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O'er banks with buttercups a-twinkle,

The cows come slowly home;

And up through Memory's deep ravine

Come the brook's old song and its old-time sheen.
And the crescent of the silver queen,

When the cows come home.

With a klingle, klangle, klingle,

With a 100-00, and moo-oo, and jingle,
The cows are coming home;

And over there on Merlin Hill,

Hear the plaintive cry of the whippoorwill;
The dewdrops lie on the tangled vines,
And over the poplars Venus shines,

And over the silent mill.

Ko-ling, ko-lang, kolinglelingle,
With ting-a-ling and jingle,

The cows come slowly home.

Let down the bars; let in the train

Of long-gone songs, and flowers, and rain;
For dear old times come back again

When the cows come home.

GLOSSARY. Dingle; periwinkle; checkered; Venus.

STUDY.

What can you tell from the poem itself about the person who speaks? of the circumstances under which the speaking is done? (Especially study the last four lines of each stanza.) The aim of the poem is to embody in the melody of the language the sound of the bells, and to suggest their powerful associations with the scenes of childhood. Read so as to give expression to this melody. Do you get a vivid picture of the evening? Which star was the evening star?

THE OLD COUREUR DE BOIS

IVAN SWIFT

"A common man was Père Gilbault,' So will the townsmen say,

"A sodden leaf left by the snow Upon the summer way;

"A relic of the olden time,

He crooned of moldy years, Unknown to fame of good or crime— And sleeps unmourned of tears."

And this the tribute of the world

To labor's humbler men

"A thing the jesting winds have whirled On earth and off again."

What tho' he spread the dauntless sail,
And quit the shame of kings-
To break the rugged forest trail
And dwell with silent things?

What tho' he turned the blades to hoes,
And tamed the savage breeds?—
We hold their homes! No bugle blows
A woodman's homely deeds.

He made a garden, sowed a seed-
But we have plucked the flower!

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He laid the faith, we made the creed-
What boots his lingering hour?

No mausoleum marks his grave,
No will divides his gold;

No pension soothes a whimpering slave,
His office none will hold.

His tomb is but the earth he trod,
His wealth-the poet's heart;
His gift a love for man and God,
His post-the honest part.

A common Man was Père Gilbault,
And so the world must say
"A sodden leaf left by the snow,
Upon the summer way!"

GLOSSARY. Coureur de bois; Père Gilbault; crooned; dauntless;

mausoleum.

STUDY. What is the opinion held by townsmen about Père Gilbault? What in the expressions used indicates that the world looks down upon one who devotes himself to the common duties of life? Point out evidences that the poet protests against the world's attitude. How does the poet make us share in his protest in stanzas 5 and 6? Who are we that we should be so puffed up? Do we owe anything to men of the type of Père Gilbault? If so, what? Read all the expressions that show his real greatness. Does the expression common man" in the final stanza mean more to you after reading the poem than it did when used in the first line? Explain lines 6, 11 and 12, 16, 17, 18, 22, 27, and 28.

M. SEGUIN'S GOAT'

ALPHONSE DAUDET

(Translated from the French by Katherine Prescott Wormeley)

M. Seguin never had luck with his goats. He lost them in all kinds of ways. One fine morning they broke their tether and wandered away to the mountain, where a wolf ate them. Neither the caresses of their master nor fear of the wolf, nothing could restrains them. They were, it appeared, independent goats, wanting at any cost free air and liberty.

The worthy M. Seguin, who did not understand the nature of his animals, was shocked.

He said: "That's enough; goats are bored by living with 10 me; I won't keep another."

However, after losing six in that way, he was not discouraged, and he bought a seventh; but this time he was careful to get her quite young, so young that she might the better get accustomed to live with him. 15

Ah! Gringoire, she was pretty, that little goat of M. Seguin's, so pretty with her soft eyes, her little tuft of beard like a sub-officer, her black and shiny hoofs, her ribbed horns, and her long, white hair which wrapped her like a mantle! She was almost 20 as charming as that kid of Esmeralda's-you remember, Gringoire?—and then, so docile, so coaxing, letting herself be milked without budging, and never putting her foot in the bowl! A love of a little goat!

Behind M. Seguin's house was a field hedged round 25 with hawthorn. It was there that he put his new

1 Copyright, 1899, 1900, by Little, Brown & Company.

boarder. He fastened her to a stake, at the very best part of the meadow, taking care to give her plenty of rope; and from time to time he went to see if she 30 was satisfied. The goat seemed very happy, and cropped the grass with such heartiness that M. Seguin was delighted.

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"At last," thought the poor man, "here's one at least that isn't bored by living with me!"

M. Seguin deceived himself; the goat was bored. One day she said to herself, looking at the mountain: "How nice it must be up there! What a pleasure to skip in the heather, without this cursed rope, which rubs my neck! It is all very well for asses and 40 cattle to browse in a field, but goats! why, they want the open!"

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From that moment the grass of the meadow seemed to her insipid. Ennui seized her. She grew thin, her milk was scanty. It was really piteous to see her, straining at the tether all day, her head turned to the mountain, her nostril flaming, and she saying "Ma-ë" so sadly.

M. Seguin saw that something was the matter with his goat, but he did not know what. One morning, after he had milked her, the goat turned round and said to him in her patois:

"Listen, M. Seguin; I am so weary here with you. Let me go on the mountain."

"Ah! mon Dieu! She, too!" cried poor M. Seguin, 55 Stupefied, and he let fall the bowl; then, sitting down on the grass at the side of his goat, he said: