PRACTICE BOOK
LELAND POWERS SCHOOL
Copyright, 1909
IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT.
My gratitude to publishers who have generously permitted the reprinting of copyrighted selections, I would here publicly express. To Little, Brown & Company I am indebted for the use of the extract called "Eloquence," which is taken from a discourse by Daniel Webster; to Small, Maynard & Company for the poem "A Conservative," taken from a volume by Mrs. Gilman, entitled "In This Our World;" to the Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company for the poems by Mr. Burton; and to Longmans, Green & Company for the extracts from the works of John Ruskin. The selections from Sill and Emerson are used by permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton, Mifflin & Company, publishers of their works.
The quotations under the headings "Exercises for Elemental Vocal Expression" and "Exercises for Transition," with a few exceptions, are taken from "The Sixth Reader," by the late Lewis B. Monroe, and are here reprinted through the courtesy of the American Book Company.
LELAND POWERS.
INDEX
ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE, Richard Burton BROOK, THE Alfred, Lord Tennyson CAVALIER TUNESI. Give a Rouse.
II. Boot and Saddle. Robert Browning COLUMBUS Joaquin Miller COMING OF ARTHUR, THE Alfred, Lord Tennyson CONSERVATIVE, A Charlotte Perkins Gilman EACH AND ALL Ralph Waldo Emerson ELAINE Alfred, Lord Tennyson ELOQUENCE Daniel Webster EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION FEZZIWIG BALL, THE Charles Dickens FIVE LIVES Edward Rowland Sill GREEN THINGS GROWING Dinah Mulock Craik HERVÉ RIEL Robert Browning IF WE HAD THE TIME Richard Burton LADY OF SHALOTT, THE Alfred, Lord Tennyson LAUGHING CHORUS, A
LIFE AND SONG Sidney Lanier LOCHINVAR Sir Walter Scott MONT BLANC BEFORE SUNRISE S.T. Coleridge MY LAST DUCHESS Robert Browning MY STAR Robert Browning PIPPA PASSES, Extracts from
I. Day.
II. The Year's at Spring. Robert Browning RHODORA, THE Ralph Waldo Emerson RING AND THE BOOK, THE, Extract from Robert Browning SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, I. Charles Dickens SCENE FROM DAVID COPPERFIELD, II. Charles Dickens SCENE FROM KING HENRY IV—"Falstaff's Recruits" William Shakespeare SCENE FROM THE SHAUGHRAUN Boucicault
EXERCISES FOR ELEMENTAL VOCAL EXPRESSION.
The exercises under each chapter have primarily the characteristics of that chapter, and secondarily the characteristics of the other two chapters.
CHAPTER I.
VITALITY.
MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF Power, Largeness, Freedom, Animation, Movement.
maids:
Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute--ho! gallants, draw your blades."
Rise up and ride both fast and far!
The sea flows over bolt and bar."
3. "I would call upon all the true sons of New England to co-operate with the laws of man and the justice of heaven."
And Volmond, emperor of Allemaine,
Apparelled in magnificent attire,
With retinue of many a knight and squire,
On St. John's eve at vespers proudly sat,
And heard the priest chant the Magnificat."
With a gesture of command,
Waved his hand;
And at the word,
Loud and sudden there was heard
All around them and below
The sound of hammers, blow on blow,
Knocking away the shores and spurs.
And see! she stirs!
She starts,--she moves,--she seems to feel
The thrill of life along her keel,
And, spurning with her foot the ground,
With one exulting, joyous bound,
She leaps into the ocean's arms!"
Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed,
And the landscape sped away behind,
Like an ocean flying before the wind."
Saying, 'Now for a frolic! now for a leap!
Now for a madcap galloping chase!
I'll make a commotion in every place!'"
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far, from cliff and scar,
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!"
Clang of bell and roar of gun!
Send the tidings up and down.
How the belfries rock and reel!
How the great guns, peal on peal,
Fling the joy from town to town!"
How high you lift your heads into the sky!
