Sir Cloudesley Shovel (1650?-1707) was the cabin boy of this story. He went to sea when quite young, and by his ability and courage won constant promotion, finally becoming admiral. In the sea fight between the English and French at La Hogue in 1692 (see Browning's "Hervé Riel," page 307) Shovel's was the first English ship to break through the enemy's line.
Sir Cloudesley Shovel (1650?-1707) was the cabin boy of this story. He went to sea when quite young, and by his ability and courage won constant promotion, finally becoming admiral. In the sea fight between the English and French at La Hogue in 1692 (see Browning's "Hervé Riel," page 307) Shovel's was the first English ship to break through the enemy's line.
It was a gray autumn evening more than two hundredyears ago, in the reign of King Charles II. There wasthe moan of a rising storm over the North Sea, and thelowering sky, the flying streamers of cloud, and the greatleaden waves, heaving sullenly far as the eye could reach,5warned even the bravest sailor that it was a day to keepsafe in port. For what ship could live in such a sea asthat?
Yet the English fleet, far from keeping in port, wasbeating seaward against wind and wave. On the quarter deck10of the flagship stood Admiral Sir John Narborough—thefirst seaman in England—who thirty-five years beforehad been a cabin boy. His daring and dauntless couragehad earned for him the name of "Gunpowder Jack,"and that dark autumn day was to test how well the boldname fitted him. But he had been tried many a time, andtempest and sea and the fire of the enemy could not make5his stout heart quail.
Suddenly his grave face lighted up and his stern grayeyes sparkled with joy. Far away along the eastern sky hesaw a bristling line of tall masts with a flag which he knewwell floating over them. The shadow of a smile of scorn10changed for a moment the expression of the admiral'sface. For a moment only. There was no time for smiles.There was mighty work to be done. The floating flag toldthat the Dutch were coming; and that day must see theenemy of England swept from the sea or England herself15forget her ancient glory.
Next to an old friend the British sailor loves an oldenemy; and as soon as the men saw the flag of Hollandthey were eager for battle. On came the enemy in grimsilence until their nearest vessels were within musket20range of the English. Then, all at once, bang! went thewhole broadside from the admiral's vessel, and with acrash that seemed to echo to the sky the deadly strugglebegan.
The English blood was soon up and the only thought25was to fight to the last. Amid the blinding smoke, the reekof gunpowder, the thunder of cannon, and the grindingtear of the shot through the strong timbers, the sailors didnoble duty that day in the dogged faith that they would"give as good as they got, anyhow!"30
Aided by a sudden change of the wind, the Dutch vesselsclosed around the flagship with a perfect circle of fire.Two guns were disabled, the main and mizzen masts hadbeen shot away, and a long line of wounded and dying menwere lying among the shattered rigging. The thunder fromthe guns on the right showed that there the English weregetting the best of it; but even if help should come to the5admiral from that quarter, it might come too late.
But how should help be summoned? No signal couldbe seen in that smoke, and as for lowering a boat, the greatwaves that rushed roaring up the battered sides of the flagshipwere a sufficient warning against that.10
"Lads," cried Sir John, going forward with a scrap ofpaper in his hand, "this order must go at once to CaptainHardy, and the only way is for one of you to swim with it.Fifty guineas to anyone that will volunteer!"
Such a request, in the face of that boiling sea and that15hailstorm of shot, was little better than a sentence ofdeath; yet before the words were well out of his mouth,half the crew stepped forward. Before any of them couldspeak, however, a shrill, childish voice made itself heard:"Let me go, your honor!"20
And there stood a ragged little cabin boy, bareheadedand barefooted, touching his forelock to Sir John, just asSir John had touched his to the admiral, five and thirtyyears ago. The boy had evidently been in the thick of thefight. His hands were grimed with powder and there25were splashes of blood upon his tattered clothing. Butthrough his bright, fearless blue eyes there shone a spiritworth that of ten ordinary men.
"You, my boy? Why, you can never swim so far inthis sea, and with all that shot flying about."30
"Can't I?" echoed the boy indignantly. "I've donemore than that before now; and, as for the shot, I don'tcarethatfor it. I'm not going to sit still while everybodyelse is fighting the Dutch. Flog me at the gangwayto-morrow, if you like, your honor, but let me do this jobto-day."
