 CHAPTER 90 The Romance of the Swan's Nest Little Ellie sits alone mid the beaches of a meadow by a stream-site on the grass and the trees are showering down, doubles of their leaves in shadow on her shining hair and face. She has thrown her bonnet by, and her feet she has been dipping in the shallow waters flow. Now she hosts them nakedly in her hands, all sleek and dripping, while she rockets to and fro. Little Ellie sits alone, and the smile she softly uses fills the silence like a speech, while she thinks what shall be done, and the sweetest pleasure chooses for her future within reach. Little Ellie, in her smile, chooses, I will have a lover riding on a steed of steeds. She shall love me without guile, and to him I will discover the swan's nest among the reeds. And the steed shall be red-roan, and the lover shall be noble, with an eye that takes the breath, and the lute he plays upon shall strike ladies into trouble, as his sword strikes men to death. On the steed it shall be shot, all in silver housed in azure, and the mane shall swim the wind, and the hooves along the sod shall flash onward and keep measure till the shepherds look behind. But my lover will not prize all the glory he rides in when he gazes in my face. He will say, O love, thine eyes build the shrine my soul abides in, and I kneel here for thy grace. Then, ay, then, he shall kneel low, with the red-roan's steed, and near him, which shall seem to understand, till I answer, rise and go, for the world must love and fear him, whom I gift with heart and hand. Then he will arrive, so pale, I shall feel my own lips tremble, with a yes I must not say. Nutless maiden-brave, farewell, I will utter and dissemble, light to more of which today. Then he'll ride among the hills, to the wide world past the river, there to put away or wrong, to make straight distorted wills, and to empty the broad quiver, which the wicked bear along. Three times shall a young foot-page swim the stream and climb the mountain, and kneel down beside my feet. Love, my master sends this gauge, lady, for the pities counting, what will thou exchange for it? And the first time I will send a white rosebud for a gourdon, and the second time a glove, but the third time I may bend from my pride and answer, pardon, if he comes to take my love. When the young foot-page will run, then my lover will ride faster, till he kneeleth at my knee. I am a duke's eldest son, thousand serves to call me master, but, O love, I love but thee. He will kiss me on the mouth, then, and lead me as a lover, through the crowds that praise his deeds. And when soul tied by one troth, unto him I will discover that swans nest among the reeds. Little Ellie, with her smile, not yet ended, rose up gaily, tied her bonnet down the shoe, and went homeward round a mile, just to see, as she did daily, what more eggs were with the two. Going through the elm-tree-cops, winding up the stream, light-hearted, where the osier pathway leads, past the bows she stoops and stops, though the wild swan had deserted, and a rat had not the reeds. Ellie went home, sad and flow, if she found the lover ever, with his red-roan steed of steeds. Sooth, I know not, but I know, she could never show him, never, that swans nest among the reeds. Elizabeth Barrett Browning Chapter 91 of the Ontario Readers' Third Book by the Ontario Ministry of Education Read for LibriVox.org by Marion Martin Moonlight Sonata Author Unknown It happened at Bond. One moonlight winter's evening, I called upon Beethoven, for I wished him to take a walk, and afterwards up with me. In passing through a dark narrow street, he suddenly paused. Hush, he said. What sound is that? It is from my sonata in F. Hark, how well it is played. It was a little mean dwelling, and we paused outside and listened. The player went on, but in the midst of the final, there was a sudden break, then the voice of sobbing. I cannot play any more. It is too beautiful. It is utterly beyond my power to do it justice. Oh, what would I not give to go to the concert at Cologne? I am my sister, said her companion. Why create regrets when there is no remedy? We can scarcely pay our rent. You are right, and yet I wish for once in my life to hear some really good music, but it is of no use. Beethoven looked at me. Let us go in, he said. Go in, I exclaimed. What can we go in for? I will play to her, he said in an excited tone. Here is feeling, genius, understanding. I will play to her, and she will understand it. And before I could prevent him, his hand was upon the door. It opened, and we entered. A pale young man was sitting by the table, making shoes, and near him, leaning sorrowfully upon an old-fashioned piano, sat a young girl, with a profusion of light hair falling over her face. Pardon me, said Beethoven, but I heard music and was tempted to enter. I am a musician. The girl blushed, and the young man looked grave and somewhat annoyed. I—I also overheard something of what you said, continued my friend. You wish to hear, that is, you would like—that is, shall I play for you? There was something so odd in the whole affair, and something so comical and pleasant in the manner of the speaker, that the spell was broken in a moment. Thank you, said the shoemaker, but our piano is so wretched, and we have no music. No music, echoed my friend. How then does the young lady? He paused and culled, for as he looked in the girl's face, he saw that she was blind. I—I intrigued your pardon, his dammed. I had not perceived before. Then you play by ear? But when do you hear the music, since you frequent no concerts? We lived at Brühl for two years, and while there I used to hear a lady practicing near us. During the summer evenings her windows were generally open, and I walked to and fro outside to listen to her. She seemed so shy that Beethoven said no more, but ceased himself quietly before the piano and began to play. He had no sooner struck the first chord than I knew what would follow. Never, during all the years I knew him, did I hear him play as he then played to that blind girl and her brother. He seemed to be inspired, and from the instant that his fingers began to wander along the keys, the very tones of the instrument seemed to grow sweeter and more equal. The brother and sister were silent with wonder and rapture. The former laid aside his work. The latter, with her head bent slightly forward, and her hands pressed tightly over her breast, crouched down near the end of the piano, as if fearful, less even the beating of her heart, should break the flow of those magical sounds. Suddenly the flame of the single candle wavered, sank, flickered and went out. Beethoven paused, and I threw open the shutters, admitting a flood of brilliant moonlight. The room was almost as light as before. The moon rays falling strongest upon the piano and the player. His head dropped upon his breast. His hands rested upon his knees. He seemed absorbed in deep thought. He remained thus for some time. At length the young shoemaker arose and approached him eagerly. Wonderful man, he said in a low tone, who and what are you? Listen, said Beethoven, and he played the opening bars of the Sonata in F. A cry of recognition burst from them both, and exclaiming, Then you are Beethoven. They covered his hands with tears and kisses. He rose to go, but we held him back with entreaties, played to once once more, only once more. He suffered himself to be led back to the instrument. The moon shone brightly in through the window, and lighted up his glorious, rugged head and massive figure. I will improvise a Sonata to the moonlight, said he, looking up thoughtfully to the sky and stars. Then his hands dropped on the keys, and he began playing a sad, an infinitely lovely movement, which crept gently over the instrument, like the calm flow of moonlight over the dark earth. This was followed by a wild, elfin passage in triple time, a sort of grotesque interlude, like the dance of spirits upon the lawn. Then came a swift agitato finale, a breathless, hurrying, trembling movement, descriptive of flight, and uncertainty, and vague impulsive terror, which carried us away on its rustling wings, and left us all in emotion and wonder. Farewell to you, said Beethoven, pushing back his chair, and turning towards the door, farewell to you. You will come again, asked they in one breath. He paused and looked compassionately, almost tenderly, at the face of the blind girl. Yes, yes, he said hurriedly, I will come again, and give the young lady some lessons. Farewell, I will come again. Their looks followed us in silence, more eloquent than words, till we were out of sight. Let us make haste back, said Beethoven, that I may write out that Sonata while I can yet remember it. 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 also fondly acquainted. End of chapter 91. This recording is in the public domain. Chapter 92 of the Ontario Readers' Third Book by the Ontario Ministry of Education. Read for LibriVox.org by Lucy Burgoyne. The Red Winged Blackbird by Ethel Wynne Weatherorg. Black beneath as the night, with wings of a morning glow, from his silty throat, three syllables float, ravishing liquid low. And tis oh, for the joy of June, and the bliss that near can flee from that exquisite call, with its sweet, sweet fall. Okalee, okalee, okalee. Long ago as a child, from the bow 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. Okalee, okalee, okalee. 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. And I hear it in the swale, from a grey fenced rail. Okalee, okalee, okalee. Ethel Wynne Weatherorg. End of Chapter 92. This recording is in the public domain. Chapter 93 of the Ontario Readers' Third Book by the Ontario Ministry of Education. Read for LibriVox.org by Lucy Burgoy. To the Cuckoo by John Logan. Hale, beauty a stranger of the grove. Thou messenger of spring, now heaven repairs thy rural seat, and woods thy welcome sing. What time the days you dex the green, thy certain voice we hear. Has 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's wheat from birds among the bowers. The schoolboy 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 flies thy vocal veil, an annual guest in other lands, another spring to hail. Sweet bird, thy bower is evergreen, thy sky is ever clear. Thou has no sorrow in thy song, no winter in thy year. O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee. We'd make, with joyful wing, our annual visit, or the grove, companions of the spring. John Logan. End of Section 93. This recording is in the public domain. Chapter 94 of the Ontario Reader's Third Book From the Ontario Ministry of Education Read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence on January 31st, 2009, in Brampton, Ontario. The Story of a Stone by D.B. 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 Alleghenies, 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 shell 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 around him as a person does who builds a well. But this little fable site, 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 fable site who very soon began to wall himself up as his parent had done. From these other little fable sites 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 honeycomb. On this account, they are called fable sites. The colony thrived for a long time and accumulated 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 fable sites died, leaving only a stony skeleton to prove that industrious polyps had ever existed there. The skeleton remained undisturbed for ages, until the earth began to rise inch by inch out of the water. Then our fable site's 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. Then the first fishes made their appearance great, fierce-looking fellows as hard as the armor 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 fable sites lay in the ground. Then came the long, hot, damp epic when thick mists hung over the earth and great ferns and rushes as stout as an oak as a steeple grew in Nova Scotia in Pennsylvania and in other parts of America where coal was 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 in sand brought down by the rivers till at last they were turned into coal forming for us what someone has called beds of petrified sunshine. But all this while the skeleton of the fable sites lay undisturbed. Then the mists cleared away as gradually as they had come. The sun shone out, the grass grew and strange four-footed animals came and fed upon it. Among these were odd-looking little horses and taxes, 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 fable sites remained where it was. Next came the great winter and it continued to snow until 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 crushing and grinding and carrying away everything in its course. It plowed its way across Ontario and the skeleton of our fable sites was rooted out from the quiet place where it had layed so long and was caught up in a crevice of the ice. The glaciers 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 fable sites along with them. Ages afterwards a farmer near Toronto when plowing a field picked up a curious bit of petrified honeycomb and drove it to a geologist to hear what he would say about it and now you have read what he said. End of Section 94 This recording is in the public domain. Chapter 95 of the Ontario Readers Third Book by the Ontario Ministry of Education Read for LibriVox.org by Lucy Perry in Bath on March 13th 2009 The Snowstorm by Whittier from Snowbound By the brief December day rose cheerless over hills of grey 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-vane the circling race of life-blood in the sharpened face The coming of the snowstorm told the wind blew east we heard the roar of ocean on his wintery shore and felt the strong pulse throbbing there beat with low rhythm our inland air nightly chores, bought in the wood from out of doors littered the stalls and from the mows raked down the herd's grass for the cows heard the horse whinnying for his corn and sharply clashing horn on horn impatient down the statue and rose the cattle shake their walnut bows while peering from his early perch upon the scaffold's pole of birch the cock his crested helmet bent and down his quarrelous challenge sent unwarmed by any sunset light the grey day darkened into night a night made hoary with the swarm and world ants of the blinding storm as zigzag wavering to and fro crossed and recrossed the winged snow and ere the early bedtime came the white drift piled the window frame and through the glass the clothesline 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 west day or corn crib stood or garden wall or belt of wood a smooth white mound the brush pile showed a fence-less drift that once was rode the bridal post an old man sat with loose flunk coat and high cocked hat the well curb had a Chinese roof and even the long sweep high aloof in its slant splendor seemed to tell of Pease's leaning miracle a prompt decisive man no breath our father wasted boys a path well pleased for when did farmer boy count such a summons less than joy our buskins on our feet we drew with mittened hands and caps drawn low to guard our necks and ears from snow we cut the solid whiteness through and where the drift was deepest made a tunnel walled and overlaid with dazzling crystal we had read and to our own his name we gave with many a wish the luck were ours to test his lamp's supernatural powers we reached the barn with merry din and roused the prison brutes within the old horse thrust his long head out and grave in wonder gazed about the cock his lusty greeting said and forth his speckled harem led the oxen lashed their tails and hooked and mild reproach of hunger looked the horned patriarch of the sheep like Egypt's amon roused from sleep shook his sage head with gesture mute and emphasised with stamp of foot all day the gusty north wind