Some village Hampden that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood, Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood.

Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes--

Their lot forbade: nor circ.u.mscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbade to wade thro' slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind;

The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame.

Far from the madding crowd's ign.o.ble strife Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool, sequester'd vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way.

Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the pa.s.sing tribute of a sigh.

Their name, their years, spelt by th' unlettered Muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die.

For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?

On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate--

Haply some h.o.a.ry-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away To meet the sun upon the upland lawn.

"There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

"Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, Now drooping, woeful-wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or cross'd in hopeless love.

"One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his favourite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he:

"The next with dirges due in sad array Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne.

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn:"

_The Epitaph_

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown.

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heav'n did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wished) a friend.

No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode (There they alike in trembling hope repose), The bosom of his Father and his G.o.d.

--THOMAS GRAY.

PSALM CIII

Bless the Lord, O my soul: And all that is within me, bless his holy name.

Bless the Lord, O my soul, And forget not all his benefits: Who forgiveth all thine iniquities; Who healeth all thy diseases; Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; Who crowneth thee with loving kindness and tender mercies; Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; So that thy youth is renewed like the eagle's.

The Lord executeth righteousness And judgment for all that are oppressed.

He made known his ways unto Moses, His acts unto the children of Israel.

The Lord is merciful and gracious, Slow to anger, and plenteous in mercy.

He will not always chide: Neither will he keep his anger forever.

He hath not dealt with us after our sins; Nor rewarded us according to our iniquities.

For as the heaven is high above the earth, So great is his mercy toward them that fear him.

As far as the east is from the west, So far hath he removed our transgressions from us.

Like as a father pitieth his children, So the Lord pitieth them that fear him.

For he knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust.

As for man, his days are as gra.s.s: As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth.

For the wind pa.s.seth over it, and it is gone; And the place thereof shall know it no more.

But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him, And his righteousness unto children's children; To such as keep his covenant, And to those that remember his commandments to do them.

The Lord hath prepared his throne in the heavens; And his kingdom ruleth over all.

Bless the Lord, ye his angels, That excel in strength, That do his commandments, Hearkening unto the voice of his word.

Bless ye the Lord, all ye his hosts; Ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure.

Bless the Lord, all his works In all places of his dominion: Bless the Lord, O my soul.

--KING DAVID.

ANTHOLOGIES OF CHILDREN'S POEMS

IN addition to what the student has mastered by heart he needs to own and keep within arm's reach a good anthology. He should first own "A Children's Treasury of English Song," and about the time he is ready to leave the elementary school the greatest of all collections of verse, "The Golden Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrical Poems in the English Language," must fall into his hands. The next best collection is doubtless "The Oxford Book of English Verse," by A. T. Quiller-Couch.

For ballad literature "The Oxford Book of English Ballads" by the last-named editor and "The Ballad Book" by Allingham are both good. It is to be hoped that if he has a taste for verse of the ballad form, the boy may some day wander back to Percy's "Reliques of Ancient English Poetry." An occasional boy who cares little for great poetry may have a bent toward songs of war and daring. Though this tendency is to be deplored if it comes late in the boy's school life, it is best to satisfy it. A fairly good but not altogether judiciously selected anthology for this purpose is Henley's "Lyra Heroica." From this reading of poetry in anthologies the boy might go to the carefully edited and selected volumes of the great poets in the Golden Treasury Series. The step to choice complete editions is then easy.

It may chance that the boy who has once tasted of the honeydew of great poetry and who has left the elementary school to take up the actual affairs of life will go back to the authority of his teacher who first pointed out to him such a pure pleasure for his quiet hours. If this gratifying condition should come about, the teacher might name to him the following poems that are still more rare in their appeal--as he will surely come to know when he has felt the touch of "An Ode on a Grecian Urn." Here are the t.i.tles: "Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day,"

Shakespeare; "The Time of Year Thou May'st in Me Behold," Shakespeare; "On the Late Ma.s.sacre in Piedmont," Milton; "The World is too Much with Us," Wordsworth; "Milton, Thou Should'st Be Living at This Hour,"

Wordsworth; "Tuscan, That Wander'st in the Realms of Gloom," Longfellow; "Rose Aylmer," Landor; "Out of the Night That Covers Me," Henley; "Go Fetch to Me a Pint o' Wine," Burns; "Proud Maisie is in the Woods,"

Scott; "She Dwelt among the Untrodden Ways," Wordsworth; "Helen, Thy Beauty is to Me," Poe; "She Walks in Beauty," Byron; "The Lost Leader,"

Browning; "It Was a Lover and His La.s.s," Shakespeare; "Callicles beneath Etna," Arnold; "La Belle Dame sans Merci," Keats; "Ode to Evening,"

Collins; "Ode to a Skylark," Sh.e.l.ley; "Ode on a Grecian Urn," Keats; "Kubla Khan," Coleridge; "Ulysses," Tennyson; "L'Allegro," Milton. From these the boy may with the coming of manhood be led to heights of such tunes of the masters as Wordsworth's powerful "Ode on the Intimations of Immortality from Earliest Childhood," and Tennyson's song that is so near to the heart of great things, "In Memoriam."

PART III

SOURCES OF STANDARD PROSE FOR CHILDREN

CHAPTER I

FAIRY TALES, HOUSEHOLD TALES, AND OTHER FANCIFUL STORIES

"In the olde times they were the only revivers of drowsy age at midnight: old and young have with his tales chim'd mattens till the c.o.c.ks crow in the morning: Batchelors and Maides with his tales have compa.s.sed the Christmas fire-block till the Curfew-bell rings, Candle out: the old Shepherd and the young Plow boy after their day's labour have carol'd out a Tale of Tom Thumb to make merry with: and who but little Tom hath made long nights seem short and heavy toyles easie?"

--Said in 1611 of the Tales of Tom Thumb.