Wednesday's Good Reading: "The Fox and the Geese" by unknown writer (in English)

 

    There was once a Goose at the point of death,

    So she called her three daughters near,

    And desired them all, with her latest breath,

    Her last dying words to hear.

 

    "There's a Mr. Fox," said she, "that I know,

    Who lives in a covert hard by,

    To our race he has proved a deadly foe,

    So beware of his treachery."

 

    Build houses, ere long, of stone or of bricks,

    And get tiles for your roofs, I pray;

    For I know, of old, Mr. Reynard's tricks,

    And I fear he may come any day."

 

    Thus saying, she died, and her daughters fair, --

    Gobble, Goosey, and Ganderee, --

    Agreed together, that they would beware

    Of Mr. Fox, their enemy.

 

    But Gobble, the youngest, I grieve to say,

    Soon came to a very bad end,

    Because she preferred her own silly way,

    And would not to her mother attend.

 

    For she made, with some boards, an open nest,

    For a roof took the lid of a box;

    Then quietly laid herself down to rest,

    And thought she was safe from the Fox.

 

    But Reynard, in taking an evening run,

    Soon scented the goose near the pond;

    Thought he, " Now I'll have some supper and fun,

    For of both I am really fond."

 

    Then on to the box he sprang in a trice,

    And roused Mrs. Gobble from bed;

    She only had time to hiss once or twice

    Ere he snapped off her lily-white head.

 

 

 

    Her sisters at home felt anxious and low

    When poor Gobble did not appear,

    And Goosey, determined her fate to know,

    Went and sought all the field far and near.

 

    At last she descried poor Gobble's head,

    And some feathers not far apart,

    So she told Ganderee she had found her dead,

    And they both felt quite sad at heart.

 

    Now Goosey was pretty, but liked her own way,

    Like Gobble, and some other birds."

    'Tis no matter," said she, "if I only obey

    A part of my mother's last words."

 

    So her house she soon built of nice red brick,

    But she only thatched it with straw;

    And she thought that, however the fox might kick,

    He could not get e'en a paw.

 

    So she went to sleep, and at dead of night

    She heard at the door a low scratch;

    And presently Reynard, with all his might,

    Attempted to jump on the thatch.

 

    But he tumbled back, and against the wall

    Grazed his nose in a fearful way,

    Then, almost mad with the pain of his fall,

    He barked, and ran slowly away.

 

    So Goosey laughed, and felt quite o'erjoyed

    To have thus escaped from all harm;

    But had she known how the Fox was employed,

    She would have felt dreadful alarm;

 

    For Gobble had been his last dainty meat,

    So hungry he really did feel, --

    And resolved in his mind to accomplish this feat,

    And have the young goose for a meal.

 

    So he slyly lighted a bundle of straws,

    And made no more noise than a mouse,

    Then lifted himself up on his hind paws,

    And quickly set fire to the house.

 

    'Twas soon in a blaze, and Goosey awoke,

    With fright almost ready to die,

    And, nearly smothered with heat and with smoke,

    Up the chimney was forced to fly.

 

    The Fox was rejoiced to witness her flight,

    And, heedless of all her sad groans,

    He chased her until he saw her alight,

    Then eat her up all but her bones.

 

    Poor Ganderee's heart was ready to break

    When the sad news reached her ear.

    "'Twas that villain the Fox," said good Mr. Drake,

    Who lived in a pond very near.

 

    "Now listen to me, I pray you," he said,

    "And roof your new house with some tiles,

    Or you, like your sisters, will soon be dead, --

    A prey to your enemy's wiles."

 

    So she took the advice of her mother and friend,

    And made her house very secure,

    Then she said, -- "Now, whatever may be my end,

    The Fox cannot catch me, I'm sure."

 

    He called at her door the very next day,

    And loudly and long did he knock,

    But she said to him, -- "Leave my house, I pray,

    For the door I will not unlock;

 

    "For you've killed my sisters I know full well,

    And you wish that I too were dead."

    "Oh dear," said the Fox, " I can't really tell

    Who put such a thought in your head:

 

    "For I've always liked geese more than other birds,

    And you of your race I've loved best."

    But the Goose ne'er heeded his flattering words,

    So hungry he went to his rest.