bore the loosening drift its breath before low circling round its southern zone the sun through dazzling snow missed Sean end of chapter 95 this recording is in the public domain chapter 96 of the Ontario Readers third book this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer LibriVox.org recording by Neeraja Nagarajan chapter 96 the heroine of Weirshire Weirshire was a fort on the south shore of the St. Lawrence about 20 miles below Montreal a strong blockhouse stood outside the fort and was connected with it by a covered way on the morning of the 22nd of October 1692 the inhabitants were at work in the fields and nobody was left in the place but two soldiers, two boys an old man of 80 and a number of women and children the commandant was on duty at Cubic his wife was at Montreal and their daughter Madeline 14 years of age was at the landing place not far from the gate of the fort with a manservant suddenly she heard firing from the direction where the settlers were at work and an instant after the servant called out run miss, run, here come the Indians she turned and saw 40 or 50 of them at the distance of a pistol shot she ran to the fort as quickly as possible while the bullets whizzled about her ears and made the time seem very long as soon as she was near enough to be heard she cried out to arms, to arms hoping that somebody would come out and help her but it was of no use the two soldiers in the fort were so scared that they had hidden in the blockhouse when she had seen certain breaches in the palisades stopped she went to the blockhouse where the ammunition was kept and there she found the two soldiers one hiding in a corner and the other with a lighted match in his hand what are you going to do with the match she asked he answered light the powder and blow his all up you are a miserable coward said she, go out of this place she then threw off her bonnet and taking a gun in her hand she said to her two brothers let us fight to the death we are fighting for our country and our religion the boys who are 10 and 12 years old aided by the soldiers whom her words had inspired with some little courage began to fire from the loopholes on the Indians who, ignorant of the weakness of the garrison showed their usual reluctance to attack a fortified place and occupied themselves with chasing and butchering the people in the neighbouring fields Madeline ordered a cannon to be fired partly to deter the enemy from an assault and partly to warn some of the soldiers who are hunting at a distance a cannon was presently seen approaching the landing place in it was a settler named Fontaine trying to reach the fort with his family the Indians were still near and Madeline feared that the newcomers would be killed if something were not done to aid them distrusting the soldiers she herself went alone to the landing place she said in her account of the affair that the savages would suppose it to be a ruse to draw them towards the fort in order to make a sortie upon them they did suppose so and thus I was able to save the Fontaine family when they were all landed I made them march before me in full sight of the enemy we put so bold a faith on it that they thought they had more to fear than we strengthened by this reinforcement I ordered that the enemy should be fired on whenever they showed themselves after sunset a violent northeast wind began to blow accompanied with snow and hail which told us that we should have a terrible night the Indians were all this time lurking about us and I judged by all their movements that instead of being deterred by the storm they would climb into the fort under cover of darkness she then assembled her troops who numbered six all told and spoke to them encouraging words with two old men she took charge of the fort and sent Fontaine and the two soldiers with the women and children to the block house she placed her two brothers on two of the bastions and an old man on a third while she herself took charge of the fort all night in spite of wind snow and hail the cry of all's well was kept up from the block house to the fort and from the fort to the block house one would have supposed that the place was full of soldiers the Indians thought so they were completely deceived as they afterwards confessed at last the daylight came again and as the darkness disappeared the anxieties of the little garrison seemed to disappear with it Fontaine said he would never abandon the place while Madeleine remained in it she declared that she would never abandon it she would rather die than give it up to the enemy she did not eat or sleep for twice 24 hours she did not go once into her father's house but kept always on the bastion except when she went to the block house to see how the people there were behaving she always kept a cheerful and smiling face and encouraged her little company with the hope of speedy sucker we were weak in constant alarm she continues with the enemy always about us at last a lieutenant sent by the governor arrived in the night with 40 men Athi did not know whether the fort was taken or not he approached as silently as possible one of our sentinels hearing a flight sound cried who goes there I was at the time dozing with my head on a table and my gun lying across my arms the sentinel told me that he heard voices from the river I went at once to the bastion to see whether they were Indians or Frenchmen who were there I asked who are you one of them answered we are Frenchmen come to bring you help I caused the gate to be opened placed the sentinel there and went down to the river to meet them as soon as I saw the lieutenant I saluted him and said I surrender my arms to you he answered gallantly they are in good hands miss he inspected the fort and found everything in order and a sentinel on each bastion it is time to relieve them said I we have not been off our bastions for a week a band of converts from St. Louis arrived soon afterwards followed the trail of their heathen countrymen overtook them on Lake Champlain and recovered 20 or more French prisoners parkmen frontenac and new france adapted end of chapter 96 chapter 97 of the Ontario Readers third book this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Colinda the Ontario Readers third book by the Ontario Ministry of Education Jacques Cartier in the seaport of Saint-Malo it was a smiling morning in May when the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away in the crowded old cathedral all the town were on their knees for the safe return of kinsmen from the undiscovered seas and every autumn blast that swept or pinnacle in pier filled manly hearts with sorrow and gentle hearts with fear a year passed or Saint-Malo again came round the day when the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away but no tidings from the absent had come the way they went and tearful were the vigils and manly hearts were filled with gloom and gentle hearts with fear when no tidings came from Cartier at the closing of the year but the earth is as the future it had its hidden side and the captain of Saint-Malo was rejoicing in his pride in the forests of the north while his townsmen mourned his loss he was rearing on Mount Royal the Fleur de Lis and Cross and when two months were over and added to the year they all hailed him home again cheer answering to cheer he told them of a region hard iron bound and cold nor seas of pearl abounded nor minds of shining gold where the wind from Thule freezes the world upon the lip and the ice in spring come sailing a thwart the early ship he told them of the frozen scene until they thrilled with fear and piled fresh fuel on the hearth to make them better cheer he told how soon as cast in early spring the fetters that hold the waters fast how the winter causeway broken is drifted out to sea and the reels and rivers sing with pride the anthem of the free how the magic wand of summer clad the landscape to his eyes like the dry bones of the