The Ontario Readers Part 37

We did so, and he sat over it till long past day dawn. And this was the origin of the Moonlight Sonata with which we are all so fondly acquainted.

UNKNOWN

THE RED-WINGED BLACKBIRD

Black beneath as the night, With wings of a morning glow, From his sooty throat three syllables float, Ravis.h.i.+ng, liquid, low; And 'tis oh, for the joy of June, And the bliss that ne'er can flee From that exquisite call, with its sweet, sweet fall-- O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!

Long ago as a child, From the bough of a blossoming quince, That melody came to thrill my frame, And whenever I've caught it since, The spring-soft blue of the sky And the spring-bright bloom of the tree Are a part of the strain--ah, hear it again!-- O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!

And the night is tenderly black, The morning eagerly bright, For that old, old spring is blossoming In the soul and in the sight.

The red-winged blackbird brings My lost youth back to me, When I hear in the swale, from a gray fence rail, O-ke-lee, o-ke-lee, o-ke-lee!

ETHELWYN WETHERALD

TO THE CUCKOO

Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove!

Thou messenger of spring!

Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing.

What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear.

Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year?

Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers.

The school-boy, wandering through the wood To pull the primrose gay, Starts, the new voice of Spring to hear, And imitates thy lay.

What time the pea puts on the bloom, Thou fliest thy vocal vale, An annual guest in other lands, Another spring to hail.

Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year!

Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee!

We'd make, with joyful wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the Spring.

JOHN LOGAN

THE STORY OF A STONE

A great many years ago, when nearly the whole of Canada was covered with water, and the Northern Ocean, which washed the highest crests of the Alleghanies, made an island of the Laurentian Hills, and wrote its name on the Pictured Rocks of Lake Superior, there lived somewhere near Toronto, in the Province of Ontario, a little animal called a Polyp. He was a curious creature, very small, not unlike a flower in appearance, a plant-animal.

One day, the sun shone down into the water and set this little fellow free from the egg in which he was confined. For a time he floated about near the bottom of the ocean, but at last settled down on a bit of sh.e.l.l, and fastened himself to it. Then he made an opening in his upper side, formed for himself a mouth and stomach, thrust out a whole row of feelers, and began catching whatever morsels of food came in his way. He had a great many strange ways, but the strangest of all was his gathering little bits of limestone from the water and building them up round him, as a person does who builds a well.

But this little Favosite, for that was his name, became lonesome on the bottom of that old ocean; so one night, when he was fast asleep and dreaming as only a coral animal can dream, there sprouted out of his side another little Favosite, who very soon began to wall himself up as his parent had done. From these, other little Favosites were formed, till at last there were so many of them, and they were so crowded together, that, to economize the limestone they built with, they had to make their cells six-sided, like those of a honey-comb: on this account they are called Favosites.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

The colony thrived for a long time, and acc.u.mulated quite a stock of limestone. But at last a change came: there was a great rush of muddy water from the land, and all the Favosites died, leaving only a stony skeleton to prove that industrious Polyps had ever existed there.

This skeleton remained undisturbed for ages, until the earth began to rise inch by inch out of the water. Then our Favosites' home rose above the deep, and with it came all that was left of its old acquaintances the Trilobites, who were the ancestors of our crabs and lobsters.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Trilobite]

Then the first fishes made their appearance, great fierce-looking fellows like the gar pike of our lakes, but larger, and armed with scales as hard as the armour of a crocodile. Next came the sharks, as savage and voracious as they now are, with teeth like knives. But the time of these old fishes and of many more animals came and went, and still the home of the Favosites lay in the ground.

Then came the long, hot, damp epoch, when thick mists hung over the earth, and great ferns and rushes, as stout as an oak and as tall as a steeple, grew in Nova Scotia, in Pennsylvania, and in other parts of America where coal is now found. Huge reptiles, with enormous jaws and teeth like cross-cut saws, and smaller ones with wings like bats, next appeared and added to the strangeness of the scene.

But the reptiles died; the ferns and the rush-trees fell into their native swamps, and were covered up and packed away under great layers of clay and sand brought down by the rivers, till at last they were turned into coal, forming for us, what someone has called, beds of petrified suns.h.i.+ne. But all this while the skeleton of the Favosites lay undisturbed.

Then the mists cleared away as gradually as they had come, the sun shone out, the gra.s.s grew, and strange four-footed animals came and fed upon it. Among these were odd-looking little horses no bigger than foxes; great hairy monsters larger than elephants, with tremendous tusks; hogs with snouts nearly as long as their bodies; and other strange creatures that no man has ever seen alive. But still the house of the Favosites remained where it was.

Next came the great winter, and it continued to snow till the mountains were hidden. Then the snow was packed into ice, and Canada became one solid glacier. This ice age continued for many thousands of years.

At last the ice began to melt, and the glacier came slowly down the slopes, tearing up rocks, little and big, and crus.h.i.+ng and grinding and carrying away everything in its course. It ploughed its way across Ontario, and the skeleton of our Favosites was rooted out from the quiet place where it had lain so long, and was caught up in a crevice of the ice. The glacier slid along, melting all the while, and covering the land with clay, pebbles, and boulders. At last it stopped, and as it gradually melted away, all the rocks and stones and dirt it had carried with it thus far, were deposited into one great heap, and the home of the Favosites along with them.

Ages afterwards a farmer, near Toronto, when ploughing a field, picked up a curious bit of "petrified honey-comb," and gave it to a geologist to hear what he would say about it. And now you have read what he said.

D. B.

THE SNOW-STORM

The sun that brief December day Rose cheerless over hills of gray, And, darkly circled, gave at noon A sadder light than waning moon.

A chill no coat, however stout, Of homespun stuff could quite shut out, A hard, dull bitterness of cold, That checked, mid-vein, the circling race Of life-blood in the sharpened face, The coming of the snow-storm told.

The wind blew east: we heard the roar Of Ocean on his wintry sh.o.r.e, And felt the strong pulse throbbing there Beat with low rhythm our inland air.

Meanwhile we did our nightly ch.o.r.es,-- Brought in the wood from out of doors, Littered the stalls, and from the mows Raked down the herd's-gra.s.s for the cows: Heard the horse whinnying for his corn; And, sharply clas.h.i.+ng horn on horn, Impatient down the stanchion rows The cattle shake their walnut bows; While, peering from his early perch Upon the scaffold's pole of birch, The c.o.c.k his crested helmet bent And down his querulous challenge sent.

Unwarmed by any sunset light The gray day darkened into night, A night made h.o.a.ry with the swarm And whirl-dance of the blinding storm, As zigzag wavering to and fro Crossed and recrossed the winged snow: And ere the early bed-time came The white drift piled the window-frame, And through the gla.s.s the clothes-line posts Looked in like tall and sheeted ghosts.

So all night long the storm roared on: The morning broke without a sun; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own.

Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below,-- A universe of sky and snow!

The old familiar sights of ours Took marvellous shapes; strange domes and towers Rose up where sty or corn-crib stood, Or garden wall, or belt of wood; A smooth white mound the brush-pile showed, A fenceless drift what once was road; The bridle-post an old man sat With loose-flung coat and high c.o.c.ked hat; The well-curb had a Chinese roof; And even the long sweep, high aloof, In its slant splendour, seemed to tell Of Pisa's leaning miracle.