Home › Contents › Muscle and Courage

Muscle and Courage

(493) Had scooped the vale, and clothed the mountain's side we must suppose that in the upper terrace was a With many a verdant wood : nor long she pined Till that uxorious monarch called on Art To rival Nature's sweet variety.

Forthwith two hundred thousand slaves upreared This hill-egregious work; rich fruits o'erhang The sloping vales, and odorous shrubs entwine Their undulating branches."

These Gardens, as far as we rearn from ancient accounts, contained a square of above four hundred feet on each side, and were carried up in the manner of several large terraces, one above the other, till the height equalled that of the walls of the city. The whole pile was sustained by vast arches, raised on other arches, one above another, and was defended and condensed by a wall, surrounding it on every side, of twenty-two feet in thickness. On the top of the arches were first laid large flat stones, sixteen feet long and four broad; over these was a layer of weeds mixed and cemented with a large quantity of bitumen, on which were two rows of bricks closely cemented together with the same material. The whole was covered with thick sheets of lead, on which lay the mould of the Garden. And all this floorage was so contrived as to keep the moisture of the mould from running away through the arches. The earth laid thereon was so deep that large trees might take root in it; and with such the terraces were covered, as well as with the other plants and flowers proper to adorn an Eastern pleasure Garden.

The trees planted there are represented to have been of various kinds. Here grew the larch, that, curving, flings its arms like a falling wave; and by it was seen the gray livery of the aspen; the mournful solemnity of the cypress and stately grandeur of the cedar intermingled with the elegant mimosa; besides the light and airy foliage of the silk-tasselled acacia, with its vast clusters of beauteous lilac flowers streaming in the wind and glittering in the sun; the umbrageous foliage of the chestnut, and ever-varying verdure of the poplar; the birch, with its feathered branches light as a lady's plumes-all combined with the freshness of the running stream, over which the willow waved its tresses: "And the jessamine faint, and the sweet tuberose, The sweetest flower for scent that blows; And all rare blossoms from every clime Grew in that Garden in perfect prime."

All these varied delights of Nature were ranged in rows on the side of the ascent as well as on the top, so that at a distance it appeared to be an immense pyramid covered with wood. The situation of this extraordinary effort of human skill, aided by human wealth and perseverance, adjoining the river Euphrates, hydraulic engine, or kind of pump, by which the water was forced up out of the river, and from thence the whole Gardens were watered, and a supply of the pure element furnished to the fountains and reservoirs for cooling the air. In the spaces between the several arches, on which the whole structure rested, were large and magnificent apartments, very lightsome, and commanding the most beautiful prospects that even the glowing conceptions of an Eastern imagination could dream to exist. THE Somebody's Mother.

HE woman was old and ragged and gray, And bent with the chill of the winter's day; The street was wet with a recent snow, And the woman's feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing and waited long, Alone, uncared for, amid the throng Of human beings who passed her by, Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street, with laughter and shout, Glad in the freedom of "school let out," Came the boys, like a flock of sheep, Hailing the snow, piled white and deep.

Past the woman so old and gray Hastened the children on their way, Nor offered a helping hand to her, So meek, so timid, afraid to stir, Lest the carriage wheels or the horses' feet Should crowd her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop- The gayest laddie of all the group; He paused beside her, and whispered low, "I'll help you across, if you wish to go."

Her aged hand on his strong young arm She placed, and so, without hurt or harm, He guided the trembling feet along, Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back again to his friends he went, His young heart happy and well content. "She's Somebody's Mother, boys, you know, For all she's aged and poor and slow; And I hope some fellow will lend a hand To help my mother, you understand, If ever she's poor and old and gray, When her own dear boy is far away."

And "Somebody's Mother" bowed low her head In her home that night, and the prayer she said, Was "God, be kind to the noble boy, Who is somebody's son and pride and joy!"

The Wreck of the T was the schooner Hesperus, That sailed the winter sea; "Hesperus."

And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day; And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm, With his pipe in his mouth, And watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke, now west, now south.

Then up, and spake an old sailor, Had sailed the Spanish Main- "I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane. "Last night the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see."

The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the northeast; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength; She shuddered, and paused, like a frighted steed, Then leaped her cable's length. "Come hither, come hither, my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to the mast. "O father, I hear the church-bells ring!

O say, what may it be?" "'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast," And he steered for the open sea. "O father, I hear the sound of guns!

O say, what may it be?" "Some ship in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!" "O father, I see a gleaming light!

O say, what may it be?"

But the father answered never a word- A frozen corpse was he!

Lashed to the helm all stiff and stark, With his face to the skies, The lantern gleamed thro' the gleaming snow On his fixed and glassy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed, That savèd she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the waves, On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept, Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever, the fitful gusts between, A sound came from the land; It was the sound of the trampling surf On the rocks, and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a dreary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew, Like icicles, from her deck.

She struck, where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool; But the cruel rocks they gored her side Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts, went by the board; Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank- Ho! ho! the breakers roared.

At day-break, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight, and the snow; Christ save us all from a death like this, On the reef of Norman's Woe.