Right onward to the Scottish strand The gallant ship is borne;The warriors leap upon the land, And, hark! the leader of the band Hath blown his bugle-horn.
Sing mournfully, oh, mournfully, The solitude of Binnorie !
Beside a grotto of their own,
With boughs above them closing, The seven are laid, and in the shadeThey lie, like fawns reposing. But now, upstarting with affright,At noise of man and steed,
Away they fly, to left, to right-
Of your fair household, father knight, Methinks you take small heed !
Sing mournfully, oh, mournfully,
The solitude of Binnorie!
Away the seven fair Campbells fly;
And, over hill and hollow,
With menace proud and insult loud, The youthful rovers follow.
Cried they, " Your father loves to roam:
Enough for him to find
The empty house when he comes home; For us your yellow ringlets comb,For us be fair and kind! " Sing mournfully, oh, mournfully, The solitude of Binnorie !
Some close behind, some side to side, Like clouds in stormy weather,They run and cry, " Nay, let us die, And let us die together. "A lake was near; the shore was steep : There never foot had been;They ran, and with a desperate leap Together plunged into the deep,Nor ever more were seen. Sing mournfully, oh, mournfully, The solitude of Binnorie !
The stream that flows out of the lake, As through the glen it rambles, Repeats a moan o"er moss and stoneFor those seven lovely Campbells. Seven little islands, green and bare,Have risen from out the deep; The fishers say those sisters fair By fairies all are buried there,And there together sleep. Sing mournfully, oh, mournfully, The solitude of Binnorie !
Old Ballad
Author.-As with many other old ballads, the author is unknown. The ancient ballad, product of a simple and unlettered age, was a spirited,unadorned, narrative poem, dealing with the elemental emotions-love, hate, pity, or fear. The authors" names have perished, and the ballads themselves, passing from mouth to mouth, and generation to generation, have probably been subjected to alterations and omissions.
General.-What emotions are awakened by the reading? Have suchdreadful things happened? (Read the story of the Massacre of Glencoe.) What means have been adopted, and what means have been proposed, to prevent barbarities of this nature? Which are the most mournful lines in the poem? Are there any cheerful ones?
Lesson 58
THE SEASHELL
See, what a lovely shell ! Small and pure as a pearl; Frail, but a work divine, Made so fairily wellWith delicate spire and whorl; How exquisitely minute-A miracle of design!
The tiny shell is forlorn, Void of the little living willThat made it stir on the shore. Did he stand at the diamond door Of his house in a rainbow frill?
Did he push, when he was uncurled, A golden foot or a fairy horn Through his dim water-world?
Slight, to be crushed with a tap Of my finger-nail on the sand; Small, but a work divine;Frail, but of force to withstand,
Year upon year, the shock Of cataract seas that snapThe three-decker"s oaken spine Athwart the ledges of rock, Here on the Breton strand !
Lord Tennyson
Author.-Lo r d Te n n y s o n (1809-92) was born in England, and completed his education at Cambridge. He practised verse-making from his early years, and spent his life at it. He was appointed Poet Laureate in 1850. His poems to a considerable extent embody the philosophic and religious thought of his time.
General.-Is the poem, like the shell itself, "made so fairily well "?
It comes from Tennyson"s "Maud. " A young Englishman has slain (or thinks he has slain) his sweetheart"s brother in a duel, and has fled across the Channel to Brittany. In great trouble of mind, he paces the shore and picking up a shell, moralizes. Who designed it? Why? Now it is forlorn- " the very word is like a knell "-the "living will " is gone. Yet the frail tenement can stand against storms that wreck proud ships Learn this poem by heart for its delicate beauty of phrase.
Lesson 59
THE LOADED DOG
Dave Regan, Jim Bently, and Andy Page were sinking a shaft at Stony Creek in search of a rich quartz reef that was supposed to exist in the vicinity.
The creek held plenty of fish, providing both sport and food for the men. There came a time, however, when the fish, for some reason best known to themselves, refused to bite. The creek at this time was reduced to a series of water-holes, and Dave, who was subject to what are popularly known as "brain waves, " conceived the idea of blowing the fish up with a cartridge similar to those which they used for blasting the rock.
He thought the thing out, and Andy worked it out, making the cartridge about three times the ordinary size, Jim Bently remarking that it was big enough to blow the bottom out of the river. After covering the thing with several coatings of canvas and tallow, Andy stood it carefully against a tent peg and wound the fuse loosely around it. Then he went to the camp fire to try some potatoes which were boiling in a "billy. "Dave and Jim were at work in the claim that morning. They had a big black young retriever dog, a big, foolish, four-footed mate, who was always slobbering round them and lashing their legs with his heavy tail, which swung round like a stock-whip.
He seemed to take life, the world, and his own instinct as a huge joke. He"d retrieve anything : he carted back most of the camp rubbish that Andy threw away.
He watched Andy with great interest while the cartridge was being made, then went off to meet Dave and Jim. Andy was cook that day; Dave and Jim stood with their backs to the fire waiting till dinner should be ready. The retriever went nosing round after something he seemed to have missed. Presently, Dave glanced over his shoulder to see how the chops were doing-and bolted. Jim looked behind, and bolted after Dave. Andy stood stock still, staring after them.