How huge you are, how mighty and how free!
Ye are the things that tower, that shine; whose smile
Makes glad--whose frown is terrible; whose forms,
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear
Of awe divine."
CHAPTER II.
MENTALITY.
MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF Reflection OR Processes OF Thought, Clearness, Definiteness.
1. "Beyond the street a tower,—beyond the tower a moon,—beyond the moon a star,—beyond the Star, what?"
Carve every word before you let it fall;
Don't, like a lecturer or dramatic star,
Try overhard to roll the British R;
Do put your accents in the proper spot;
Don't--let me beg you--don't say 'How?' for 'What?'
And when you stick on conversation's burrs,
Don't strew the pathway with those dreadful urs."
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune;
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep,--
No more:"
4. "I should say sincerity, a deep, great, genuine sincerity, is the first
characteristic of all men in any way heroic. Not the sincerity that calls
itself sincere; that is ... oftenest self-conceit mainly. The great man's
sincerity is of the kind he cannot speak of, is not conscious of."
Lucius. I will, my lord. (Exit.)
Brutus. It must be by his death: and for my part,
I know no cause to spurn at him,
But for the general. He would be crown'd:--
How that might change his nature, there's the question.
It is the bright day that brings forth the adder;
And that craves wary walking. Crown him?--That:--
And then, I grant, we put a sting in him,
That at his will he may do danger with."
was God. The same was in the beginning with God."
7. "Just in proportion as the writer's aim, consciously or unconsciously,
comes to be the transcribing, not of the world, not of mere fact, but of
his sense of it, he becomes an artist; his work a fine art, and
good art in proportion to the truth of his presentment of that sense.
Truth! there can be no merit, no craft at all, without that. And further,
all beauty is in the long run only fineness of truth, or what we
call expression, the finer accommodation of speech to that vision within."
8. "For the Universe has three children, born at one time, which reappear,
under different names, in every system of thought, whether they be called
cause, operation, and effect; or, theologically, the Father, the Spirit,
and the Son; but which we call here, the Knower, the Doer, and the Sayer.
These stand respectively for the love of truth, for the love of good, and
for the love of beauty. These three are equal. Each of these three has the
power of the others latent in him, and his own patent."
CHAPTER III.
MORALITY.
MIND ACTIVITIES DOMINATED BY A CONSCIOUSNESS OF Purpose, Love, Harmony, Poise,
1. "My friend, if thou hadst all the artillery of Woolwich trundling at thy back in support of an unjust thing, and infinite bonfires visibly waiting ahead of thee, to blaze centuries long for thy victory on behalf of it, I would advise thee to call halt, to fling down thy baton, and say, 'In Heaven's name, No!'"
I pluck you out of the crannies;--
Hold you here, root and all, in my hand,
Little flower--but if I could understand
What you are, root and all, and all in all,
I should know what God and man is."
3. "Who but the locksmith could have made such music? A gleam of sun shining through the unsashed window and checkering the dark workshop with a broad patch of light fell full upon him, as though attracted by his sunny heart."
Such as I am; though for myself alone,
I would not be ambitious in my wish,
To wish myself much better; yet, for you,
I would be trebled twenty times myself;
A thousand times more fair, ten thousand times more rich;"
Through the livelong day,
How the clicking of its wheels
Wears the hours away!
Languidly the autumn wind
Stirs the forest leaves,
From the fields the reapers sing,
Binding up their sheaves;
And a proverb haunts my mind,
As a spell is cast;
'The mill can never grind
With the water that is past.'"
6. "Roaming in thought over the Universe, I saw the little that is good steadily hastening towards immortality. And the vast all that is called evil I saw hastening to merge itself, and become lost and dead."
7. "We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a distance. At sea, everything that breaks the monotony of the surrounding expanse attracts attention. It proved to be the mast of a ship that must have been completely wrecked; for there were the remains of handkerchiefs, by which some of the crew had fastened themselves to this spar, to prevent their being washed off by the waves.
"There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for many months; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, and long sea-weeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought I, are the crew? Their struggle has long been over. They have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest. Their bones lie whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, oblivion, like the waves, have closed over them, and no one can tell the story of their end."
And may there be no moaning of the bar when I put out to sea;
But such a tide as moving seems asleep, too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep turns again home."
9. "Lord, thou hast been our dwelling-place in all generations. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever thou hadst formed the earth and the world, even from everlasting to everlasting, thou art God."
EXERCISES FOR TRANSITION.
Play on the soft lute of love, blow the loud trumpet of war,
Sing with the high sesquialtro, or, drawing its full diapason,
Shake all the air with the grand storm of its pedals and stops."
Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!
"Ah! few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier's sepulcher."
Ride softly! ride slowly! the onset is near
More slowly! more softly! the sentry may hear!
Now fall on the foe like a tempest of flame!
Strike down the false banner whose triumph were shame!
Strike, strike for the true flag, for freedom and fame!"
Came not faint whispers near?
No!--The wild wind hath many a sigh
Amid the foliage sere."
O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm,
Majestically calm, would go,
Mid the deep darkness, white as snow!
But gentler now the small waves glide,
Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side.
So stately her bearing, so proud her array,
The main she will traverse for ever and aye.
Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast.
Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last!"
Ripple the silence deep!
No; the swans that, circling nightly,
Through the silver waters sweep.
"See I not, there, a white shimmer?
Something with pale silken shrine?
No; it is the column's glimmer,
'Gainst the gloomy hedge of pine."
Tramp of men and quick commands!
''Tis my lord come back from hunting,'
And the Duchess claps her hands.
"Slow and tired came the hunters;
Stopped in darkness in the court.
'Ho, this way, ye laggard hunters!
To the hall! What sport, what sport.'
"Slow they entered with their master;
In the hall they laid him down.
On his coat were leaves and blood-stains,
On his brow an angry frown."
Short words fall from his lips fast as the first of a shower,--
Now in twofold column, Spondee, Iamb, and Trochee,
Unbroke, firm-set, advance, retreat, trampling along,--
Now with a sprightlier springiness, bounding in triplicate syllables,
Dance the elastic Dactylics in musical cadences on;
Now, their voluminous coil intertangling like huge anacondas,
Roll overwhelmingly onward the sesquipedalian words."
SELECTIONS.
HERVÉ RIEL.
Did the English fight the French,--woe to France!
And the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue,
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue,
Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance,
With the English fleet in view.
'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase;
First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville;
Close on him fled, great and small,
Twenty-two good ships in all;
And they signalled to the place,
"Help the winners of a race!
Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or quicker still,
Here's the English can and will!"
Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and
"Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they:
"Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and scored,
Shall the 'Formidable' here with her twelve and eighty guns,
Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way,
Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons,
And with flow at full beside?
Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide.
Reach the mooring? Rather say,
While rock stands or water runs,
Not a ship will leave the bay!"
Then was called a council straight.
Brief and bitter the debate:
"Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow
All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow,
For a prize to Plymouth Sound?--
Better run the ships aground!"
(Ended Damfreville his speech.)
"Not a minute more to wait!
Let the captains all and each
Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach!
France must undergo her fate.
Give the word!"--But no such word
Was ever spoke or heard;
For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these
A captain? A lieutenant? A mate--first, second, third?
No such man of mark, and meet
With his betters to compete!
But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet--
A poor coasting pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese.
And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel;
"Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues?
Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell
On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell,
'Twixt the offing here and Grève, where the river disembogues?
Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for?
Morn and eve, night and day,
Have I piloted your bay,
Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor.
Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues!
Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way!
Only let me lead the line,
Have the biggest ship to steer,
Get this 'Formidable' clear,
Make the others follow mine,
And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well,
Right to Solidor, past Grève,
And there lay them safe and sound;
And if one ship misbehave,--
Keel so much as grate the ground,
Why, I've nothing but my life,--and here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel.
Not a minute more to wait.
