The Ontario Readers: The High School Reader, 1886 Part 42

I see the table wider grown, I see it garlanded with guests, As if fair Ariadne's Crown Out of the sky had fallen down; Maidens within whose tender b.r.e.a.s.t.s A thousand restless hopes and fears, Forth reaching to the coming years, Flutter awhile, then quiet lie, Like timid birds that fain would fly, But do not dare to leave their nests;-- And youths, who in their strength elate Challenge the van and front of fate, Eager as champions to be In the divine knight-errantry Of youth, that travels sea and land Seeking adventures, or pursues, Through cities, and through solitudes Frequented by the lyric Muse, The phantom with the beckoning hand, That still allures and still eludes.

O sweet illusions of the brain!

O sudden thrills of fire and frost!

The world is bright while ye remain, And dark and dead when ye are lost!

VI.

The meadow-brook, that seemeth to stand still, Quickens its current as it nears the mill; And so the stream of Time that lingereth In level places, and so dull appears, Runs with a swifter current as it nears The gloomy mills of Death.

And now, like the magician's scroll, That in the owner's keeping shrinks With every wish he speaks or thinks, Till the last wish consumes the whole, The table dwindles, and again I see the two alone remain.

The crown of stars is broken in parts; Its jewels, brighter than the day, Have one by one been stolen away To s.h.i.+ne in other homes and hearts.

One is a wanderer now afar In Ceylon or in Zanzibar, Or sunny regions of Cathay; And one is in the boisterous camp Mid clink of arms and horses' tramp, And battle's terrible array.

I see the patient mother read, With aching heart, of wrecks that float Disabled on those seas remote, Or of some great heroic deed On battle-fields, where thousands bleed To lift one hero into fame.

Anxious she bends her graceful head Above these chronicles of pain, And trembles with a secret dread Lest there among the drown'd or slain She find the one beloved name.

VII.

After a day of cloud and wind and rain Sometimes the setting sun breaks out again, And, touching all the darksome woods with light.

Smiles on the fields, until they laugh and sing, Then like a ruby from the horizon's ring Drops down into the night.

What see I now? The night is fair, The storm of grief, the clouds of care, The wind, the rain, have pa.s.s'd away; The lamps are lit, the fires burn bright, The house is full of life and light: It is the Golden Wedding day.

The guests come thronging in once more, Quick footsteps sound along the floor, The trooping children crowd the stair, And in and out and everywhere Flashes along the corridor The suns.h.i.+ne of their golden hair.

On the round table in the hall Another Ariadne's Crown Out of the sky hath fallen down; More than one Monarch of the Moon Is drumming with his silver spoon; The light of love s.h.i.+nes over all.

O fortunate, O happy day!

The people sing, the people say.

The ancient bridegroom and the bride, Smiling contented and serene, Upon the blithe, bewildering scene, Behold, well pleas'd, on every side Their forms and features multiplied, As the reflection of a light Between two burnish'd mirrors gleams, Or lamps upon a bridge at night Stretch on and on before the sight, Till the long vista endless seems.

LXVIII. EARTHWORMS.

CHARLES DARWIN--1809-1882.

_From_ THE FORMATION OF VEGETABLE MOULD THROUGH THE ACTION OF WORMS.

Worms have played a more important part in the history of the world than most persons would at first suppose. In almost all humid countries they are extraordinarily numerous, and for their size possess great muscular power. In many parts of England a weight of more than ten tons of dry earth annually pa.s.ses through their bodies and is brought to the surface on each acre of land; so that the whole superficial bed of vegetable mould pa.s.ses through their bodies in the course of every few years. From the collapsing of the old burrows the mould is in constant though slow movement, and the particles composing it are thus rubbed together. By these means fresh surfaces are continually exposed to the action of the carbonic acid in the soil, and of the humus-acids which appear to be still more efficient in the decomposition of rocks. The generation of the humus-acids is probably hastened during the digestion of the many half-decayed leaves which worms consume. Thus the particles of earth, forming the superficial mould, are subjected to conditions eminently favorable for their decomposition and disintegration. Moreover, the particles of the softer rocks suffer some amount of mechanical trituration in the muscular gizzards of worms, in which small stones serve as mill-stones....

Archaeologists ought to be grateful to worms, as they protect and preserve for an indefinitely long period every object, not liable to decay, which is dropped on the surface of the land, by burying it beneath their castings. Thus, also, many elegant and curious tesselated pavements and other ancient remains have been preserved; though no doubt the worms have in these cases been largely aided by earth washed and blown from the adjoining land, especially when cultivated. The old tesselated pavements have, however, often suffered by having subsided unequally from being unequally undermined by the worms. Even old ma.s.sive walls may be undermined and subside; and no building is in this respect safe, unless the foundations lie six or seven feet beneath the surface, at a depth at which worms cannot work. It is probable that many monoliths and some old walls have fallen down from having been undermined by worms.

Worms prepare the ground in an excellent manner for the growth of fibrous-rooted plants and for seedlings of all kinds. They periodically expose the mould to the air, and sift it so that no stones larger than the particles which they can swallow are left in it. They mingle the whole intimately together, like a gardener who prepares fine soil for his choicest plants. In this state it is well fitted to retain moisture and to absorb all soluble substances, as well as for the process of nitrification. The bones of dead animals, the harder parts of insects, the sh.e.l.ls of land-molluscs, leaves, twigs, etc., are before long all buried beneath the acc.u.mulated castings of worms, and are thus brought in a more or less decayed state within reach of the roots of plants.

