To me more dear, congenial to my heart, But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, - OLIVER GOLDSMITH. IN A CONVENT CHAPEL Me hither from moonlight A voice ever calls, Where pale pillars cluster And organ tones roll Nor sunlight nor moonlight E'er silver these walls; Lives here other luster, The Light of the Soul. Here budded and blossomed, Like brief-blooming roses, Now ever embosomed In bliss they abide — Oh, may, when life closes, My meed be as sure! JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN. THE MEAD HALL Not very imposing looks the house. It is one story high. It is built of wood. The use of stones for building purposes is not yet known. So identified is timber with building, that the Old English word for the act of building is timbrian. We enter; but we look in vain for any of the comforts of a modern dwelling house. Tapestry hangs upon the walls. That which decorated the hall of Heorot was embroidered in gold: "Gold-varied shone the webs along the walls, many wonder-sights to those that gazed upon them." Painted shields and the implements of war look down upon us. There are no chairs. The luxury of a seat with a back to it is still unthought of. But we find stools and benches. If we intend staying for the night, those same benches will be our beds, with a pillow, some fresh straw, and perhaps a bear skin. Bed clothing was scanty in those days, nor was it CATH. FIFTH READER-23 much needed; the men were better able to endure excessive cold than excessive heat. The floor is covered with straw. Indeed, in the Old English way of thinking, to strew is to straw. The words are identical. The table is made of plain boards, pieced together in such a manner that they can afterward be removed. It was called a bord. At an early day the round table was used. It afterward became the custom that each guest had a small side table; but it was not permitted to eat alone. One of the greatest blots on a man's character would be the fact that he dined in private. There are no glass windows in this house into which we have been introduced. We perceive only eyeholes. The Old English do not yet know the use of glass. At present, the birds can fly through the hall in winter; not only are the eyeholes open, but the doors as well. The fire burns in the center of the hall; there are no chimneys. Perhaps near by is a large tree whose roots are under the floor and whose branches cover the roof. In a prominent place is the boar's head in honor of Frey. The host occupies the highest seat, at about the middle of the table. Near him sits his wife. Upon the table are cheese, and bread, and cereals, and broth, and meat, boiled or roasted. The meat is generally salt. Pork is a favorite dish. A servant holds the spit while each guest cuts from it a piece to suit himself. The use of forks is still unknown. Near the fire are ranged the vessels containing the beer. The beer horn is first handed to the host across the fire. He drinks first. Then all goes merrily. Conversation flows freely. converse, haughty warriors. Many are lovers of social at the feast and recount tales; then wine wets the man's breast passions; suddenly rises clamor in the company, and a various outcry is sent forth. The host makes it a point of honor to quell all disputes. At intervals the harper plays his harp. He is also a poet. He sings the soothing lay, the song serene. He recounts the tales of old. He tells of battles fought and victories won. And as the wine or beer begins to warm the breasts of the hardy warriors who listen to his lay, they feel the spirit of war rise within them, and in fancy they fight their battles over again. Then they talk of their deeds of prowess, of their hairbreadth escapes; they laugh over their cruelties; they rejoice in their wounds; for, to their thinking, he who had received no wounds knew not the glory of living. From the life we have traced we can infer the kind of poetry most in harmony with its sentiments. Let us examine the pieces that have escaped the ravages of time. BROTHER AZARIAS. |