Well done, my boy! Come here!-Now, Emma, I will answer you. Em. O William! think How little is that all to him,-too little Tell. Have we not? Have we No treasure? How! No treasure? What! Have we not liberty?—that precious ore, That pearl, that gem, the tyrant covets most,— And that's enough for Gesler! Em. Then, indeed, My William, we have much to fear! Tell. We have; And best it is we know how much. Then, Emma, Make up thy mind, wife,-make it up! Remember What wives and mothers, on these very hills, Once breathed the air you breathe! Em. O William! Tell. Emma, let the boy alone; Don't clasp him so; 't will soften him. Go, sir, See if the valley sends us visitors To-day. Some friend, perchance, may need thy guidance. Away! [ALBERT leaves.] He's better from thee, Emma; the time Is come, a mother on her breast should fold Her arms, as if they'd done with such endearments, And bid her children go from her, to hunt For danger which will presently hunt them The less to heed it. Em. William, you are right! The task you set me, I will try to do. I would not live myself to be a slave! JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES. James Sheridan Knowles was born at Cork, Ireland, in 1794, and died in 1863. He was author and dramatist. He was professor of elocution for some years at Belfast. While at this work, he wrote most of his successful and popular dramas. He wrote, at this time, "Virginius," "The Hunchback," "The Wife," and "William Tell." These were the best, and they still retain their place upon the stage. He became an actor, and, in 1836, visited the United States, and played in the principal theaters. On his return home, he gave his attention to theology, and became a Baptist minister. DISCUSSION OF THE LESSON. 66 Who was William Tell? Is his story authentic history, or legendary? What is the difference between history and legend? To what country did Tell belong? Where was Helvetia? Who was Gesler? About when did Tell and Gesler live? Tell what you know of the story of William Tell. What treasure "' is dearest to a true, brave man? How did Tell train his son? What qualities of character would such training develop in a son? For what purpose was this training? How did Albert's mother train him? What qualities would the mother's training develop? Which is the better training for a boy? Are both good for him? Did God intend the influence of a gentle mother, to unite with the sterner teachings of the father in the development of a boy's character? ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCH- The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;— Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, Molest her ancient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a moldering heap, Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallows twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them, no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knee the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team a-field! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. Can storied urn or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of Death? Perhaps, in this neglected spot is laid, Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre. But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast The applause of listening senates to command, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone Their growing virtues, but their crimes con fined; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of Mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. |