Worms likewise drag an infinite number of dead leaves and other parts of plants into their burrows, partly for the sake of plugging them up and partly as food.

The leaves which are dragged into the burrows as food, after being torn into the finest shreds, partially digested, and saturated with the intestinal secretions, are commingled with much earth. This earth forms the dark-colored, rich humus which almost everywhere covers the surface of the land with a fairly well-defined layer or mantle. Von Hensen placed two worms in a vessel eighteen inches in diameter, which was filled with sand, on which fallen leaves were strewed; and these were soon dragged into their burrows to a depth of three inches. After about six weeks an almost uniform layer of sand, a centimetre (.4 inch) in thickness, was converted into humus by having pa.s.sed through the alimentary ca.n.a.ls of these two worms.

It is believed by some persons that worm-burrows, which often penetrate the ground almost perpendicularly to a depth of five or six feet, materially aid in its drainage; notwithstanding that the viscid castings piled over the mouths of the burrows prevent or check the rain-water directly entering them. They allow the air to penetrate deeply into the ground. They also greatly facilitate the downward pa.s.sage of roots of moderate size; and these will be nourished by the humus with which the burrows are lined. Many seeds owe their germination to having been covered by castings; and others buried to a considerable depth beneath acc.u.mulated castings lie dormant, until at some future time they are accidentally uncovered and germinate.

Worms are poorly provided with sense-organs, for they cannot be said to see, although they can just distinguish between light and darkness; they are completely deaf, and have only a feeble power of smell; the sense of touch alone is well developed. They can therefore learn little about the outside world, and it is surprising that they should exhibit some skill in lining their burrows with their castings and with leaves, and in the case of some species in piling up their castings into tower-like constructions. But it is far more surprising that they should apparently exhibit some degree of intelligence instead of a mere blind instinctive impulse, in their manner of plugging up the mouths of their burrows.

They act in nearly the same manner as would a man, who had to close a cylindrical tube with different kinds of leaves, petioles, triangles of paper, etc., for they commonly seize such objects by their pointed ends.

But with thin objects a certain number are drawn in by their broader ends. They do not act in the same unvarying manner in all cases, as do most of the lower animals; for instance, they do not drag in leaves by their foot-stalks, unless the basal part of the blade is as narrow as the apex, or narrower than it.

When we behold a wide, turf-covered expanse, we should remember that its smoothness, on which so much of its beauty depends, is mainly due to all the inequalities having been slowly levelled by worms. It is a marvellous reflection that the whole of the superficial mould over any such expanse has pa.s.sed, and will again pa.s.s, every few years, through the bodies of worms. The plough is one of the most ancient and most valuable of man's inventions; but long before he existed the land was in fact regularly ploughed, and still continues to be thus ploughed by earth-worms. It may be doubted whether there are many other animals which have played so important a part in the history of the world, as have these lowly organized creatures.

LXIX. "AS s.h.i.+PS, BECALMED AT EVE."

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.--1819-1861.

As s.h.i.+ps, becalm'd at eve, that lay With canvas drooping, side by side, Two towers of sail at dawn of day Are scarce long leagues apart descried;

When fell the night, upsprung the breeze, And all the darkling hours they plied, Nor dreamt but each the self-same seas By each was cleaving, side by side:

E'en so--but why the tale reveal Of those, whom year by year unchanged, Brief absence join'd anew to feel, Astounded, soul from soul estranged?

At dead of night their sails were fill'd, And onward each rejoicing steer'd-- Ah, neither blame, for neither will'd, Or wist, what first with dawn appear'd!

To veer, how vain! On, onward strain, Brave barks! In light, in darkness too, Through winds and tides one compa.s.s guides-- To that, and your own selves, be true.

But O blithe breeze! and O great seas, Though ne'er, that earliest parting past, On your wide plain they join again, Together lead them home at last.

One port, methought, alike they sought, One purpose hold where'er they fare,-- O bounding breeze, O rus.h.i.+ng seas!

At last, at last, unite them there.

LXX. DUTY.

ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.

Duty--that's to say, complying With whate'er's expected here; On your unknown cousin's dying, Straight be ready with the tear; Upon etiquette relying, Unto usage nought denying, Lend your waist to be embraced, Blush not even, never fear; Claims of kith and kin connection, Claims of manners honor still, Ready money of affection Pay, whoever drew the bill.

With the form conforming duly, Senseless what it meaneth truly, Go to church--the world require you, To b.a.l.l.s--the world require you too, And marry--papa and mamma desire you, And your sisters and schoolfellows do.

Duty--'tis to take on trust What things are good, and right, and just; And whether indeed they be or be not, Try not, test not, feel not, see not: 'Tis walk and dance, sit down and rise By leading, opening ne'er your eyes; Stunt st.u.r.dy limbs that Nature gave, And be drawn in a Bath chair along to the grave.

'Tis the stern and prompt suppressing, As an obvious deadly sin, All the questing and the guessing Of the soul's own soul within: 'Tis the coward acquiescence In a destiny's behest, To a shade by terror made, Sacrificing, aye, the essence Of all that's truest, n.o.blest, best: 'Tis the blind non-recognition Or of goodness, truth, or beauty, Save by precept and submission; Moral blank, and moral void, Life at very birth destroy'd.

Atrophy, exinanition!

Duty!

Yea, by duty's prime condition Pure nonent.i.ty of duty!