 

    Next week she beheld him again appear,

    "Let me in very quick," he cried,

    "For the news I've to tell you'll be charmed to hear,

    And 'tis rude to keep me outside."

 

    But the Goose only opened one window-pane,

    And popped out her pretty red bill,

    Said she, "Your fair words are all in vain,

    But talk to me here if you will."

 

    "Tomorrow," he cried, " there will be a fair,

    All the birds and the beasts will go;

    So allow me, I pray, to escort you there,

    For you will be quite charmed I know."

 

    "Many thanks for your news," said Ganderee,

    "But I had rather not go with you;

    I care not for any gay sight to see," --

    So the window she closed, and withdrew.

 

    In the morning, howe'er, her mind she changed,

    And she thought she would go to the fair;

    So her numerous feathers she nicely arranged,

    And cleaned her red bill with much care.

 

    She went, I believe, before it was light,

    For of Reynard she felt much fear;

    So quickly she thought she would see each sight,

    And return ere he should appear.

 

    When the Goose arrived she began to laugh

    At the wondrous creatures she saw;

    There were dancing bears, and a tall giraffe,

    And a beautiful red macaw.

 

    A monkey was weighing out apples and roots;

    An ostrich, too, sold by retail;

    There were bees and butterflies tasting the fruits,

    And a pig drinking out of a pail.

 

    Ganderee went into an elephant's shop,

    And quickly she bought a new churn;

    For, as it grew late, she feared to stop,

    As in safety she wished to return.

 

    Ere, however, she got about half the way,

    She saw approaching her foe;

    And now she hissed with fear and dismay,

    For she knew not which way to go.

 

    But at last of a capital plan she bethought,

    Of a place where she safely might hide;

    She got into the churn that she had just bought,

    And then fastened the lid inside.

 

    The churn was placed on the brow of a hill,

    And with Ganderee's weight down it rolled,

    Passing the Fox, who stood perfectly still,

    Quite alarmed, though he was very bold.

 

    For the Goose's wings flapped strangely about,

    And the noise was fearful to hear;

    And so bruised she felt she was glad to get out,

    When she thought that the coast was clear.

 

    So safely she reached her own home at noon,

    And the Fox ne'er saw her that day;

    But after the fair he came very soon,

    And cried out in a terrible way, --

 

    "Quick, quick, let me in! oh, for once be kind,

    For the huntsman's horn I hear;

    Oh, hide me in any snug place you can find,

    For the hunters and hounds draw near."

 

    So the Goose looked out in order to see

    Whether Reynard was only in jest;

    Then, knowing that he in her power would be,

    She opened the door to her guest.

 

    "I'll hide you," she said, " in my nice new churn."

    "That will do very well," said he;

    "And thank you for doing me this good turn,

    Most friendly and kind Ganderee."

 

    Then into the churn the Fox quickly got;

    But, ere the Goose put on the top,

    A kettle she brought of water quite hot,

    And poured in every drop.

 

    Then the Fox cried out, "O! I burn, I burn,

    And I feel in a pitiful plight;"

    But the Goose held fast the lid of the churn,

    So Reynard he died that night.

 

    Moral

    Mankind have an enemy whom they well know,

    Who tempts them in every way;

    But they, too, at length shall o'ercome this foe,

    If wisdom's right law they obey.

Wednesday's Good Reading: “The Evening Star” by Amanda Theodosia Jones (in English)

 

Lean from the lattice, lady bright;

 Trifle no more with the pensive guitar

For the sun in an ebbing ocean of light

 Is anchored, to wait for the evening star.

 

And yonder the palace-windows blaze:

 Such radiant gold from the west they win,

That you say, in a sort of pretty amaze,

 "Surely, there must be a sun within!"

 

Over your head a rose-vine clings,

 Deftly the long stems climb and lace;

And a full, red bud in the west wind swings,

 Brushing the rose of your beautiful face.

 

Lean from the lattice, lady sweet;

 The wind is blowing the bud apart;

And one is coming adown the street,

 To open to you his princely heart.

 

But your lips are touched by a scornful smile:

 "What is he, but a boy?" you say;

"If I bent to him for a little while,

 It was only the whim of a lady gay."

