayside tangles blaze In the low September sun, When the flowers of summer days Droop and wither, one by one, Reaching up through bush and brier, 5 Sumptuous brow and heart of fire, Flaunting high its wind-rocked plume, Brave with wealth of native bloom-- Goldenrod!
When the meadow lately shorn, 10 Parched and languid, swoons with pain, When her lifeblood, night and morn, Shrinks in every throbbing vein, Round her fallen, tarnished urn Leaping watch fires brighter burn; 15 Royal arch o'er autumn's gate, Bending low with lustrous weight-- Goldenrod!
In the pasture's rude embrace, All o'errun with tangled vines, Where the thistle claims its place, And the straggling hedge confines, Bearing still the sweet impress 5 Of unfettered loveliness, In the field and by the wall, Binding, clasping, crowning all-- Goldenrod!
Nature lies disheveled, pale, 10 With her feverish lips apart; Day by day the pulses fail, Nearer to her bounding heart; Yet that slackened grasp doth hold Store of pure and genuine gold; 15 Quick thou comest, strong and free, Type of all the wealth to be-- Goldenrod!
1. Three of the stanzas definitely locate the goldenrod. Read the lines that tell where it grows.
2. Which stanza makes the most vivid picture for you? What descriptive words in the stanza help make this picture?
3. Read the second stanza aloud, and tell in your own words what you think each line means.
4. Find synonyms (words of similar meaning) for the following: sumptuous, unfettered, disheveled, lustrous. Substitute your synonym for each of these words and read the line aloud.
5. Make a pencil sketch of a goldenrod as you recall it. Color your sketch with crayon.
6. The goldenrod is sometimes called our national flower. Why do you think it is so called? What is your state flower?
THE PALISADES
BY JOHN MASEFIELD
(Used by permission of Dodd, Mead and Company, Publishers.)
On the west side of the Hudson River there is a cliff, or crag of rock, all carved into queer shapes. It stretches along the riverside for twenty or thirty miles, as far as Tarrytown, or further, to the broad part where the stream looks like a sea. The cliff rises up, as a rule very 5 boldly, to the height of several hundred feet. The top of it (the Jersey shore) appears regular. It is like a well-laid wall along the river, with trees and one or two white wooden houses, instead of broken glass, at the top. This wall appearance made the settlers call the crag the "Palisades." 10
Where the Palisades are the grandest is just as high up as Yonkers. Hereabouts they are very stately, for they are all marshaled along a river a mile or more broad, which runs in a straight line past them, with a great tide. If you take a boat and row across to the Palisades their beauty 15 makes you shiver. In the afternoon, when you are underneath them, the sun is shut away from you; and there you are, in the chill and the gloom, with the great cliff towering up and the pinnacles and tall trees catching the sunlight at the top. Then it is very still there. You will see no 20 one along that shore. A great eagle will go sailing out, or a hawk will drop and splash after a fish, but you will see no other living thing, except at the landing. There are schooners in the river, of course, but they keep to the New York shore to avoid being becalmed.
You can lie there in your boat, in the slack water near the crag foot, and hear nothing but the wind, the suck of the water, or the tinkle of a scrap of stone falling from the cliff face. It is like being in the wilds, in one of the desolate places, to lie there in a boat watching the eagles. 5
--_A Tarpaulin Muster._
1. Put yourself in the author's place and try to visualize this scene as he viewed it. Tell what you see. From what position are you looking?
ON THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET
BY JOHN KEATS
The poetry of earth is never dead: When all the birds are faint with the hot sun, And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead; That is the grasshopper's--he takes the lead 5 In summer luxury--he has never done With his delights, for when tired out with fun, He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed. The poetry of earth is ceasing never: On a lone winter evening, when the frost 10 Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills The cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever, And seems to one in drowsiness half lost, The grasshopper's among the grassy hills.
1. What keeps the poetry of earth alive in the heat of summer? In the cold of winter? What does Keats mean by his first line?
TO A WATERFOWL
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
Bryant saw a solitary waterfowl winging its way high up in the air in the twilight of evening. The sight sets him thinking of the inborn sense of the bird. Where was it going? How did it know it was on the right way? Who gave it the power to direct its flight? Then he imagines that the bird is bound for its nesting place among its fellows. And he finally gets for himself--and for us all--a fine lesson from the flight of the waterfowl. Try to follow the poet's thinking, step by step, as you read the poem.
Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far through their rosy depths dost thou pursue Thy solitary way?
Vainly the fowler's eye 5 Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, 10 Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean side?
There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast-- The desert and illimitable air-- 15 Lone wandering, but not lost.
All day thy wings have fanned At that far height the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near.
And soon that toil shall end; 5 Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon, o'er thy sheltered nest.
Thou'rt gone; the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart 10 Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart.
He who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, 15 Will lead my steps aright.
1. What time of day is it when Bryant observes the bird? Is it clear or cloudy weather? Prove both answers.
2. In the third stanza, how many places does he mention as the possible ends of the bird's flight? Name each.
3. Has the waterfowl traveled far? Read the line that answers this.
4. Explain line 5, page 190; the third stanza on page 191.
5. What lesson does Bryant get from the bird? Memorize the last stanza.
6. William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) was born at Cummington, Massachusetts, where his father practiced medicine. He attended the district school and later studied law, but gave up his practice for journalism. He was very successful and was for many years editor of _The New York Evening Post_. This poem was written when he was unsettled and discouraged about his law practice.
A NIGHT IN THE TROPICS
BY RICHARD HENRY DANA, JR.
Those who have spent their lives on the ocean say that we dwellers on land know nothing of life under the open sky. The following extract is a bit of night scenery aboard ship in the days of wooden vessels with canvas wings.