"Steer us in, then, small and great!
Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron!" cried its chief.
"Captains, give the sailor place!
He is Admiral, in brief."
Still the north-wind, by God's grace!
See the noble fellow's face
As the big ship with a bound,
Clears the entry like a hound,
Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's profound!
See, safe through shoal and rock,
How they follow in a flock.
Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground,
Not a spar that comes to grief!
The peril, see, is past,
All are harbored to the last,
And just as Hervé Riel hollas "Anchor!"--sure as fate,
Up the English come, too late.
So, the storm subsides to calm;
They see the green trees wave
On the heights o'erlooking Grève.
Hearts that bled are stanched with balm.
"Just our rapture to enhance,
Let the English rake the bay,
Gnash their teeth and glare askance
As they cannonade away!
Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Rance!"
Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance!
Out burst all with one accord,
"This is Paradise for hell!
Let France, let France's king,
Thank the man that did the thing!"
What a shout, and all one word,
"Hervé Riel!"
As he stepped in front once more,
Not a symptom of surprise
In the frank blue Breton eyes,
Just the same man as before.
Then said Damfreville, "My friend,
I must speak out at the end,
Though I find the speaking hard.
Praise is deeper than the lips;
You have saved the King his ships,
You must name your own reward.
Faith, our sun was near eclipse!
Demand whate'er you will,
France remains your debtor still
Ask to heart's content, and have! or my name's not Damfreville!"
Then a beam of fun outbroke
On the bearded mouth that spoke,
As the honest heart laughed through
Those frank eyes of Breton blue:
"Since I needs must say my say,
Since on board the duty's done,
And from Malo roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run?--
Since 'tis ask and have, I may--
Since the others go ashore--
Come! A good whole holiday!
Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore!"
That he asked, and that he got--nothing more.
Name and deed alike are lost:
Not a pillar nor a post
In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell;
Not a head in white and black
On a single fishing-smack,
In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack
All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the bell.
Go to Paris; rank on rank
Search the heroes flung pell-mell
On the Louvre, face and flank!
You shall look long enough ere you come to Hervé Riel.
So, for better and for worse,
Hervé Riel, accept my verse!
In my verse, Hervé Riel, do thou once more
Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore!
ROBERT BROWNING.
LOCHINVAR.
Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West,--
Through all the wild border his steed was the best!
And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none,--
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
II.
He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone;
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none.
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love and a dastard in war
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
III.
So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,
'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word)
"Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"
IV.
"I long wooed your daughter--my suit you denied;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."
V.
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up;
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar;
"Now tread we a measure?" said young Lochinvar.
VI.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."
VII.
One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung
So light to the saddle before her he sprung:
"She is won! we are gone! over bank, bush, and scar;
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.
VIII.
There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee;
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
EXTRACTS FROM PIPPA PASSES.
Day!
Faster and more fast;
O'er night's brim, day boils at last:
Boils, pure gold, o'er the cloud-cup's brim
Where spurting and suppressed it lay,
For not a froth-flake touched the rim
Of yonder gap in the solid gray,
Of the eastern cloud, an hour away;
But forth one wavelet, then another curled,
Till the whole sunrise, not to be suppressed,
Rose, reddened, and its seething breast
Flickered in bounds, grew gold, then overflowed the world.
Oh Day, if I squandered a wavelet of thee,
A mite of my twelve hours' treasure,
The least of thy gazes or glances,
(Be they grants thou art bound to or gifts above measure)
One of thy choices or one of thy chances,
(Be they tasks God imposed thee or freaks at thy pleasure)
--My day, if I squander such labor or leisure,
Then shame fall on Asolo, mischief on me!
ROBERT BROWNING.
II. "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING."
The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn:
God's in his heaven--
All's right with the world!
ROBERT BROWNING.
THE FEZZIWIG BALL.
Old Fezziwig laid down his pen, and looked up at the clock, which pointed to the hour of seven. He rubbed his hands; adjusted his capacious waistcoat; laughed all over himself, from his shoes to his organ of benevolence; and called out in a comfortable, oily, rich, fat, jovial voice: "Yo ho, there! Ebenezer! Dick!"