just when they wake in paradise he told them of the Algonquin Braves the hunters of the wild of how the Indian mother in the forest rocks her child they fancy in every living thing a spirit good or evil that claims their worshiping of how they brought their sick and maimed for him to breathe upon and of the wonders wrought for them through the gospel of st. John he told them of the river whose mighty current gave its freshness for a hundred leagues to oceans briny wave he told them of the glorious scene presented to his sight what time he reared the cross and crown on Hatchelaga's height in the deeps of Canada the quay and they welcomed back Jacques Cartier from perils over sea Thomas Darcy McGee End of Chapter 97 Recording by Kalinda in Lunaburg, Germany on February 22nd, 2009 Chapter 98 of the Ontario Readers Third Book This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to find out if you are a volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Ants and Their Slaves by Jules Michelais Peter Huber, the son of the noted observer of the Ways and Habits of Bees was walking one day in a field near Geneva, Switzerland when he saw on the ground an army of reddish colored ants on the march he decided to follow them and to find out, if possible on the sides of the column as if to keep it in order a few of the ants sped to and fro after marching for about a quarter of an hour the army halted before an ant hill the home of a colony of small black ants these swarmed out to meet the red ones and to Huber's surprise a combat short but fierce took place at the foot of the hill a small number of the black the rest soon fled panic stricken through the gates farthest from the battlefield carrying away some of their young they seemed to know it was the young ants that the invaders were seeking the red warriors quickly forced their way into the tiny city and returned loaded with children of the blacks carrying their living booty the kidnappers left the pillaged town and started toward their home where their Huber followed them in this astonishment when at the threshold of the red ants dwelling he saw numbers of black ants come forward to receive the young captives and to welcome them, children of their own race doomed to be bond servants in a strange land here then was a miniature city in which strong red ants lived in peace with small black ones but what was the province of the latter Huber soon discovered that in fact these did all the work alone were able to build the houses in which both races lived they alone brought up the young red ants and the captives of their own species they alone gathered the supplies of food and waited upon and fed their big masters who were glad to have their little waiters feed them so attentively the masters themselves had no occupation except that of war when not raiding some village of the blacks the red soldiers did nothing more lazily about Huber wanted to learn what it would be the result if the red ants found themselves without servants would the big creatures know how to supply their own needs he put a few of the red insects in a glass case having some honey in a corner they did not go near it they did not know enough to feed themselves some of them died of starvation with food before them then he put into the case one black ant went straight to the honey and with it fed its big starving silly masters here was a wonder truly the little blacks exert in many things a moral force whose signs are plainly visible for example those tiny wise creatures will not give permission to any of the great red ones to go out alone nor are these at liberty to go out even in a body if their small helpers fear a storm or if the day is far advanced so if it serves fruitless the soldiers come back without any living booty are forbidden by the blacks to enter the city and are ordered to attack some other village not wishing to rely entirely on his own conclusions Huber asked one of the great naturalists of Switzerland Jureen to decide whether or not mistakes had been made in regarding the customs of ants this witness and indeed others found that Huber's reports were true yet after all says Huber I still doubted but on a later day I again saw in the park of Fontainebleau near Paris the same workings of ant life and wisdom a well-known naturalist was with me then and his conclusions were the same as mine it was half past four in the afternoon of a very warm day from a pile of stones there came forth a column of about five hundred reddish ants they marched rapidly toward a field of turf they're in their ranks being kept by their sergeants these watched the flanks and would not permit any to straggle suddenly the army disappeared there was no sign of an ant hill in the turf but after a while we detected a little hole through this the ants had vanished we suppose that it was an entrance to their home in a minute they showed us that our supposition was incorrect they issued a throng nearly every one of them carrying a small black captive from the short time they had taken it it was plain that they knew the place and the weaknesses of its citizens perhaps it was not the red's first attack on this city of the little blacks these swarmed out in great numbers and truly I pitied them they did not attempt to fight they seemed terror-stricken and made no attempt to oppose the warrior ants except by clinging to them one of the marauders was stopped thus but a comrade that was free left him of his burden and there upon the black ant let go his grasp it was in fact a painful sight the soldiers seceded in carrying off nearly 500 children about three feet from the entrance to the ant hill the plundered black parents ceased to follow the red robbers and resigned themselves to the loss of their young the whole raid did not occupy more than 10 minutes the parties were as we have seen very unequal in strength clearly an outrage an outrage no doubt often repeated the big red ants knowing their power played the part of tyrants and whenever they wanted more slaves to spoil the small weak blacks of their greatest treasure their children Michelin End of Chapter 98 Chapter 99 Lead Kindly Light by John Henry Newman lead kindly light amid the encircling gloom lead thou me on the night is dark and I am far from home lead thou me on keep thou my feet I do not ask to see the distant scene one step enough for me I was not ever thus nor prayed that thou shouldst lead me on I loved to choose and see my path but now lead thou me on I loved the garish day and spite of fears pride ruled my will remember not past years so long thy power hath blessed me sure it still will lead me on or more and fin or crag and torrent till the night is gone and with the more those angel faces smile which I have loved long since and lost a while End of Section 99 this recording is in the public domain The Jolly Sandboys by Charles Dickens The Jolly Sandboys was a small roadside inn with a sign representing three sandboys creaking and swinging on its post on the opposite side of the road. As the travellers had observed many indications of their drawing nearer to the race town such as gypsy camps showmen of various kinds and beggars and trampers of every degree Mr. Codland was fearful of finding the accommodation forestalled and had the gratification of finding that his fears were without foundation for the landlord was leaning against the doorpost looking lazily at the rain which had begun to descend heavily. Make haste in out of the wet, Tom, said the landlord. When it came on to rain I told him to make the fire up and there's a glorious blaze in the kitchen I can tell you. Mr. Codland followed with a willing mind. A mighty fire was blazing on the hearth and roaring up the wide chimney with a cheerful sound bubbling and simmering in the heat lent its pleasant aid to swell. There was deep red, ruddy blush upon the room and when the landlord stirred the fire sending the flames skipping and leaping up when