The old warrior's stern eyes glistened as if tears were5forcing their way. He grasped the thin little hand in hisown.
"You're a chip of the old block," he growled, "and nomistake! Off with you, then; and may God keep yousafe!"10
The words were hardly spoken when the boy, thrustingthe dispatch into his mouth, plunged headlong into theroaring sea. And then for fifteen fierce minutes all wasone scene of fire and tumult and slaughter.
Many a time in that terrible quarter of an hour did the15weary men strain their bloodshot eyes, and strain them invain, to catch a glimpse of English colors breaking throughthe smoke. "If help is to come at all, it must come soon,"said more than one worn-out sailor.
Suddenly the admiral's grim face brightened with a20light never seen there before, and he drew a long, deepbreath like one shaking off a heavy burden. At the samemoment there broke out a fresh thunder of guns on theright, and through the smoke burst the flag of England,sweeping all before it like mists scattered by the rising sun.25
The battle was won, and the few Dutch vessels that hadescaped were disappearing in the dimness of night when theadmiral and his remaining officers gathered on the quarter-deckto do honor to the little hero. He stood in theirpresence with a boyish smile upon his face; but when Sir30John held out a well-filled purse, the boy turned his headproudly away.
"Your honor, I did not do this job for money," said hefirmly. "I did it for the sake of the flag and because youhave been good to me. If you say you are satisfied, thatis all I want."
The listening crew, forgetting all restraint, broke into a5deafening cheer; and the admiral's iron face softenedstrangely as he laid his blackened hand on the bare whiteshoulder: "God bless you, my brave lad! I shall live tosee you on a quarter-deck of your own yet."
Thirty years later, when Queen Anne's greatest admiral,10Sir Cloudesley Shovel, sailed up the Thames in triumph,the first to greet him as he stepped ashore was an old white-hairedman who still retained traces of the fire and energythat had once distinguished "Gunpowder Jack."
"Welcome home, my lad!" said he, heartily. "I said15I'd live to see you on a quarter-deck of your own; and,thank God, Ihavelived to see you there!"
1. What other sea fights have you read about? Make a list of sea books and sea battles with which you are acquainted.2. What is the high point of interest in this story? What happened? How is the story related to Browning's "Hervé Riel"?3. In modern warfare, how do the ships communicate with each other? Contrast briefly naval warfare in Queen Anne's time (the early seventeen hundreds) with naval warfare of to-day as to: (a) propulsion of ships; (b) armor; (c) guns; (d) range of fighting.4. What modern machines operate now in water fighting? Describe one of these.
1. What other sea fights have you read about? Make a list of sea books and sea battles with which you are acquainted.
2. What is the high point of interest in this story? What happened? How is the story related to Browning's "Hervé Riel"?
3. In modern warfare, how do the ships communicate with each other? Contrast briefly naval warfare in Queen Anne's time (the early seventeen hundreds) with naval warfare of to-day as to: (a) propulsion of ships; (b) armor; (c) guns; (d) range of fighting.
4. What modern machines operate now in water fighting? Describe one of these.
This poem is based on an actual occurrence. A lad, nursed back to life, rejoins the hard-pressed Southern troops and is killed in the first battle. Ticknor (1822-1874) was a Georgian. By profession a physician, his love of poetry led to the production of some of the finest lyrics of the South. Among these the best known are "Little Giffen" and "The Virginians of the Valley."
This poem is based on an actual occurrence. A lad, nursed back to life, rejoins the hard-pressed Southern troops and is killed in the first battle. Ticknor (1822-1874) was a Georgian. By profession a physician, his love of poetry led to the production of some of the finest lyrics of the South. Among these the best known are "Little Giffen" and "The Virginians of the Valley."
Out of the focal and foremost fire—Out of the hospital walls as dire—Smitten of grapeshot and gangrene—Eighteenth battle and he sixteen—Specter such as you seldom see,5Little Giffen of Tennessee."Take him and welcome," the surgeon said;"Little the doctor can help the dead!"So we took him and brought him whereThe balm was sweet in our summer air;10And we laid him down on a wholesome bed—Utter Lazarus, heel to head!And we watched the war with bated breath—Skeleton boy against skeleton death!Months of torture, how many such!15Weary weeks of the stick and crutch;And still a glint in the steel-blue eyeTold of a spirit that wouldn't die,And didn't! Nay, more! in death's despiteThe crippled skeleton learned to write."Dear Mother," at first, of course; and then,"Dear Captain," inquiring about the men.Captain's answer: "Of eighty and five,5Giffen and I are left alive."Word of gloom from the war, one day:"Johnston's pressed at the front, they say!"Little Giffen was up and away;A tear—his first—as he bade good-by,10Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye."I'll write, if spared." There was news of fight,But none of Giffen.—He did not write.I sometimes fancy that were I kingOf the courtly knights of Arthur's Ring,15With the voice of the minstrel in mine earAnd the tender legend that trembles here,I'd give the best on his bended knee—The whitest soul of my chivalry—For Little Giffen of Tennessee.20
1. In what war did the incidents described occur? When and between whom did this war take place? Name some of its great battles; its great commanders.2 On which side was Little Giffen? Prove your answer from the poem. Who was Johnston, line 8, page 321? How old was Giffen? How much service had he seen?3. Explain the meaning of: Utter Lazarus (see Luke xvi: 20); specter; gangrene; line 14, page 320; line 15, page 321.4. Name some other writers of the South.(Used by permission of the Neale Publishing Company.)
1. In what war did the incidents described occur? When and between whom did this war take place? Name some of its great battles; its great commanders.
2 On which side was Little Giffen? Prove your answer from the poem. Who was Johnston, line 8, page 321? How old was Giffen? How much service had he seen?
3. Explain the meaning of: Utter Lazarus (see Luke xvi: 20); specter; gangrene; line 14, page 320; line 15, page 321.
4. Name some other writers of the South.
(Used by permission of the Neale Publishing Company.)
Marco Bozzaris (1790-1823) was born among the mountains of Suli, in Epirus, a province of Greece. He had early military training in the French service; but at the age of thirty he undertook to battle against the Turks, who were holding the Greeks in heavy subjection. At the head of his countrymen, the Suliotes, he won many battles; but finally, through treachery, he and his forces were besieged. To relieve the siege, Bozzaris led his troops against the enemy in a night attack and won a complete victory, but the hero fell, dying in the hour of triumph.
Marco Bozzaris (1790-1823) was born among the mountains of Suli, in Epirus, a province of Greece. He had early military training in the French service; but at the age of thirty he undertook to battle against the Turks, who were holding the Greeks in heavy subjection. At the head of his countrymen, the Suliotes, he won many battles; but finally, through treachery, he and his forces were besieged. To relieve the siege, Bozzaris led his troops against the enemy in a night attack and won a complete victory, but the hero fell, dying in the hour of triumph.
At midnight, in his guarded tent,The Turk was dreaming of the hourWhen Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,Should tremble at his power;In dreams, through camp and court, he bore5The trophies of a conqueror;In dreams, his song of triumph heard;Then wore his monarch's signet ring;Then pressed that monarch's throne—a king;As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,10As Eden's garden bird.At midnight, in the forest shades,Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,True as the steel of their tried blades,Heroes in heart and hand.15There had the Persian's thousands stood,There had the glad earth drunk their blood,On old Platæa's day;And now, there breathed that haunted airThe sons of sires who conquered there,With arm to strike, and soul to dare,5As quick, as far, as they.An hour passed on—the Turk awoke;That bright dream was his last;He woke to hear his sentries shriek,"To arms!—they come! the Greek! the Greek!"10He woke—to die midst flame, and smoke,And shout, and groan, and saber stroke,And death shots falling thick and fastAs lightning from the mountain cloud—And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,15Bozzaris cheer his band:"Strike—till the last armed foe expires;Strike—for your altars and your fires;Strike—for the green graves of your sires,God—and your native land!"20They fought—like brave men, long and well;They piled that ground with Moslem slain;They conquered—but Bozzaris fellBleeding at every vein.His few surviving comrades saw25His smile when rang their proud huzzaAnd the red field was won;Then saw in death his eyelids close,Calmly as to a night's repose,Like flowers at set of sun.30Come to the bridal chamber, Death!Come to the mother, when she feels,For the first time, her first-born's breath;Come when the blessed sealsThat close the pestilence are broke,5And crowded cities wail its stroke;Come in consumption's ghastly form,The earthquake's shock, the ocean's storm;Come when the heart beats high and warmWith banquet song, and dance, and wine,—10And thou art terrible!—The tear,The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier;And all we know, or dream, or fear,Of agony are thine.But to the hero, when his sword15Has won the battle for the free,Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,And in its hollow tones are heardThe thanks of millions yet to be.Bozzaris! with the storied brave20Greece nurtured in her glory's time,Rest thee; there is no prouder grave,Even in her own proud clime.We tell thy doom without a sigh;For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's.—25One of the few, the immortal names,That were not born to die!
