The New McGuffey Fourth Reader Part 13

DEFINITIONS:--Thrilling, exciting. Veteran, long experienced.

Shrewd, artful, cunning. Interceded, stepped in between, prevented. Trail, pathway.

THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.

BY FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.

Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming, Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro'the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.

Oh, say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave, O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave?

On the sh.o.r.e dimly seen through the mist of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?

Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam, In full glory reflected, now s.h.i.+nes on the stream: 'Tis the star-spangled banner: oh, long may wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore, That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion, A home and a country should leave us no more?

Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps' pollution.

No refuge could save the hireling and slave From the terror of night or the gloom of the grave: And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Oh, thus be it ever when freemen shall stand Between their loved homes and wild war's desolation; Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation!

Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just, And this be our motto: "In G.o.d is our trust!"

And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

DEFINITIONS:--Hailed, greeted. Perilous, full of danger.

Ramparts, the walls of a fortification. Bombs, sh.e.l.ls fired from mortars. Haughty, overbearing. Fitfully, by starts. Discloses, reveals to sight. Havoc, destruction.

NOTE.--This song was composed in September, 1814, at the time of the bombardment of Fort McHenry, near Baltimore, by the British.

OUR NATIONAL BANNER.

BY EDWARD EVERETT.

All hail to our glorious ensign! courage to the heart and strength to the hand, to which, in all time, it shall be intrusted! May it ever wave first in honor, in unsullied glory and patriotic hope, on the dome of the Capitol, on the country's stronghold, on the tented plain, on the wave-rocked topmast.

Wheresoever, on the earth's surface, the eye of the American shall behold it, may he have reason to bless it! On whatsoever spot it is planted, there may freedom have a foothold, humanity a brave champion, and religion an altar. Though stained with blood in a righteous cause, may it never, in any cause, be stained with shame.

Alike when its gorgeous folds shall wanton in lazy holiday triumphs on the summer breeze, and its tattered fragments be dimly seen through the clouds of war, may it be the joy and pride of the American heart. First raised in the cause of right and liberty, in that cause alone may it forever spread out its streaming blazonry to the battle and the storm. Having been borne victoriously across a mighty continent, and floating in triumph on every sea, may virtue, and freedom, and peace, forever follow where it leads the way!

BURNING THE FALLOW.

BY SUSANNA MOODIE.

The day was sultry, and toward noon a strong wind sprang up that roared in the pine tops like the das.h.i.+ng of distant billows, but without in the least degree abating the heat. The children were lying listlessly upon the floor, and the girl and I were finis.h.i.+ng sunbonnets, when Mary suddenly exclaimed, "Bless us, mistress, what a smoke!"

I ran immediately to the door, but was not able to distinguish ten yards before me. The swamp immediately below us was on fire, and the heavy wind was driving a dense black cloud of smoke directly toward us.

"What can this mean?" I cried. "Who can have set fire to the fallow?" As I ceased speaking, John Thomas stood pale and trembling before me. "John, what is the meaning of this fire?"

"Oh, ma'am, I hope you will forgive me; it was I set fire to it, and I would give all I have in the world if I had not done it."

"What is the danger?"

"Oh, I'm afraid that we shall all be burnt up," said John, beginning to whimper. "What shall we do?"

"Why, we must get out of it as fast as we can, and leave the house to its fate."

"We can't get out," said the man, in a low hollow tone, which seemed the concentration of fear; "I would have got out of it if I could; but just step to the back door, ma'am, and see."

Behind, before, on every side, we were surrounded by a wall of fire, burning furiously within a hundred yards of us, and cutting off all possibility of retreat; for, could we have found an opening through the burning heaps, we could not have seen our way through the dense canopy of smoke; and, buried as we were in the heart of the forest, no one could discover our situation till we were beyond the reach of help.

I closed the door, and went back to the parlor. Fear was knocking loudly at my heart, for our utter helplessness destroyed all hope of our being able to effect our escape. The girl sat upon the floor by the children, who, unconscious of the peril that hung over them, had both fallen asleep. She was silently weeping; while the boy who had caused the mischief was crying aloud.

A strange calm succeeded my first alarm. I sat down upon the step of the door, and watched the awful scene in silence. The fire was raging in the cedar swamp immediately below the ridge on which the house stood, and it presented a spectacle truly appalling.

From out of the dense folds of a canopy of black smoke--the blackest I ever saw--leaped up red forks of lurid flame as high as the tree tops, igniting the branches of a group of tall pines that had been left for saw logs. A deep gloom blotted out the heavens from our sight. The air was filled with fiery particles, which floated even to the doorstep-while the crackling and roaring of the flames might have been heard at a great distance.

To reach the sh.o.r.e of the lake, we must pa.s.s through the burning swamp, and not a bird could pa.s.s over it with unscorched wings.

The fierce wind drove the flames at the sides and back of the house up the clearing; and our pa.s.sage to the road or to the forest, on the right and left, was entirely obstructed by a sea of flames. Our only ark of safety was the house, so long as it remained untouched by the fire.

I turned to young Thomas, and asked him how long he thought that would be. "When the fire clears this little ridge in front, ma'am. The Lord have mercy on us then, or we must all go."

I threw myself down on the floor beside my children, and pressed them to my heart, while inwardly I thanked G.o.d that they were asleep, unconscious of danger, and unable by their cries to distract our attention from adopting any plan which might offer to effect their escape.

The heat soon became suffocating. We were parched with thirst, and there was not a drop of water in the house, and none to be procured nearer than the lake. I turned once more to the door, hoping that a pa.s.sage might have been burnt through to the water.

I saw nothing but a dense cloud of fire and smoke--could hear nothing but the crackling and roaring of flames, which were gaining so fast upon us that I felt their scorching breath in my face.

"Ah," thought I,--and it was a most bitter thought,--"what will my beloved husband say when he returns and finds that his poor wife and his dear girls have perished in this miserable manner?

But G.o.d can save us yet."

The thought had scarcely found a voice in my heart before the wind rose to a hurricane, scattering the flames on all sides into a tempest of burning billows. I buried my head in my ap.r.o.n, for I thought that all was lost, when a most terrific crash of thunder burst over our heads, and, like the breaking of a waterspout, down came the rus.h.i.+ng torrent of rain which had been pent up for so many weeks.

In a few minutes the chipyard was all afloat, and the fire effectually checked. The storm which, unnoticed by us, had been gathering all day, and which was the only one of any note we had that summer, continued to rage all night, and before morning had quite subdued the cruel enemy whose approach we had viewed with such dread.

--Prom "Roughing it in the Bush."

PICCOLA.

BY CELIA LEIGHTON THAXTER.

Poor, sweet Piccola! Did you hear What happened to Piccola, children dear?

'Tis seldom Fortune such favor grants As fell to this little maid of France.