 

Trifle again with the vibrant guitar:

 But the boy you scorn has reached your side,

And, looking away at the evening star,

 You drop for a moment your sceptre of pride.

 

The star is leaning out of the skies,

 To hearken to passionate words and low:

"I love"—and "I love," your heart replies,

 Whether your lips assent or no.

 

What if you turn his fear to joy?

 Yield him the heart he dares implore?

Lean on the swelling breast of the boy,

 And love him and love him for evermore?

 

Your cheeks are hot, O lady proud!

 They prate of the pained heart's rapid throes;.

But over the star there sweeps a cloud,

 And you—are crushing the half-blown rose.

 

Fine is the pride of the steady eye,

 Of the curving lip, and the stately head;

Measured and clear, with never a sigh,

 Are the words of the cruel falsehood said.

 

Now close the shutters and light the lamp;

 Recklessly toy with the merry guitar:

The wind of the west is cool and damp,

 And—what care you for the evening star?

 

And yet—and yet, O lady fair,

 If yonder palace you think to win,

With its windows blazing with gold, beware

 How you fancy there is a sun within!

 

Else, pierced by a life-long pain, I ween,

 Robbed of all love-light, cheated of joy,

Even you, lady, will pine to lean

 On the noble, burning heart of a boy.

Excellent Readings: Sonnet CXI by William Shakespeare (in English)

O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide,
The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,
That did not better for my life provide
Than public means which public manners breeds.
Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,
And almost thence my nature is subdued
To what it works in, like the dyer's hand:
Pity me, then, and wish I were renewed;
Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink
Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection;
No bitterness that I will bitter think,
Nor double penance, to correct correction.
   Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,
   Even that your pity is enough to cure me.

Saturday's Good Reading: "Ingratidão" by Raul de Leoni (in Portuguese)

Nunca mais me esqueci!... Eu era criança
E em meu velho quintal, ao sol-nascente,
Plantei, com a minha mão ingênua e mansa,
Uma linda amendoeira adolescente.

Era a mais rútila e íntima esperança...
Cresceu... cresceu... e, aos poucos, suavemente,
Pendeu os ramos sobre um muro em frente
E foi frutificar na vizinhança...

Daí por diante, pela vida inteira,
Todas as grandes árvores que em minhas
Terras, num sonho esplêndido semeio,

Como aquela magnífica amendoeira,
E florescem nas chácaras vizinhas
E vão dar frutos no pomar alheio...

Wednesday's Good Reading: "Spirto ben nato, in cu’ si specchia e vede" by Michelangelo Buonarroti (in Italian)

     Spirto ben nato, in cu’ si specchia e vede
nelle tuo belle membra oneste e care
quante natura e ’l ciel tra no’ può fare,
quand’a null’altra suo bell’opra cede:
     spirto leggiadro, in cui si spera e crede
dentro, come di fuor nel viso appare,
amor, pietà, mercè, cose sì rare,
che ma’ furn’in beltà con tanta fede:
     l’amor mi prende e la beltà mi lega;
la pietà, la mercè con dolci sguardi
ferma speranz’ al cor par che ne doni.
     Qual uso o qual governo al mondo niega,
qual crudeltà per tempo o qual più tardi,
c’a sì bell’opra morte non perdoni?

Wednesday's Good Reading: “Lilian” by Alfred Tennyson

 

 

Airy, fairy Lilian,

Flitting, fairy Lilian,

When I ask her if she love me,

Claps her tiny hands above me,

Laughing all she can;

She’ll not tell me if she love me,

Cruel little Lilian.

 

When my passion seeks

Pleasance in love-sighs,

She, looking thro’ and thro’ me

Thoroughly to undo me,

Smiling, never speaks:

So innocent-arch, so cunning-simple,

From beneath her gather'd wimple

Glancing with black-beaded eyes,

Till the lightning laughters dimple

The baby-roses in her cheeks;

Then away she flies.

 

Prythee weep, May Lilian!

Gaiety without eclipse

Wearieth me, May Lilian:

Thro’ my very heart it thrilleth

When from crimson-threaded lips

Silver-treble laughter trilleth:

Prythee weep, May Lilian.

 

Praying all I can,

If prayers will not hush thee,

Airy Lilian,

Like a rose-leaf I will crush thee,

Fairy Lilian.