1. This is a stirring selection to read aloud. What makes it so? Read the lines that you like best.2. What has the first stanza on page 324 to do with the poem?3. Explain: Suliote; Moslem; Platæa; lines 25-27, page 324.
1. This is a stirring selection to read aloud. What makes it so? Read the lines that you like best.
2. What has the first stanza on page 324 to do with the poem?
3. Explain: Suliote; Moslem; Platæa; lines 25-27, page 324.
Santiago, Cuba, was the center of some of the heaviest fighting of the Spanish-American War. The Spanish fleet had taken refuge from the American fleet in Santiago Harbor. The Spanish army had been concentrated there to protect their fleet. The American army, under the general command of Major General Shafter, invested the city. The following extract describes picturesquely the fighting three days before the Spanish fleet put to sea.
Santiago, Cuba, was the center of some of the heaviest fighting of the Spanish-American War. The Spanish fleet had taken refuge from the American fleet in Santiago Harbor. The Spanish army had been concentrated there to protect their fleet. The American army, under the general command of Major General Shafter, invested the city. The following extract describes picturesquely the fighting three days before the Spanish fleet put to sea.
On June 30th the general order came to move forwardand every man felt that the final test of skill at armswould soon come. The cavalry division of six regiments,camped in its tracks at midnight on El Pozo Hill, awokenext morning to find itself in support of Grimes' Battery,5which was to open fire here on the left.
The morning of July 1st was ideally beautiful, the skywas cloudless and the air soft and balmy, peace seemed toreign supreme, great palms towered here and there abovethe low jungle. It was a picture of a peaceful valley.10There was a feeling that we had secretly invaded the HolyLand. The hush seemed to pervade all nature as thoughshe held her bated breath in anticipation of the carnage.
Captain Capron's field guns opened fire upon the southernfield at El Caney and the hill resounded with echoes.15Then followed the rattle of the musketry of the attackinginvaders. The firing in our front burst forth and thebattle was on.
The artillery duel began and in company with foreignmilitary attachés and correspondents we all sat watchingthe effect of the shots as men witness any friendly athleticcontest, eagerly trying to locate the enemy's smokelessbatteries. A force of insurgents near the old Sugar Millapplauded at the explosion of each firing charge, apparently5caring for little except the noise.
Now and then a slug of iron fell among the surroundingbushes or buried itself deep in the ground near us. Finallya projectile from an unseen Spanish gun disabled a Hotchkisspiece, wounded two cavalrymen, and smashed into the10old Sugar Mill in our rear, whereupon the terrorized insurgentsfled and were not seen again near the firing line untilthe battle was over.
When the Tenth Cavalry arrived at the crossing of SanJuan River our observation balloon had become lodged in15the treetops above and the enemy had just begun to makea target of it. A converging fire upon all the works withinrange opened upon us that was terrible in its effect. Ourmounted officers dismounted and the men stripped off atthe roadside everything possible and prepared for business.20
We were posted for a time in the bed of the streamdirectly under the balloon, and stood in the water to ourwaists awaiting orders to deploy. Standing there underthat galling fire of exploding shrapnel and deadly Mauserbullets the minutes seemed like hours. General Wheeler25and a part of his staff stood mounted a few minutes in themiddle of the stream. Just as I raised my hand to salutein moving up the stream to post the leading squadron ofmy regiment, a piece of bursting shell struck between hishorse's feet and covered us both with water.30
Pursuant to orders, with myself as guide, the secondsquadron of the Tenth forced its way through wire fenceand almost impenetrable thicket to its position. The regimentwas soon deployed as skirmishers in an openingacross the river to the right of the road and, our line beingpartly visible from the enemy's position, their fire wasturned upon us and we had to lie down in the grass a few5minutes for safety. Two officers of the regiment werewounded; here and there were frequent calls for the surgeon,but no order came to move forward. Whatever may havebeen the intention of the commanding general as to thepart to be played by the cavalry division on that day, the10officers present were not long in deciding the part theircommand should play, and the advance began.
White regiments, black regiments, regulars and roughriders, representing the young manhood of the North andSouth, fought shoulder to shoulder unmindful of race or15color, unmindful of whether commanded by an ex-Confederateor not, and mindful only of their common duty asAmericans.
Through streams, tall grass, tropical undergrowth, underbarbed-wire fences and over wire entanglements, regardless20of casualties, up the hill to the right this gallant advancewas made. As we appeared on the crest we found theSpaniards retreating only to take up a new position fartheron, spitefully firing as they retired and only yielding theirground inch by inch.25
Our troopers halted and lay down for a moment to geta breath and in the face of continued volleys soon formedfor attack on the blockhouses and intrenchments on thesecond hill. This attack was supported by troops includingsome of the Tenth who had originally moved to the left30toward this second hill and had worked their way in groups,slipping through the tall grass and bushes, crawling whencasualties came too often, courageously facing a sleet ofbullets, and now hugging the steep southern declivityready to spring forward the few remaining yards into theteeth of the enemy. The fire from the Spanish positionhad doubled in intensity until the popping of their rifles5made a continuous roar. There was a moment's lull andour line moved forward to the charge across the valleyseparating the two hills. Once begun it continued dauntlessin its steady, dogged, persistent advance until like amighty resistless torrent it dashed triumphant over the10crest of the hill, and firing a final volley at the vanishingfoe, planted the regimental colors on the enemy's breastworksand the Stars and Stripes over the blockhouse onSan Juan Hill to stay.
This was a time for rejoicing. It was glorious.15
—From an address given inChicago, November 27, 1898.
1. When was the Spanish-American War fought? Why? What were its greatest battles? Tell how each of the following figured in this war: Dewey, Sampson, Schley, Shafter, Wheeler, Roosevelt.2. Imagine yourself in Lieutenant Pershing's place on the field of battle. Describe the engagement.3. Report briefly from notes taken on outside reading on the battle of Manila Bay, or the cruise of theOregon, or the destruction of the Spanish fleet off Santiago.4. General John Joseph Pershing was born in Missouri, September 13, 1860. He was graduated from the West Point Military Academy; served in a number of Indian campaigns, was a military instructor; served with the Tenth Cavalry in the Cuban campaign, 1898, and in the Philippines, 1899-1903; commanded the U. S. troops in pursuit of the bandit Villa in Mexico in 1916; was in command of the American Expeditionary Forces in the World War. If possible, read an account of Pershing's early life and report on it in class.
1. When was the Spanish-American War fought? Why? What were its greatest battles? Tell how each of the following figured in this war: Dewey, Sampson, Schley, Shafter, Wheeler, Roosevelt.
2. Imagine yourself in Lieutenant Pershing's place on the field of battle. Describe the engagement.
3. Report briefly from notes taken on outside reading on the battle of Manila Bay, or the cruise of theOregon, or the destruction of the Spanish fleet off Santiago.
4. General John Joseph Pershing was born in Missouri, September 13, 1860. He was graduated from the West Point Military Academy; served in a number of Indian campaigns, was a military instructor; served with the Tenth Cavalry in the Cuban campaign, 1898, and in the Philippines, 1899-1903; commanded the U. S. troops in pursuit of the bandit Villa in Mexico in 1916; was in command of the American Expeditionary Forces in the World War. If possible, read an account of Pershing's early life and report on it in class.
This is part of a letter home from Private Dwyer, Co. A, 121st Engineers, A. E. F. It is used here by permission ofThe Springfield (Mass) Republican.
This is part of a letter home from Private Dwyer, Co. A, 121st Engineers, A. E. F. It is used here by permission ofThe Springfield (Mass) Republican.
