She was a Phantom of Delight

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

William Wordsworth (1770-1850): An English poet. He found poetry in the simplest scenes and incidents of everyday life, and more than any other poet he has helped other people to love and appreciate nature. He wrote "The Excursion," "Ode on Intimations of Immortality," and many other poems.

She was a phantom of delight

When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent

To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,

A spirit, yet a woman too!

Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;

A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;

A creature not too bright or good

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For human nature's daily food;

For transient sorrows, simple wiles,

Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

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And now I see with eye serene

The very pulse of the machine;

A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveler between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect woman nobly planned
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of angelic light.

Some Adventures of Don Quixote

BY MIGUEL DE CERVANTES

Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra (1547-1616): A Spanish writer. He wrote poems, tales, and dramas, but his fame rests on his romance, "Don Quixote," the masterpiece of Spanish literature.

Don Quixote was a country gentleman who read romances until his brain became crazed with ideas of chivalry, and he set forth as a knight-errant to fight in behalf of the innocent and oppressed. Sancho Panza, a shrewd but credulous country fellow, was his squire or servant. After many adventures Don Quixote was, just before his death, restored to his right mind.

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At a certain village in La Mancha in Spain, which I 10 shall not name, there lived not long ago one of those oldfashioned gentlemen who are never without a lance upon a rack, an old target, a lean horse, and a greyhound. His diet consisted more of beef than mutton; and with minced meat on most nights, lentils on Friday, eggs and 15 bacon on Saturdays, and a pigeon extraordinary on Sun

days, he consumed three quarters of his revenue: the rest was laid out in a plush coat, velvet breeches, with slippers of the same, for holidays; and a suit of the very best homespun cloth, which he bestowed on himself for working days.

His whole family was a housekeeper something over forty, a niece not twenty, and a man who served him in the house and in the field, and could saddle a horse and handle the pruning hook. The master himself was nigh fifty years of age, of a hale and strong complexion, lean- 10 bodied and thin-faced, an early riser and a lover of hunting. Some say his surname was Quixada, or Quesada for authors differ in this particular - however we may reasonably conjecture he was called Quixana―i.e. lantern jaws though this concerns us but little, provided we 15 keep strictly to the truth in every point of this history.

You must know, then, that when our gentleman had nothing to do which was almost all the year round — he passed his time in reading books of knight-errantry, which he did with such application and delight, that at last he 20 left off his country sports and even the care of his estate; nay, he grew so strangely besotted with those amusements that he sold many acres of arable land to purchase books of that kind; by which means he collected as many of them as were to be had.

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In fine, he gave himself up so wholly to the reading of romances, that at night he would pore on until it was day and in the day he would read on until it was night; and thus, by sleeping little and reading much, his brain was exhausted to such a degree that at last he lost the use of 30 his reason. A world of disorderly notions, picked out of

his books, crowded into his imagination; and 'now his head was full of nothing but enchantments, quarrels, battles, challenges, wounds, complaints, torments, and abundance of stuff and impossibilities; so that all the 5 fables and fantastical tales which he read seemed to him now as true as the most authentic histories.

He would say that the Cid was a very brave knight, but not worthy to stand in competition with the Knight of the Burning Sword, who with a single back stroke had 10 cut asunder two fierce and mighty giants. He liked yet better Bernardo del Carpio, who at Roncesvalles deprived of life the enchanted Orlando, having lifted him from the ground and choked him in the air, as Hercules did Antæus, the son of the earth. As for the giant Morgante, 15 he always spoke very civil things of him; for, though he was one of that monstrous brood who were always intolerably proud and brutish, he still behaved himself like a civil and well-bred person.

Having thus lost his understanding, the old gentleman 20 unluckily stumbled upon the oddest fancy that ever entered into a madman's brain; for now he thought it convenient and necessary, as well as for the increase of his own honor, to turn knight-errant in the service of the public and roam through the whole world, armed from 25 head to foot and mounted on his steed, in quest of adventures; that thus imitating those knight-errants of whom he had read, following their course of life, redressing all manner of grievances, and exposing himself to danger on all occasions, — at last, after a happy conclusion of his enter30 prises, he might purchase everlasting honor and renown.

Transported with these agreeable delusions and hurried

away by his mighty expectations, he prepared with all expedition to take the field.

The first thing that he did was to scour a suit of armor which had belonged to his great-grandfather, and had lain time out of mind carelessly rusting in a corner. But 5 when he had cleaned and repaired it as well as he could, he perceived there was a material piece wanting, for, instead of a complete helmet, there was only a single headpiece. However, his industry supplied that defect; for with some pasteboard he made a kind of half-beaver, or 10 visor; which, being fitted to the headpiece, made it look like an entire helmet.

Then, to know whether it was cutlass-proof, he drew his sword and tried its edge upon the pasteboard visor; but with the first stroke he unluckily undid in a moment what 15 he had been a whole week in making. He did not like its being broken with so much ease, and, therefore, to prevent the like accident, he made it anew and fenced it with thin plates of iron, which he fixed in the inside of it so cleverly that at last he had reason to be satisfied with the solid-20 ity of the work; and so, without any experiment, he resolved it should pass to all intents and purposes for a full and sufficient helmet.

Next, he went to view his horse, whose bones stuck out at all corners; however, his master thought that neither 25 Alexander's Bucephalus nor the Cid's Babieca could be compared with him. The worthy gentleman was four days considering what name to give his horse; for, as he argued with himself, there was no reason that a horse bestrid by so famous a knight and withal so excellent in himself 30 should not be distinguished by a particular name.