The Illustrated London Reading Book Part 5

Unswathe him now. Take off each stay That binds him to his couch of clay, And let him struggle into day!

Let chain and pulley run, With yielding crank and steady rope, Until he rise from rim to cope, In rounded beauty, ribb'd in strength, Without a flaw in all his length-- _Hurra! the work is done!_

The clapper on his giant side Shall ring no peal for blus.h.i.+ng bride, For birth, or death, or new-year tide, Or festival begun!

A nation's joy alone shall be The signal for his revelry; And for a nation's woes alone His melancholy tongue shall moan-- _Hurra! the work is done!_

Borne on the gale, deep-toned and clear, His long, loud summons shall we hear, When statesmen to their country dear Their mortal race have run; When mighty Monarchs yield their breath, And patriots sleep the sleep of death, Then shall he raise his voice of gloom, And peal a requiem o'er their tomb-- _Hurra! the work is done!_

Should foemen lift their haughty hand, And dare invade us where we stand, Fast by the altars of our land We'll gather every one; And he shall ring the loud alarm, To call the mult.i.tudes to arm, From distant field and forest brown, And teeming alleys of the town-- _Hurra! the work is done!_

And as the solemn boom they hear, Old men shall grasp the idle spear, Laid by to rust for many a year, And to the struggle run: Young men shall leave their toils or books, Or turn to swords their pruning-hooks; And maids have sweetest smiles for those Who battle with their country's foes-- _Hurra! the work is done!_

And when the cannon's iron throat Shall bear the news to dells remote, And trumpet blast resound the note-- That victory is won; When down the wind the banner drops, And bonfires blaze on mountain tops, His sides shall glow with fierce delight, And ring glad peals from morn to night-- _Hurra! the work is done!_

But of such themes forbear to tell-- May never War awake this bell To sound the tocsin or the knell-- Hush'd be the alarum gun.

Sheath'd be the sword! and may his voice But call the nations to rejoice That War his tatter'd flag has furl'd, And vanish'd from a wiser world-- _Hurra! the work is done!_

Still may he ring when struggles cease-- Still may he ring for joy's increase, For progress in the arts of peace, And friendly trophies won; When rival nations join their hands, When plenty crowns the happy lands, When Knowledge gives new blessings birth, And Freedom reigns o'er all the earth-- _Hurra! the work is done!_

MACKAY.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FOUNDING OF THE BELL.]

NAPOLEON.

With his pa.s.sions, and in spite of his errors, Napoleon was, taking him all in all, the greatest warrior of modern times. He carried into battle a stoical courage, a profoundly calculated tenacity, a mind fertile in sudden inspirations, which, by unlooked-for resources, disconcerted the plans of his enemy. Let us beware of attributing a long series of success to the organic power of the ma.s.ses which he set in motion. The most experienced eye could scarcely discover in them any thing but elements of disorder. Still less, let it be said, that he was a successful captain because he was a mighty Monarch. Of all his campaigns, the most memorable are the campaign of the Adige, where the general of yesterday, commanding an army by no means numerous, and at first badly appointed, placed himself at once above Turenne, and on a level with Frederick; and the campaign in France in 1814, when, reduced to a handful of harra.s.sed troops, he combated a force of ten times their number. The last flashes of Imperial lightning still dazzled the eyes of our enemies; and it was a fine sight to see the bounds of the old lion, tracked, hunted down, beset--presenting a lively picture of the days of his youth, when his powers developed themselves in the fields of carnage.

Napoleon possessed, in an eminent degree, the faculties requisite for the profession of arms; temperate and robust; watching and sleeping at pleasure; appearing unawares where he was least expected: he did not disregard details, to which important results are sometimes attached.

The hand which had just traced rules for the government of many millions of men, would frequently rectify an incorrect statement of the situation of a regiment, or write down whence two hundred conscripts were to be obtained, and from what magazine their shoes were to be taken. A patient, and an easy interlocutor, he was a home questioner, and he could listen--a rare talent in the grandees of the earth. He carried with him into battle a cool and impa.s.sable courage. Never was mind so deeply meditative, more fertile in rapid and sudden illuminations. On becoming Emperor he ceased not to be the soldier. If his activity decreased with the progress of age, that was owing to the decrease of his physical powers. In games of mingled calculation and hazard the greater the advantages which a man seeks to obtain the greater risks he must run. It is precisely this that renders the deceitful science of conquerors so calamitous to nations.

[Ill.u.s.tration: NAPOLEON.]

Napoleon, though naturally adventurous, was not deficient in consistency or method; and he wasted neither his soldiers nor his treasures where the authority of his name sufficed. What he could obtain by negotiations or by artifice, he required not by force of arms. The sword, although drawn from the scabbard, was not stained with blood unless it was impossible to attain the end in view by a manoeuvre. Always ready to fight, he chose habitually the occasion and the ground: out of fifty battles which he fought, he was the a.s.sailant in at least forty. Other generals have equalled him in the art of disposing troops on the ground; some have given battle as well as he did--we could mention several who have received it better; but in the manner of directing an offensive campaign he has surpa.s.sed all. The wars in Spain and Russia prove nothing in disparagement of his genius. It is not by the rules of Montecuculi and Turenne, manoeuvring on the Renchen, that we ought to judge of such enterprises: the first warred to such or such winter quarters; the other to subdue the world. It frequently behoved him not merely to gain a battle, but to gain it in such a manner as to astound Europe and to produce gigantic results. Thus political views were incessantly interfering with the strategic genius; and to appreciate him properly, we must not confine ourselves within the limits of the art of war. This art is not composed exclusively of technical details; it has also its philosophy.