he took off the lid of the iron pot and there rushed out a savoury smell while the bubbling sound grew deeper and more rich and an unctuous steam came floating out hanging in a delicious mist above their heads. When he did this Mr. Codland's heart was touched. He sat down in the chimney corner and smiled. Mr. Codland sat smiling in the chimney corner eyeing the landlord as with a roguish look he held the cover in his hand and feigning that his doing so was needful to the welfare of the cookery suffered the delightful steam to tickle the nostrils of his guest. The glow of the fire was upon the landlord's bald head and upon his twinkling eye and upon his watering mouth and upon his pimpled face and upon his round fat figure. Mr. Codland drew his sleeve across his lips and said in a murmuring voice What is it? It's a stew of tripe said the landlord smacking his lips and cowheel smacking them again and bacon smacking them once more and steak smacking them for the fourth time and peas, cauliflower new potatoes and sparrow grass all working up together in one delicious gravy. Having come to the climax he smacked his lips a great many times and taking a long hearty sniff of the fragrance that was hovering about put on the cover again with the air of one whose toils on earth were over. At what time will it be ready? asked Mr. Codland faintly. It'll be done to a turn said the landlord looking up to the clock and the very clock had a colour in its fat white face and looked a clock for jolly sandboys to consult. It'll be done to a turn at twenty-two minutes before eleven. Mr. Codland now bethought him of his companions an acquainted mine-host of the sandboys that his partner, Short, Nell and her grandfather might shortly be looked for. At length they arrived drenched with rain and presenting a most miserable appearance. But the steps were no sooner heard upon the road than the landlord who had been at the outer door anxiously watching for their coming rushed into the kitchen and took the cover off. The effect was electrical. They all came in with smiling faces though the wet was dripping from their clothes upon the floor, and Short's first remark was what a delicious smell! It is not very difficult to forget rain and mud by the side of a cheerful fire and in a bright room. They were furnished with slippers and such dry garments as the house or their own bundles afforded and seating themselves as Mr. Codland had already done in the warm chimney-corner enhancing the delights of the present time. Strange footsteps were now heard without and fresh company entered. These were no other than four very dismal dogs who came pattering in one after the other, headed by an old bandy dog of particularly mournful aspect who, stopping when the last of his followers had got as far as the door, erected himself upon his hind legs and looked round at his companions who immediately stood upon their hind legs in a grave in Melancholy Row. Was this the only remarkable circumstance about these dogs? For each of them wore a kind of little coat of some gaudy colour trimmed with tarnished spangles and one of them had a cap upon his head, tied very carefully under his chin which had fallen down upon his nose and completely obscured one eye. Add to this that the gaudy coats were all wet through and discoloured with rain and that the wearers were splashed and dirty and some idea may be formed of the unusual appearance of these new visitors to the jolly sand boys. Neither short nor the landlord nor Thomas Codland, however, was in the least surprised, merely remarking that these were Jerry's dogs and that Jerry could not be far behind. So there the dogs stood, patiently winking and gaping and looking extremely hard at the boiling pot until Jerry himself appeared when they all dropped down at once and walked about the room in their natural manner. This posture, it must be confessed, did not much improve their appearance as their own personal tails and their coattails, both capital things in their way, did not agree together. Jerry, the manager of these dancing dogs, was a tall black whiskered man in a velveteen coat who seemed well known to the landlord and his guests and accosted them with great cordiality. Disencumbering himself of a barrel-organ which he placed upon a chair and retaining in his hand a small whip wherewith to awe his company of comedians he came up to the fire to dry himself and entered into conversation. Your people don't usually travel in character, do they?" said Short, pointing to the dresses of the dogs. It must come expensive if they do. No, replied Jerry. No, it's not the custom with us. But we've been playing a little on the road today and we come out with a new wardrobe at the races so I didn't think it worthwhile to stop to undress. Down, Pedro! This was the dress to the dog with the cap on. Who, being a new member of the company and not quite certain of his duty kept his unobscured eye anxiously on his master and was perpetually starting up on his hind legs when there was no occasion and falling down again. The landlord now busied himself in laying the cloth in which process Mr. Codlin obligingly assisted by setting forth his own knife and fork in the most convenient place and establishing himself behind them. When everything was ready the landlord took off the cover for the last time and then, indeed, there burst forth such a goodly promise of supper that if he had offered to put it on again or had hinted at postponement he had been sacrificed on his own hearth. However, he did nothing of the kind but instead assisted a stout servant girl in turning the contents of the cauldron into a large terrine, a proceeding which the dogs proof against various hot splashes which fell upon their noses, watched with terrible eagerness. At length the dish was lifted on the table and mugs of ale having been previously set round little knell ventured to say grace and supper began. At this juncture the poor dogs were standing on their hind legs quite surprisingly. The child, having pity on them, was about to cast some morsels of food to them before she tasted it herself, hungry though she was when their master interposed. No, my dear, no, not an atom from anybody's hand but mine, if you please, that dog," said Jerry, pointing out the old leader of the troop and speaking in a terrible voice, lost a half penny to-day. He goes without his supper. The unfortunate creature dropped upon four legs directly, wagged his tail and looked imploringly at his master. You must be more careful, sir," said Jerry, walking coolly to the chair where he had placed the organ and setting the stop. Come here. Now, sir, you play away at that while we have supper and leave off if you dare. The dog immediately began to grind most mournful music. His master, having shown him the whip, resumed his seat and called up the others, who, at his directions, formed in a row, standing upright as a file of soldiers. Now, gentlemen," said Jerry, looking at them attentively, the dog whose name's called eats. The dog whose name's ain't called, keep quiet. Carlow. The lucky individual whose name was called snapped up the morsel thrown towards him, but none of the others moved a muscle. In this manner they were fed at the discretion of their master. Meanwhile the dog in disgrace ground hard at the organ, sometimes slow, but never leaving off for an instant. When the knives and forks rattled very much, or any of his fellows got an unusually large piece of fat, he accompanied the music with a short howl, but he immediately checked it on his master looking round, and applied himself with increased diligence to the old hundredth. Dickens. Old Curiosity Shop. So when a great man dies for years beyond our ken, the light he leaves behind him lies upon the paths of men. Long fellow. End of Section 100. This recording is in the public domain. Chapter 101 of the Ontario Reader's Third Book by the Ontario Ministry of Education. Read for LibriVox.org by Carol Stripling. Chapter 101. The Gladness of Nature by William Cullen Bryant. Is this a time to be cloudy and sad when our mother nature laughs around when even the deep blue heavens look glad, and gladness breeze from the blossoming ground? There are notes of joy from the hangbird and wren, and the gossip of swallows through all the sky. The ground squirrel gaily chirps by his din, and the wilding bee hums merrily by. The clouds are at play in the azure space, and there's shadows at play on the bright green veil, and here they stretch to the frolic chase, and there they roll on the easy gale. There's a dance of leaves on that aspen bower. There's a titter of winds in that beech and tree. There's a smile on the fruit and a smile on the flower, and a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. At the broad-faced sun how he smiles on the dewy earth that smiles in his ray. On the leaping waters and gay young aisles I look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. End of section 101. This recording is in the public domain. Chapter 102 of the Ontario Reader's Third Book by the Ontario Ministry of Education, read for LibriVox.org by Claire Snyder. Old English life, W. F. Collier adapted. When the sun rose on England of olden time, its faint red light stirred every sleeper from the sack of straw, which formed the only bed of the age. Springing from this rustling couch where he had lain naked and throwing off the coarse coverlets usually of dawn to the day's dress. Gentlemen wore linen or woolen tunics which reached to the knee and over these long fur-lined cloaks fastened with a brooch of ivory or gold. Strips of cloth or leather bandaged crosswise from the ankle to the knee over red and blue stockings and black pointed shoes slit along the instep almost to the toes and fastened with two strings completed the costume of an Anglo-Saxon gentleman. The ladies wrapping a veil of linen or silk upon their delicate curls laced a loose flowing gown over a tight-sleeved bodice and pinned the graceful folds of their mantles with golden butterflies and other tasteful trinkets. Breakfast consisted probably of bread, meat, and ale, but was a lighter repast than that taken when the day lay behind. Often it was eaten in the bower or private apartment. The central picture in old English life, the great event of the day, was noon meat or dinner in the great hall. A little before three, the chief and all his household with any stray guests who might have dropped in met in the hall which stood in the center of its encircling bowers, the principal apartment of every old English house. Clouds of wood smoke rolling up from a fire which blazed in the middle of the floor blackened the carved rafters of the arched roof before they found their way out of the hole above which did duty as a chimney. Tapestries dyed purple or glowing with variegated pictures of saints and heroes hung and if the day was stormy flapped upon the chinky walls. In palaces and in earls mansions colored tiles wrought into a mosaic formed a clean and pretty pavement but the common flooring of the day was clay baked dry with the heat of winter evenings and summer noons. The only articles of furniture always in the hall were wooden benches some of which especially the high saddle or seat of the chieftain boasted cushions or at least a rug. While the hungry crowd fresh from woodland and furrow were under the fire or hanging up their weapons on the pegs and hooks that jutted from the wall a number of slaves dragging in a long flat heavy board placed it on movable legs and spread on its upper half a handsome cloth. Then were arranged with other utensils for the meal some flat-ish dishes baskets of ash wood for holding bread a scanty sprinkling of steel knives shaped like our modern razors ladders of wood and bowls from the universal broth. The ceremony of laying the board as the old English phrased it being completed the work of demolition began. Great round cakes of bread huge hunks of boiled bacon vast rolls of broiled eel cups of milk horns of ale wedges of cheese lumps of salt butter and smoking piles of cabbages and beans melted like magic on the board under the united attack of greasy fingers and grinding jaws. Kneeling slaves offered to the lord and his honored guests long skewers or spits on which steaks of beef or venison smoked and sputtered ready for the hacking blade. Poultry too and game of every variety filled the spaces of the upper board but the crowd of loaf eaters as old English domestics were suggestively called little of these daintier kinds of food except the naked bones nor did they much care if to their innumerable hunks of bread they could add enough pig to appease their hunger. Hounds sitting eager eyed by their masters snapped with sudden jaws at scraps of fat flung to them or retired into private life below the board with some sweet bone that fortune sent them. The solid part of the banquet ended with the washing of hands performed for the honored occupants of the high settle by officious slaves. The board was then dragged out of the hall the loaf eaters slunk away to have a nap in the buyer or sat drowsily in corners of the hall and the drinking began. During the progress of the meal Welsh ale had flowed freely in horns or vessels of twisted glass. Mead and in very grand houses wine now began to circle in goblets with gold and silver or of wood inlaid with those precious metals. In humbler houses storytelling and songs sung to the music of the harp by each guest in turn formed the principal amusement of the drinking bout. Meantime the music and the mead did their work in maddening brains. The revelry grew louder riddles which had flown thick around the board at first haunts and fierce boasts of prowess. Angry eyes gleamed defiance and it was well if in the morning the household slaves had not to wash blood stains from the pavement of the hall or in the still night when the drunken brawlers lay stupid on the floor to drag a dead man from the red plash in which he lay. From the reek and riot of the hall the ladies of the household soon withdrew to the bower where they reigned supreme. There in the earlier part of the day they had arrayed themselves in their bright colored robes plying tweezers and crisping irons on their yellow hair and often heightening the blush that nature gave them with a shade of rouge. There too they used to scold their female slaves and beat them with a violence which said more for their strength of lung and muscle than for the gentleness of their womanhood. When their needles were fairly set a going upon those pieces of delicate embroidery known and prized over all Europe as English work, some gentlemen dropped in, perhaps harp in hand to chat and play for their amusement or to engage in games of hazard and skill which seemed to have resembled modern dice and chess. When in later days supper came into fashion the round table of the bower was usually spread for evening food as this meal was called and not long afterwards those bags of straw from which they sprang at sunrise received for another night their human burden worn out with the labors and the revels of the day. End of section 102 this recording is in the public domain Chapter 103 of the Ontario Readers Third Book This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Neerajana Gaurajan Chapter 103 Fuck's Song See you the dimples track the trunks all hollow through the wheat Oh that was where they hauled the guns that smoked King Philip's fleet See you a little mill that clacks so busy by the brook She has ground her con and paid her tax ever since home's day book See you are stilly woods of oak and the dread-ditch beside Oh that was where the satsons broke on the day that Harold died See you the windy level spread about the gates of rye Oh that was where the Northmen fled when Alfred's ships came by See you our pasture is wide and lone where the red oxen browse Oh there was a