LITMIR.BIZ

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most of them diggers.

      "Ah, well," said he, on reflection, "we could not expect to have it all to ourselves, and indeed it would be a sin to wish it, you know. Now, Tom, come this way; here it is, here it is—there." Tom looked up, and in a gigantic cage was a light brown bird.

      He was utterly confounded. "What, is it this we came twelve miles to see?"

      "Ay! and twice twelve wouldn't have been much to me."

      "Well, but what is the lark you talked of?"

      "This is it."

      "This? This is a bird."

      "Well, and isn't a lark a bird?"

      "O, ay! I see! ha! ha! ha! ha!"

      Robinson's merriment was interrupted by a harsh remonstrance from several of the diggers, who were all from the other end of the camp.

      "Hold your—cackle," cried one, "he is going to sing;" and the whole party had their eyes turned with expectation towards the bird.

      Like most singers, he kept them waiting a bit. But at last, just at noon, when the mistress of the house had warranted him to sing, the little feathered exile began, as it were, to tune his pipes. The savage men gathered round the cage that moment, and amidst a dead stillness the bird uttered some very uncertain chirps, but after awhile he seemed to revive his memories, and call his ancient cadences back to him one by one, and string them sotto voce.

      And then the same sun that had warmed his little heart at home came glowing down on him here, and he gave music back for it more and more, till at last—amidst breathless silence and glistening eyes of the rough diggers hanging on his voice—out burst in that distant land his English song.

      It swelled his little throat and gushed from him with thrilling force and purity, and every time he checked his song to think of its theme, the green meadows, the quiet stealing streams, the clover he first soared from, and the spring he sang so well, a loud sigh from many a rough bosom, many a wild and wicked heart, told how tight the listeners had held their breath to hear him; and when he swelled with song again, and poured with all his soul the green meadows, the quiet brooks, the honey clover, and the English spring, the rugged mouths opened and so stayed, and the shaggy lips trembled, and more than one drop trickled from fierce unbridled hearts down bronzed and rugged cheeks.

      Dulce domum!

      And these shaggy men, full of oaths and strife and cupidity, had once been white-headed boys, and had strolled about the English fields with little sisters and little brothers, and seen the lark rise, and heard him sing this very song. The little playmates lay in the churchyard, and they were full of oaths and drink and lusts and remorses—but no note was changed in this immortal song. And so for a moment or two, years of vice rolled away like a dark cloud from the memory, and the past shone out in the song-shine: they came back, bright as the immortal notes that lighted them, those faded pictures and those fleeted days; the cottage, the old mother's tears when he left her without one grain of sorrow; the village church and its simple chimes; the clover field hard by in which he lay and gambolled, while the lark praised God overhead; the chubby playmates that never grew to be wicked, the sweet hours of youth—and innocence—and home.

      Charles Reade: "It is Never Too Late to Mend."

THE ANCIENT MARINER

       Table of Contents

      It is an ancient Mariner,

       And he stoppeth one of three.

       "By thy long gray beard and glittering eye,

       Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

      The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,

       And I am next of kin;

       The guests are met, the feast is set:

       May'st hear the merry din."

      He holds him with his skinny hand,

       "There was a ship," quoth he.

       "Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard, loon!"

       Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

      He holds him with his glittering eye—

       The Wedding-Guest stood still,

       And listens like a three years' child:

       The Mariner hath his will.

      The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:

       He cannot choose but hear;

       And thus spake on that ancient man,

       The bright-eyed Mariner:

      "The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,

       Merrily did we drop

       Below the kirk, below the hill,

       Below the lighthouse top.

      The Sun came up upon the left,

       Out of the sea came he!

       And he shone bright, and on the right

       Went down into the sea.

      Higher and higher every day,

       Till over the mast at noon—"

       The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,

       For he heard the loud bassoon.

      The Bride hath paced into the hall,

       Red as a rose is she;

       Nodding their heads before her goes

       The merry minstrelsy.

      The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,

       Yet he cannot choose but hear;

       And thus spake on that ancient man,

       The bright-eyed Mariner:

      "And now the storm-blast came, and he

       Was tyrannous and strong:

       He struck with his o'ertaking wings,

       And chased us south along.

      With sloping masts and dipping prow,

       As who pursued with yell and blow

       Still treads the shadow of his foe,

       And forward bends his head,

       The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,

       And southward aye we fled.

      And now there came both mist and snow,

       And it grew wondrous cold:

       And ice, mast-high, came floating by,

       As green as emerald.

      And through the drifts the snowy clifts

       Did send a dismal sheen:

       Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—

       The ice was all between.

      The ice was here, the ice was there,

       The ice was all around:

       It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,

       Like noises in a swound.

      At length did cross an Albatross—

       Thorough the fog it came;

       As if it had been a Christian soul,

       We hailed it in God's name.

      It ate the food it ne'er had eat,

       And round and round it flew.

       The ice did split with a thunder-fit;

       The helmsman steered us through!

      And a good south wind sprung up behind;

       The Albatross did follow,

       And every day, for food

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