Even far behind the lines of battle, in this beautifulFrance, little scenes take place which bring home toone the seriousness and sadness of life. Picture to yourselfa dark-green hillside divided into sections by the hedgefences which the French peasant makes so much use of.5In one of these fields soldiers are at work making roads andlittle pathways. At one end are a number of flower-coveredmounds, each one marked with a wooden cross, for thisparticular little field is one of the American ExpeditionaryForce's cemeteries.10On the day which I have in mind, a drizzling rain comessoftly, though steadily, down. A number of soldiers, hardlydistinguishable from the mud in which they are working,are busy leveling off the ground around a flagpole whichstands in the center of the cemetery. Presently they stop15work and stand listening to the drumbeats which can beheard faintly in the distance. The little group gathers aboutthe flagpole, waiting.Slowly up the roadway comes a procession headed by theband playing the sweetly solemn funeral march. Behind20it is carried a plain wooden box, draped with the Stars andStripes, while a firing squad marches in the rear. They stopat a newly dug grave and gently lower the coffin. In clear,concise tones the chaplain reads the funeral service. A mistseems to creep up from the valley and wisps of it wind themselvesthrough the air. In the neighboring field the sheepwho have been grazing huddle together and gaze, as onlysheep can, at the performance going on near them. Likethe sheep, the soldiers in the cemetery gather closer to each5other, each one's eyes filled with tears, and each one consciousof a queer sensation going on within him. . . .Now the chaplain has finished, the members of the firingsquad take their places. A dead silence ensues, broken bythe shots of their rifles. Two more salvos are fired and the10ceremony is finished. Finally, when the mist has becomevery dense, the clear notes of the bugle ring out, blowingtaps for a soldier's last farewell sleep.You will never really appreciate the beauty and pathosof the notes of taps unless you have heard them while lying15on your hard bunk some night at the end of a hard day.The music seems to say that some day things will be peacefulagain, all these hardships will be merely incidents tolaugh over in the happy days to come. And so, singing itsfarewell to you, the notes die away, leaving you to slip into20the balm of sleep.The grave has now been covered and the procession andworkers gone. The fields and valley seem forsaken andalone in the late afternoon. But no, there by the graves,flitting through the rain in their capes and hoods, and looking25like so many little sparrows, are some little French girls,daughters of the near-by peasants. Tenderly their littlehands decorate the newest grave with flowers, their tributeto one who risked all for the safety of little maidens. Thusthe grave is left, heaped with green branches and flowers, a30pretty resting place.
—The Springfield Republican.
OUR COUNTRYOf old sat Freedom on the heights,The thunders breaking at her feet:Above her shook the starry lights,She heard the torrents meet.There in her place she did rejoice,Self-gathered in her prophet mind,But fragments of her mighty voiceCame rolling on the wind.Then stepped she down through town and fieldTo mingle with the human race,And part by part to men revealedThe fullness of her face.—Alfred Tennyson.
OUR COUNTRY
Of old sat Freedom on the heights,The thunders breaking at her feet:Above her shook the starry lights,She heard the torrents meet.There in her place she did rejoice,Self-gathered in her prophet mind,But fragments of her mighty voiceCame rolling on the wind.Then stepped she down through town and fieldTo mingle with the human race,And part by part to men revealedThe fullness of her face.—Alfred Tennyson.
The Statue of Liberty Enlightening the WorldThe Statue of Liberty Enlightening the World
Doctor van Dyke (1852-) is a noted clergyman, writer, and educator. He has long been connected with Princeton University. From 1913-1917, during the trying period of the World War, he was United States minister to Holland. His many visits to Europe have served only to increase his devotion to his native land. The following poem is a fine expression of the genuine homesickness of the traveled scholar for his own country. You should read it and re-read it until it has sung itself into your memory.(FromThe Poems of Henry van Dyke. Copyright, 1920, by Charles Scribner's Sons.)
Doctor van Dyke (1852-) is a noted clergyman, writer, and educator. He has long been connected with Princeton University. From 1913-1917, during the trying period of the World War, he was United States minister to Holland. His many visits to Europe have served only to increase his devotion to his native land. The following poem is a fine expression of the genuine homesickness of the traveled scholar for his own country. You should read it and re-read it until it has sung itself into your memory.
(FromThe Poems of Henry van Dyke. Copyright, 1920, by Charles Scribner's Sons.)