city thronged and known where London bursted a house And see you after raid the trays of mound and ditch and wall Oh that was a legion's camping place when Caesar sailed from Gaul And see you marks that show and fade like shadows on the downs Oh they are the lines the flintmen made to guard their wondrous towns Trackway and camp and city lost Saltmarsh where now is corn Old wars, old peace old art that sees And so was England born She is not any common earth water or wood or air but Merlin's Isle of Grammar Eye where you and I will fare Kipling Buck of Books Hill End of chapter 103 by Antoine Kaufmann The 13th of October 1812 is a day ever to be remembered in Canada All along the Niagara river the greatest excitement had prevailed Many of the inhabitants had removed with their portable property into the back country Small bodies of soldiers regulars and volunteers were posted in the towns and villages Indians were roving in the adjacent woods and sentinels posted along the banks of the river were looking eagerly for the enemy that was to come from the American shore and attempt the subjugation of a free, happy and loyal people In the village of Quiston that nestles at the foot of an eminence overlooking the mighty waters of Niagara two companies of the 49th Regiment or Green Tigers as the American afterwards termed them with 100 Canadian military were posted under the command of Captain Dennis When the two sounded on the night of the 12th the little garrison retired to rest All was silent about the elements which raged furiously throughout the night Nothing was to be heard but the howling of the wind and the sound of falling rain mingled with the distant roar of the great cataract In the cold the sentries paced the weary rounds from time to time casting glance over to the swollen tide of the river towards the American shore At length when the grey dawn of morning appeared a weary sentinel described a number of boats filled with armed men pushing off from the opposite bank below the village of Quiston Immediately the alarm was given The soldiers were roused by the numbers and marched down to the landing place Meanwhile a battery of one gun posted on the heith and another about a mile below began to play on the enemy's boats sinking some and disabling others Finding it impossible to effect the landing in the face of such a position the Americans leaving a few of their number to occupy the attention of the troops on the bank disembarked some distance up the river succeeded in gaining the summit of the heith by difficult and unprotected pathway With loud cheers they captured the one gun battery and rushed down upon Captain Dennis and his command who finding themselves far outnumbered by the enemy retired slowly towards the north end of the village Here they were met by a general Brock who had set out in advance of reinforcement from the town of Niagara, accompanied only by two officers Placing himself at the head of the little band the gallant general cried follow me and amid the cheers of regulars and militia he let his men back to the heith from which they had been forced to retire At the foot of the hill the general dismounted under the sharp fire of the enemy's riflemen who were posted among the trees on its summit climbed over a high stone wall waving his sword charged up to the hill at the head of his soldiers This intrepid conduct at once attracted the notice of the enemy One of their sharpshooters advanced a few paces took deliberate aim and shot the general in the breast It was a mortal wound Thus fell Sir Isaac Brock the hero of Upper Canada whose name will outlive the noble monument which a grateful country has erected to his memory The fall of their beloved commander infuriated his followers With loud cheers of revenge the general they pressed forward up the hill and drove the enemy from their position but reinforcements were continually pouring in from the American shore and after a deadly struggle in which colonel McDonnell Captain Dennis and most of the other officers fell these brave men were again compelled to retire they took refuge under the guns of the lower battery there awaiting the arrival of reinforcements from Niagara About midday the first of these arrived consisting of a band of 50 Mohawks under their chiefs Norton and Brand These Indian allies boldly engaged the enemy and maintained for a short time a sharpskirmish but finally retired on the main reinforcement This arrived in the course of the afternoon under the command of Major General Shiafi Instead of meeting the enemy on the old ground the officer now in command moved his whole force of 1000 men to the right of the enemy's position and sent forward his left flank to attack the American right This left flank was a very varied character consisting of one company of the 41st Regiment of the line a company of colored men and the body of volunteer militia and the Indians united in spite of their difference of color in the face by loyalty to the British crown and her tattered of foreign aggression This division advanced in a garland style After delivering a volley the whole line of white red and black charged the enemy and drove in his right wing at the point of the bayonet General Shiafi now let on the main body and forced the lately victorious Americans to retreat rapidly over the ridge The struggle on the air part was a long duration. The front was a full thirsting for revenge behind the steep banks and swiftly flowing waters of Niagara The green tigers, the Indians their most despised slaves and last but certainly not least the gallant Canadian militia were objects of terror to them Some few in despair threw themselves over the precipice into the river but the majority of the survivors surrendered themselves prisoners of war to the number of 950 among whom was their commander General Wadsworth the leader of the expedition General Wanner and Söller had retired to Lewisen as he said for reinforcement in the early part of the day The loss of the Americans in this memorable action was about 500 killed and wounded while that of the Canadian forces amounted to 150 Throughout Canada the news the victory of Queenston hates awakened universal joy and enthusiasm second only to that with which the taking of Detroit was hailed but the joy and enthusiasm were damped by the sad tidings that he who had first taught Canada's sons the way to victory had given his life for her defense and slept in a soldiers grave with many of her best and bravest End of section 104 This recording is in the public domain The track leaps in glory Blow, bugle, blow Set the wild echoes flying Blow, bugle Answer, echoes Dying, dying, dying Oh, hark, oh, hear How thin and clear And thinner, clearer Farther going Oh, sweet and far From cliff and scar The horns of Elfland Faintly blowing Oh, let us hear the purple Glens replying Blow, bugle, answer Echoes dying, dying, dying Oh, love They die in yawn rich sky They faint on hill Or field or river Our echoes roll From soul to soul And grow forever And forever Blow, bugle, blow Set the wild echoes flying And answer, echoes Answer, dying, dying, dying End of section 105 This recording is in the public domain According my Neeraja Nagarajan It is not wrong to read the poor And though I give my body to be burnt And have not charity It profited me nothing Charity suffers at long And is kind Charity envies it not Charity wants it not itself It's not puffed up Does not behave itself unseenly Seek it not her own It's not easily provoked Think it no evil Rejoice it not in iniquity Believe it all things Hope it all things Endure it all things Charity never faileth But whether there be prophecies They shall fail Whether there be tongues They shall seize Whether there be knowledge It shall vanish away For we know in part And we prophecy in part But when that which is perfect Is come, then that which is in part As a child I spake as a child I understood as a child I thought as a child But