To find in this elevated region a rival of Napoleon, we must go back to the times when the feudal inst.i.tutions had not yet broken the unity of the ancient nations. The founders of religion alone have exercised over their disciples an authority comparable with that which made him the absolute master of his army. This moral power became fatal to him, because he strove to avail himself of it even against the ascendancy of material force, and because it led him to despise positive rules, the long violation of which will not remain unpunished. When pride was bringing Napoleon towards his fall, he happened to say, "France has more need of me than I have of France." He spoke the truth: but why had he become necessary? Because he had committed the destiny of France to the chances of an interminable war: because, in spite of the resources of his genius, that war, rendered daily more hazardous by his staking the whole of his force and by the boldness of his movements, risked, in every campaign, in every battle, the fruits of twenty years of triumph: because his government was so modelled that with him every thing must be swept away, and that a reaction, proportioned to the violence of the action, must burst forth at once both within and without. But Napoleon saw, without illusion, to the bottom of things. The nation, wholly occupied in prosecuting the designs of its chief, had previously not had time to form any plans for itself. The day on which it should have ceased to be stunned by the din of arms, it would have called itself to account for its servile obedience. It is better, thought he, for an absolute prince to fight foreign armies than to have to struggle against the energy of the citizens. Despotism had been organized for making war; war was continued to uphold despotism. The die was cast--France must either conquer Europe, or Europe subdue France. Napoleon fell--he fell, because with the men of the nineteenth century he attempted the work of an Attila and a Genghis Khan; because he gave the reins to an imagination directly contrary to the spirit of his age; with which, nevertheless, his reason was perfectly acquainted; because he would not pause on the day when he felt conscious of his inability to succeed.

Nature has fixed a boundary, beyond which extravagant enterprises cannot be carried with prudence. This boundary the Emperor reached in Spain, and overleaped in Russia. Had he then escaped destruction, his inflexible presumption would have caused him to find elsewhere a Bayleu and a Moscow.

GENERAL FOY.

ROME.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

I am in Rome! Oft as the morning ray Visits these eyes, waking at once, I cry, Whence this excess of joy? What has befallen me?

And from within a thrilling voice replies-- Thou art in Rome! A thousand busy thoughts Rush on my mind--a thousand images; And I spring up as girt to run a race!

Thou art in _Rome!_ the city that so long Reign'd absolute--the mistress of the world!

The mighty vision that the Prophet saw And trembled; that from nothing, from the least, The lowliest village (what, but here and there A reed-roof'd cabin by a river side?) Grew into everything; and, year by year, Patiently, fearlessly working her way O'er brook and field, o'er continent and sea; Not like the merchant with his merchandise, Or traveller with staff and scrip exploring; But hand to hand and foot to foot, through hosts, Through nations numberless in battle array, Each behind each; each, when the other fell, Up, and in arms--at length subdued them all.

Thou art in _Rome!_ the city where the Gauls, Entering at sun-rise through her open gates, And through her streets silent and desolate Marching to slay, thought they saw G.o.ds, not men; The city, that by temperance, fort.i.tude, And love of glory tower'd above the clouds, Then fell--but, falling, kept the highest seat, And in her loveliness, her pomp of woe, Where now she dwells, withdrawn into the wild, Still o'er the mind maintains, from age to age, Its empire undiminish'd. There, as though Grandeur attracted grandeur, are beheld All things that strike, enn.o.ble; from the depths Of Egypt, from the cla.s.sic fields of Greece-- Her groves, her temples--all things that inspire Wonder, delight! Who would not say the forms.

Most perfect most divine, had by consent Flock'd thither to abide eternally Within those silent chambers where they dwell In happy intercourse?

ROGERS.

THE ROOKERY

[Ill.u.s.tration: Letter I.]

Is that a rookery, papa?

_Mr. S._ It is. Do you hear what a cawing the birds make?

_F_. Yes; and I see them hopping about among the boughs. Pray, are not rooks the same with crows?

_Mr. S._ They are a species of crow. But they differ from the carrion crow and raven, in not feeding upon dead flesh, but upon corn and other seeds and gra.s.s, though, indeed, they pick up beetles and other insects and worms. See what a number of them have alighted on yonder ploughed field, almost blackening it over. They are searching for grubs and worms. The men in the field do not molest them, for they do a great deal of service by destroying grubs, which, if suffered to grow to winged insects, would injure the trees and plants.

_F_. Do all rooks live in rookeries?

_Mr. S._ It is their nature to a.s.sociate together, and they build in numbers of the same, or adjoining trees. They have no objection to the neighbourhood of man, but readily take to a plantation of tall trees, though it be close to a house; and this is commonly called a rookery.

They will even fix their habitations on trees in the midst of towns.

_F_. I think a rookery is a sort of town itself.

_Mr. S._ It is--a village in the air, peopled with numerous inhabitants; and nothing can be more amusing than to view them all in motion, flying to and fro, and busied in their several occupations. The spring is their busiest time. Early in the year they begin to repair their nests, or build new ones.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CROW.]

_F_. Do they all work together, or every one for itself?

_Mr. S._ Each pair, after they have coupled, builds its own nest; and, instead of helping, they are very apt to steal the materials from one another. If both birds go out at once in search of sticks, they often find at their return the work all destroyed, and the materials carried off. However, I have met with a story which shows that they are not without some sense of the criminality of thieving. There was in a rookery a lazy pair of rooks, who never went out to get sticks for themselves, but made a practice of watching when their neighbours were abroad, and helping themselves from their nests. They had served most of the community in this manner, and by these means had just finished their own nest; when all the other rooks, in a rage, fell upon them at once, pulled their nest in pieces, beat them soundly, and drove them from their society.

_F_. But why do they live together, if they do not help one another?