'Tis fine to see the Old World, and travel up and downAmong the famous palaces and cities of renown,To admire the crumbly castles and the statues of thekings—But now I think I've had enough of antiquated things.5So it's home again, and home again, America for me!My heart is turning home again, and there I long to be,In the land of youth and freedom beyond the ocean bars,Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.Oh, London is a man's town, there's power in the air;10And Paris is a woman's town, with flowers in her hair;And it's sweet to dream in Venice, and it's great to studyRome;But when it comes to living, there is no place like home.I like the German fir woods, in green battalions drilled;I like the gardens of Versailles with flashing fountainsfilled;But, oh, to take your hand, my dear, and ramble for a dayIn the friendly western woodland where Nature has her5way!I know that Europe's wonderful, yet something seems tolack;The Past is too much with her, and the people looking back;But the glory of the Present is to make the Future free,—10We love our land for what she is and what she is to be.Oh, it's home again, and home again, America for me!I want a ship that's westward bound to plow the rollingsea,To the blessed Land of Room Enough beyond the ocean bars,15Where the air is full of sunlight and the flag is full of stars.
1. How many places are mentioned by name? Tell what and where each is.2. What does the author admire in the Old World? What does he mean by his distinction between London and Paris? List the things the author misses in the Old World. How is America contrasted with Europe? Explain line 15, page 334.3. Report on other writings of Dr. van Dyke. Which of his outdoor books do you know?
1. How many places are mentioned by name? Tell what and where each is.
2. What does the author admire in the Old World? What does he mean by his distinction between London and Paris? List the things the author misses in the Old World. How is America contrasted with Europe? Explain line 15, page 334.
3. Report on other writings of Dr. van Dyke. Which of his outdoor books do you know?
Love thou thy land, with love far-broughtFrom out the storied Past, and usedWithin the Present, but transfusedThrough future time by power of thought.—Alfred Tennyson.
Stand! the ground's your own, my braves!Will ye give it up to slaves?Will ye look for greener graves?Hope ye mercy still?What's the mercy despots feel?5Hear it in that battle peal!Read it on yon bristling steel!Ask it—ye who will!Fear ye foes who kill for hire?Will ye to your homes retire?10Look behind you! they're afire!And, before you, seeWho have done it! From the valeOn they come!—and will ye quail?—Leaden rain and iron hail15Let their welcome be!In the God of battles trust!Die we may—and die we must;But, oh, where can dust to dustBe consigned so well,20As where heaven its dews shall shedOn the martyred patriot's bed,And the rocks shall raise their head,Of his deeds to tell?
De Crèvecœur (1731-1813) was a French writer who emigrated to America at the age of twenty-three. He settled on a farm near the City of New York, and came to know many of the great men of his day. For instance, he had the friendship of Washington and Franklin. France appointed him as her consul at New York. In 1782 Crèvecœur published hisLetters of an American Farmer. As this extract shows, it is almost prophetic in its insight into the future.
De Crèvecœur (1731-1813) was a French writer who emigrated to America at the age of twenty-three. He settled on a farm near the City of New York, and came to know many of the great men of his day. For instance, he had the friendship of Washington and Franklin. France appointed him as her consul at New York. In 1782 Crèvecœur published hisLetters of an American Farmer. As this extract shows, it is almost prophetic in its insight into the future.
What then is the American, this new man? He iseither a European, or the descendant of a European,hence that strange mixture of blood which you will findin no other country. I could point out to you a familywhose grandfather was an Englishman, whose wife was5Dutch, whose son married a French woman, and whosepresent four sons have now four wives of different nations.
An American is he who, leaving behind him all his ancientprejudices and manners, receives new ones from thenew mode of life he has embraced, the new government he10obeys, and the new rank he holds. He becomes an Americanby being received in the broad lap of our great Alma Mater.Here individuals of all nations are melted into a new raceof men, whose labors and posterity will one day causegreat changes in the world. Americans are the western15pilgrims, who are carrying along with them that greatmass of arts, sciences, vigor, and industry which beganlong since in the East; they will finish the great circle.
The Americans were once scattered all over Europe;in America they are incorporated into one of the finestsystems of population which has ever appeared, and whichwill hereafter become distinct by the power of the differentclimates they inhabit. The American ought therefore tolove his country much better than that wherein either he5or his forefathers were born. Here the rewards of hisindustry follow with equal steps the progress of his labor;his labor is founded on the basis of nature, self-interest.Can it want a stronger allurement?
Women and children, who before in vain demanded a10morsel of bread, now gladly help their men folk to clear thosefields whence exuberant crops are to arise to feed and toclothe them all, without any part being claimed eitherby a despotic prince, a rich abbot, or a mighty lord.