when I became a man I put away childish things For now we see through a glass Darkly, but then face to face Now I know in part But then shall I know even As also I am known And now abided faith Hope, charity, these three But the greatest of these Is charity Chapter 107 of the Ontario Reader's Third Book By the Ontario Ministry of Education Read for librarybox.org by Ducktape Guy And Rose264 Our Christmas Carol By James Russell Lowell What means this glory Round our feet The magi amused More bright than morn And voices chanted Clear and sweet Today the prince of peace Is born What means that star The shepherd said That brightens through the rocky glen An angel's answering Overhead Saying peace on earth Goodwill to men To his 1800 years And more since those sweet oracles Were dumb We wait for him like Them of yore alas He seemed so slow to come But it was said in words of gold No time or sore air shall dim That little children Might be bold in perfect trust To come to him All round about our feet Shall shine A light like that the wise men saw If we are living wells and crime To that sweet life which is the law So shall we learn to understand The simple faith of shepherds then In clasping kindly Hand in hand Sing peace on earth Goodwill to men And they who do their souls Know wrong but keep it The faith of mourn So daily hear the angel's song Today the prince of peace is born End of section 107 This recording is in the public domain The Baron lands by E. B. Osborne Long before the treeless wastes are reached The forests cease to be forests except by courtesy The trees black and white spruce The Canadian larch and the grey pine Willow, older, etc. Have an appearance of youth So that the traveller would hardly suppose them To be more than a few years old At first sight Really this juvenile appearance Is a species of second childhood For on the shores of the Great Bear Lake Four centuries unnecessary for the growth Of a trunk not as thick as a man's wrist The further north The more lamentably decrepit becomes The appearance of these woodlands Until presently Their sordiness is veiled by thick growths Of grey lichens, the caribou moss As it is called, which clothe the trunks And hang down from the shriveled boughs And so further north The trees become more stunted stems Set with blighted buds That have never been able to develop themselves Into branches Until finally the last vestiges Of arboreal growth takes refuge Under a thick carpet of lichens and mosses The characteristic vegetation Of the barren grounds Nothing more dismal than the winter aspect Of these wastes can be imagined The northern forests are silent enough In winter time But the silence of the barren grounds Is far more profound Even in the depths of midwinter The north-western bush has voices And is full of animal life The bark and cry of the crows These birds are the greatest Imaginable nuisance to the treacher Whose boats, though still Even before his back is turned Is still heard The snowbirds and other small-winged creatures Are never quiet between sunset and sunrise The jack-grabbit, whose black bead-like eye Betrays his presence among the snow-drifts In spite of his snow-white fur Is common enough And the childlike wailing of the coyotes Is heard every night But with the exception Of the shriek of the snow owl Or the yelping of the fox Immersed from his lair There is no sound of light During seven or eight or nine months Of winter on the barren grounds Unless the traveller Is able to hear the rushing sound Some can hear it Others cannot of the shifting northern lights In May, however When the snows melt And the swamps begin to thaw The barren grounds become full of light To begin with The sky is literally darkened With enormous flights of wild fowl Whom instinct brings from the southern reaches Of the Mississippi And its tributaries To these sub-artic wildernesses Where they find an abundance of food And at the same time Build their nests And rear their young in safety The snow geese are the first to arrive Next come the common and idler duck After them the great northern black And red-throated divers And last of all the pincetail And the long-tailed ducks Some of these go no further Than just beyond the outskirts Of the forest region Others flying further northward Lay their eggs in the open on the moss Eagles and hawks Pray on these migratory hosts Troops of Tarmigan They are said to go to no place Where the mercury does not freeze Seek food among the stunted willows On the shores of the lakes and sloths And in sunny weather The snow-bunting song is heard Soon after the arrival of the migratory birds The wilderness becomes newly clothed In green and grey The snow which never once thaws During the long winter Forms a safe protection for vegetable life As soon as the lengthening summer's day Has thawed this coverlet of snows Vegetation comes on at a surprising rate A weak sunshine on the wet soil Completely transforming the aspect of the country It is then that the caribou Leave their winter quarters in the forest region And journey to the barren grounds Just as the prairies might have been called Buffalo land 30 years ago And the intervening in forested country May still be styled moose land Not that the moose is nearly so common In Sectuaun and Athabasca As it was before the rebellion of 1885 Opened up that country So from the hunter's point of view Caribou land would be an exceedingly apt name For the tundra of Greater Canada Only the Indians and the Eskimos The former living on the confines of the forests And the latter along the far Arctic coasts Visit these territories And but for the presence of the vast herds of caribou It is pretty certain that such mosquito Haunted wastes would never be trodden by man It is true that the musk ox Is an important inhabitant of the wastes But the numbers of that strange beast Which seems to be half sheep, half ox Are not nearly so great And there are reasons to believe That it is being slowly but surely Driven from its ancient pastures By the caribou Just as in so many parts of the world The nations of the antelope Have receded before the dear tribes A. B. Osborne, Greater Canada End of section 108 This recording is in the public domain Chapter 109 of the Ontario Readers' Third Book By the Ontario Ministry of Education A spring morning by William Wordsworth There was a roaring in the wind all night The rain came heavily and fell in floods But now the sun is rising calm and bright The birds are singing in the distant woods Over his own sweet voice The stocked-up broods The joe makes answer as the magpie chatters And all the air is filled with pleasant noise of waters All things that love the sun are out of doors The sky rejoices in the morning's birth The grass is bright with raindrops On the moors the hare is running roses In her mirth In with her feet she from the plashy earth Raises a mist that glittering in the sun Runs with her all the way Wherever she doth run Wordsworth Fallow the winter is past The rain is over and gone The flowers appear on the earth The time of the singing of birds is come The voice of the turtle is heard in our land Solomon's Song 2, 1112 End of Section 109 This recording is in the public domain Chapter 110 of the Ontario Readers Third Book This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Neeraja Nagarajan Chapter 110 Crossing the bar Sunset and evening star And one clear call for me And may there be no mourning of the bar When I put out to sea But such a tide as moving seems asleep And full for sound and foam When that which drew from out the bound is deep Turns again home Twilight and evening bell And after that the dark And may there be no sadness of farewell When I embark For though from out are born of time and place The flood may bear me far I hope to see my pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar Tenison End of Chapter 110 End of the Ontario Readers Third Book By the Ontario Readers Third Book