Chapter VI

65. The next day the prince returned to his dear Peribanou, to whom he told his father's new demand, which, he said, he looked upon to be a thing more impossible than the other two. "For," added he, "I cannot imagine there can be such a man in the world. How can my father suppose that I should be able to find a man so small and at the same time so well armed? What arms can I make use of to reduce him to my will?"

66. "Don't be frightened, prince," replied the fairy; "you ran a risk in getting the water of the Fountain of Lions for your father, but there is no danger in finding this man, who is my brother Schaibar. Far from being like me, he is of so violent a nature that nothing can prevent his resenting a slight offence; yet, on the other hand, he is so good as to oblige any one in whatever is desired. He is exactly as the sultan, your father, has described him.

67. "I'll send for him, and you shall judge of the truth of what I tell you; but prepare yourself not to be frightened at his extraordinary appearance."

"What! my queen," replied Prince Ahmed; "do you say Schaibar is your brother? Let him be never so ugly and deformed, I shall be so far from being frightened at the sight of him that, as our brother, I shall honor and love him."

68. The fairy ordered a gold chafing dish to be set with a fire in it in the porch of her palace, and taking a perfume, she threw it into the fire, out of which there arose a thick cloud of smoke.

69. Some moments after, the fairy said to Prince Ahmed: "See, here comes my brother." The prince immediately perceived Schaibar coming gravely, with his heavy bar on his shoulder; his long beard, which he held up before him; and a pair of thick moustachios, which he tucked behind his ears and which almost covered his face. His eyes were very small and deep-set in his head, and he wore a high cap; besides all this, he was very much humpbacked.

70. Schaibar, as he came forward, looked at the prince earnestly enough to chill the blood in his veins, and asked Peribanou who he was. To which she replied: "He is my husband, brother. His name is Ahmed; he is the son of the sultan of the Indies. The reason why I did not invite you to my wedding was that I was unwilling to divert you from an expedition in which you were engaged, and from which I heard with pleasure that you returned victorious, and so I took the liberty to call for you."

71. At these words, Schaibar, looking on Prince Ahmed favorably, said: "Is there anything, sister, wherein I can serve him? That he is your husband is enough to engage me to do for him whatever he desires."

"The sultan, his father," replied Peribanou, "has a curiosity to see you, and I desire that the prince may be your guide to the sultan's court."

72. Schaibar and Prince Ahmed set out for the sultan's court. When they arrived at the gates of the capital, the people no sooner saw Schaibar than they ran and hid themselves; so that Schaibar and Prince Ahmed, as they went along, found the streets all deserted till they came to the palace. There the porters, instead of keeping the gates, ran away, too, so that the prince and Schaibar advanced to the council hall, where the sultan was seated on his throne, giving audience.

73. Schaibar went boldly up to the throne, without waiting to be presented by Prince Ahmed, and addressed the sultan in these words: "Thou hast asked for me; see, here I am. What wouldst thou have with me?"

74. The sultan, instead of answering him, clapped his hands before his eyes to avoid the sight of so terrible an object; at which rude reception Schaibar was so much provoked, after he had taken the trouble to come so far, that he instantly lifted up his iron bar and killed the sultan before Prince Ahmed could intercede.

75. All that the prince could do was to prevent his killing the grand vizier by saying that this officer had always given the sultan good advice.

After this Schaibar said: "This is not yet enough; I will treat all the people in the same way if they do not immediately acknowledge Prince Ahmed, my brother-in-law, for their sultan and the sultan of the Indies."

76. Then all that were there present made the air echo again with the repeated shouts of "Long life to Sultan Ahmed!" and immediately he was proclaimed through the whole town. Schaibar had him installed on the throne, and after he had caused all to swear fidelity to Ahmed, he brought Peribanou with all the pomp and grandeur imaginable, and had her crowned sultaness of the Indies.

* * * * *

I. =Sŭl´tan=: an Eastern king. =Ho̤_u_s´sā̍_i_n=. =Ä_h´_mĕd=.
=No̤=_u_ =rŏn´ĭ här=. =Dĭs g_u_īs̝_e_d´=: dressed for the
purpose of concealment. =Bĭs nȧ gär´.= =Trăns pōrt´ĕd=: carried.
=Säm ar känd´.= =Çĕr´ē̍ mō̍ nĭ_e_s̝=: forms of politeness.
=Cŏm mĕnd´ĕd=: praised.

II. =Hẽr´mĭt=: a man who lives apart from other people.
=Rē̍ nounç=_e´_: give up. =Lē_a_g_ue_s̝=: a league is a
measure of distance of from two to four miles. =Pōrt=: manner
of carrying oneself. =Ġē´nĭ_e_s̝=: spirits; powerful fairies.
=Pĕ rï bä´no̤_u_.= =Ĭn´fĭ nĭt=_e_ =ly̆=: beyond measure; greatly.
=Cŏn jĕc´tū̍r_e_=: guess.