Religion demands but little of the American: a small15voluntary salary to the minister, and gratitude to God.Can he refuse these?
The American is a new man, who acts upon newprinciples; he must therefore entertain new ideas and formnew opinions. From involuntary idleness, servile dependence,20penury, and useless labor, he has passed to toils ofa very different nature, rewarded by ample subsistence.—Thisis an American.
—Letters of an American Farmer.
1. What is Crèvecœur's definition of an American? How would you define an American to-day?2. Explain lines 15-18, on page 336. What does the last clause of the sentence mean?3. What reasons does the author give for a great love of country on the part of Americans? Do these reasons still hold good?4. Explain: Alma Mater, posterity, allurement, voluntary, servile, penury, subsistence.
1. What is Crèvecœur's definition of an American? How would you define an American to-day?
2. Explain lines 15-18, on page 336. What does the last clause of the sentence mean?
3. What reasons does the author give for a great love of country on the part of Americans? Do these reasons still hold good?
4. Explain: Alma Mater, posterity, allurement, voluntary, servile, penury, subsistence.
Read this selection entirely through before stopping to inquire the meaning of puzzling passages. Then re-read it for the references not previously clear to you. A final reading should enable you to get the fullness of the author's meaning. On your first reading you should be able to determine generally when the events took place, where, and what happened.
Read this selection entirely through before stopping to inquire the meaning of puzzling passages. Then re-read it for the references not previously clear to you. A final reading should enable you to get the fullness of the author's meaning. On your first reading you should be able to determine generally when the events took place, where, and what happened.
Out of the North the wild news came,Far flashing on its wings of flame,Swift as the boreal light that fliesAt midnight through the startled skies.And there was tumult in the air,5The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beatAnd through the wide land everywhereThe answering tread of hurrying feet;While the first oath of Freedom's gunCame on the blast of Lexington;10And Concord, roused, no longer tame,Forgot her old baptismal name,Made bare her patriot arm of power,And swelled the discord of the hour.Within its shade of elm and oak15The church of Berkeley Manor stood;There Sunday found the rural folk,And some esteemed of gentle blood.In vain their feet with loitering treadPassed mid the graves where rank is naught;All could not read the lesson taughtIn that republic of the dead.How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk,The vale with peace and sunshine full,5Where all the happy people walk,Decked in their homespun flax and wool!Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom,And every maid, with simple art,Wears on her breast, like her own heart,10A bud whose depths are all perfume;While every garment's gentle stirIs breathing rose and lavender.The pastor came: his snowy locksHallowed his brow of thought and care;15And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,He led into the house of prayer.The pastor rose; the prayer was strong;The psalm was warrior David's song;The text, a few short words of might,—20"The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!"He spoke of wrongs too long endured,Of sacred rights to be secured;Then from his patriot tongue of flameThe startling words for Freedom came.25The stirring sentences he spakeCompelled the heart to glow or quake,And rising on his theme's broad wing,And grasping in his nervous handThe imaginary battle brand,In face of death he dared to flingDefiance to a tyrant king.5Even as he spoke, his frame, renewedIn eloquence of attitude,Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher;Then swept his kindling glance of fireFrom startled pew to breathless choir;10When suddenly his mantle wideHis hands impatient flung aside,And lo! he met their wondering eyesComplete in all a warrior's guise.A moment there was awful pause,—15When Berkeley cried, "Cease, traitor! Cease!God's temple is the house of peace!"The other shouted, "Nay, not so,When God is with our righteous cause;His holiest places then are ours,20His temples are our forts and towersThat frown upon the tyrant foe;In this, the dawn of Freedom's day,There is a time to fight and pray!"And now before the open door—25The warrior priest had ordered so—The enlisting trumpet's sudden roarRang through the chapel, o'er and o'er,Its long reverberating blow,So loud and clear, it seemed the earOf dusty death must wake and hear;And there the startling drum and fifeFired the living with fiercer life.While overhead, with wild increase,5Forgetting its ancient toll of peace,The great bell swung as ne'er before.It seemed as it would never cease;And every word its ardor flungFrom off its jubilant iron tongue10Was, "War! War! War!""Who dares?"—this was the patriot's cry,As striding from the desk he came,—"Come out with me, in Freedom's name,For her to live, for her to die?"15A hundred hands flung up reply,A hundred voices answered, "I."