A living and moving picture of Scrooge's former self, a young man, came briskly in, accompanied by his fellow-prentice.
"Yo ho, my boys!" said Fezziwig. "No more work to-night. Christmas eve, Dick. Christmas, Ebenezer! Let's have the shutters up, before a man can say Jack Robinson! Clear away, my lads, and let's have lots of room here!"
Clear away! There was nothing they wouldn't have cleared away, or couldn't have cleared away, with old Fezziwig looking on. It was done in a minute. Every movable was packed off, as if it were dismissed from public life forevermore; the floor was swept and watered, the lamps were trimmed, fuel was heaped upon the fire; and the warehouse was as snug and warm and dry and bright a ball-room as you would desire to see upon a winter's night.
In came a fiddler with a music-book, and went up to the lofty desk, and made an orchestra of it, and tuned like fifty stomach-aches. In came Mrs. Fezziwig, one vast substantial smile. In came the three Miss Fezziwigs, beaming and lovable. In came the six young followers whose hearts they broke. In came all the young men and women employed in the business. In came the housemaid, with her cousin the baker. In came the cook, with her brother's particular friend, the milkman. In they all came one after another; some shyly, some boldly, some gracefully, some awkwardly, some pushing, some pulling; in they all came, anyhow and everyhow. Away they all went, twenty couple at once; hands half round and back again the other way; down the middle and up again; round and round in various stages of affectionate grouping; old top couple always turning up in the wrong place; new top couple starting off again, as soon as they got there; all top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them. When this result was brought about, old Fezziwig, clapping his hands to Stop the dance, cried out, "Well done!" and the fiddler plunged his hot face into a pot of porter especially provided for that purpose.
There were more dances, and there were forfeits, and more dances, and there was cake, and there was negus, and there was a great piece of Cold Roast, and there was a great piece of Cold Boiled, and there were mince pies, and plenty of beer. But the great effect of the evening came after the Roast and Boiled, when the fiddler struck up "Sir Roger de Coverley." Then old Fezziwig stood out to dance with Mrs. Fezziwig. Top couple, too; with a good stiff piece of work cut out for them; three or four and twenty pair of partners, people who were not to be trifled with; people who would dance, and had no notion of walking.
But if they had been twice as many,—four times,—old Fezziwig would have been a match for them and so would Mrs. Fezziwig. As to her, she was worthy to be his partner in every sense of the term. A positive light appeared to issue from Fezziwig's calves. They shone in every part of the dance. You couldn't have predicted, at any given time, what would become of 'em next. And when old Fezziwig and Mrs. Fezziwig had gone all through the dance,—advance and retire, turn your partner, bow and courtesy, corkscrew, thread the needle and back again to your place,—Fezziwig "cut,"—cut so deftly, that he appeared to wink with his legs.
When the clock struck eleven this domestic ball broke up. Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig took their stations, one on either side of the door, and, shaking hands with every person individually as he or she went out, wished him or her a Merry Christmas. When everybody had retired but the two 'prentices, they did the same to them; and thus the cheerful voices died away, and the lads were left to their beds, which were under a counter in the back shop.
THE BROOK.
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.
II.
By thirty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges;
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.
III.
I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.
IV.
With many a curve my banks I fret
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.
V.
I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on forever.
VI.
I wind about and in and out,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling.
VII.
And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me as I travel
With many a silvery water-break
Above the golden gravel.
VIII.
I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers,
I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.
IX.
I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows;
I make the netted sunbeam dance
Against my sandy shallows.
X.
I murmur, under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses,
I linger by my shingly bars,
I loiter round my cresses.
XI.
And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river;
For men may come, and men may go,
But I go on forever.
ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.
A LAUGHING CHORUS.
[Used by permission, from "Nature in Verse," copyrighted, 1895, by Silver, Burdett & Company.]