III. =Ē̍ quĭp_pe_d´=: dressed; fitted out. =Pĕn´ē̍ trāt_e_=:
pierce into. =Viz´iers=: in Eastern countries, officers of high
rank. =Fĭ dĕl´ĭ ty̆=: faithfulness.

IV. =Ĭm pŏs´tor=: a cheat; one who imposes upon others.
=Fŏr b_e_âr´=: keep from. =Sȯv´ẽr= _e_=ĭ_g_n=: effectual.

V. =Cŏn jūr=_e´_: beg earnestly. =No̤_u_r´gĭ hän=.
=Ĭn crē̍ dū´lĭ ty̆=: unbelief. =Qua̤r´tẽr stȧf=_f_: a long, stout
staff used as a weapon.

VI. =Mo̤_u_s tȧçh´ĭ ō̍s̝=: mustache. =Dĭ vẽrt´=: turn aside.
=Ĭn tẽr çēd_e´_=: speak in his behalf. =Ĭn sta̤l_le_d´=: placed
in office.

The Planting of the Apple Tree

BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT

William Cullen Bryant (1794-1878): An American poet and journalist.
His most famous poem is "Thanatopsis," written when he was only
eighteen. Among his other poems are "To a Waterfowl," "The Death of
the Flowers," and "To a Fringed Gentian."

1. Come, let us plant the apple tree.
Cleave the tough greensward with the spade;
Wide let its hollow bed be made;
There gently lay the roots, and there
Sift the dark mold with kindly care,
And press it o'er them tenderly,
As round the sleeping infant's feet
We softly fold the cradle sheet;
So plant we the apple tree.

2. What plant we in this apple tree?
Buds which the breath of summer days
Shall lengthen into leafy sprays;
Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast,
Shall haunt and sing, and hide her nest;
We plant, upon the sunny lea,
A shadow for the noontide hour,
A shelter from the summer shower,
When we plant the apple tree.

3. What plant we in this apple tree?
Sweets for a hundred flowery springs
To load the May wind's restless wings,
When, from the orchard row he pours
Its fragrance through our open doors;
A world of blossoms for the bee,
Flowers for the sick girl's silent room,
For the glad infant sprigs of bloom
We plant with the apple tree.

4. What plant we in this apple tree?
Fruits that shall swell in sunny June,
And redden in the August noon,
And drop, when gentle airs come by
That fan the blue September sky;
While children come, with cries of glee,
And seek them where the fragrant grass
Betrays their bed to those who pass,
At the foot of the apple tree.

5. And when, above this apple tree,
The winter stars are quivering bright,
And winds go howling through the night,
Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth,
Shall peel its fruit by cottage hearth,
And guests in prouder homes shall see,
Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine,
And golden orange of the line,
The fruit of the apple tree.

6. The fruitage of this apple tree
Winds and our flag of stripe and star
Shall bear to coasts that lie afar,
Where men shall wonder at the view,
And ask in what fair groves they grew;
And sojourners beyond the sea
Shall think of childhood's careless day,
And long, long hours of summer play
In the shade of the apple tree.

7. Each year shall give this apple tree
A broader flush of roseate bloom,
A deeper maze of verdurous gloom,
And loosen, when the frost clouds lower,
The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower.
The years shall come and pass, but we
Shall hear no longer, where we lie,
The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh,
In the boughs of the apple tree.

8. And time shall waste this apple tree.
Oh, when its aged branches throw
Thin shadows on the ground below,
Shall fraud and force and iron will
Oppress the weak and helpless still?
What shall the tasks of mercy be,
Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears
Of those who live when length of years
Is wasting this little apple tree?

9. "Who planted this old apple tree?"
The children of that distant day
Thus to some aged man shall say;
And, gazing on its mossy stem,
The gray-haired man shall answer them:
"A poet of the land was he,
Born in the rude but good old times;
'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes
On planting the apple tree."

* * * * *

=Clē_a_v_e_=: cut; part. =Grē_e_n´swa̤rd=: turf green with grass.
=Lē=_a_: meadow; field. =Çĭn´trȧ=: a town in Portugal. =The
line=: the Equator. =Sō´j_o_ûrn ẽrs̝=: those who dwell for a
time. =Rō´s̝ē̍ ā̍t_e_=: rosy. =Māz_e_=: a tangle; a network.
=Vẽr´dū̍r= _o_=ŭs=: green. =Low´ẽr=: seem dark and gloomy.
=Fra̤_u_d=: deceit; cheat. =Quā_i_nt=: odd; curious.

Nests

Make yourselves nests of pleasant thoughts! None of us yet know, for none of us have been taught in early youth, what fairy palaces we may build of beautiful thoughts, proof against all adversity; bright fancies, satisfied memories, noble histories, faithful sayings, treasure-houses of precious and restful thoughts, which care cannot disturb, nor pain make gloomy, nor poverty take away from us; houses built without hands, for our souls to live in.

RUSKIN

Sir Isaac Newton

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE