to us, and threw us flowers as we emerged from the death of the desert. They receded, they sank into vapory distance, -the waving trees, the singing birds. Promises and hopes they sing and wave upon the desert, and I greeted them as the mariner at sea greets the South 5 in the bough of blossoms floating by him. The strip of green land passed, and we entered upon pure Sahara. It was the softest, most powdery sand; tossed by light winds it drew sharp angles, glittering white angles, against the dense blue. The last trace of 10 green vanished as we passed deeper among the ridges. The world was a chaotic ocean of sparkling white sand. The desert was in that moment utter and hopeless desert, but was never desert again. Bare, and still, and bright, it was soft beyond expression, in the fitful game 15 of shadows played upon it by the sun,- for vapors were gathering overhead. Suddenly, around one of the sharp angles, and I could not, until then, tell if it were near or far, suddenly a band of armed Arabs came riding toward us. 20 They curveted, and dashed, and caracoled upon spirited horses. They came close to us, and greeted our men with endless kissings and salaams. They chatted and called aloud; their weapons flashed and rattled, their robes flowed in the wind, then suddenly, like a cloud 25 of birds, they wheeled from us, and away they sped over the horizon. We plodded on. The Armenian's little white mare paced toilingly through the loose sand. It was high noon, and, advancing silently, we passed over the near horizon of the ridges and came upon a plain of hard 5 sand. Not far away lay a town of white stone houses, and the square walls of a fort, and beyond them all, the lustrous line of the sea. It was El Harish, on the edge of the desert. Under the crescent moon the camp was pitched. And under the crescent moon all Arabia was but a seabeach, for unmitigated sand lay from the Mediterranean to the 5 Euphrates. The curious children flocked out of the town, and watched with profound attention the ceremonies of infidel tea making and the dinner of unbelievers. The muezzin called from the minaret, and the children left us to the sky and the sand and the sea. The Mediterranean called to us through the darkness. The moonlight was so vague that the sea and the desert were blent. The world was sunk in mysterious haze. We were encamped, it seemed, on the very horizon, and looked off into blank space. After the silence of the desert, it was strange to hear the voice of the sea. It was Homer's sea, the only sea of romance and fame; over which Helen sailed and the Argonauts; out of which sailed Columbus. Upon its shore stood Carthage, and across its calm the Sirens sang. Adapted. salaam': an Oriental salutation performed by bowing very low and placing the right palm on the forehead. infidel: to the Mohammedans, of course, all other religious sects are infidels and unbelievers.muez'zin: a Mohammedan crier who calls the faithful to prayer. - Homer: a great Greek poet who lived about 1000 B.C.— Helen a beautiful woman for whose sake the Trojan War was fought.-Argonauts: a band of Greek heroes. Carthage: one of the most famous of ancient cities. — the Sirens: sea nymphs whose singing was said to lure sailors to destruction. 10 15 20 20 10 15 20 TO A WATER FOWL WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT (1794-1878) was one of the great American poets. For many years he was editor of the New York Evening Post. His poems show his love of nature and his deep religious feeling. Whither, midst falling dew, 5 While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, Seek'st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast - Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, And soon that toil shall end; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, Thou 'rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet on my heart He who from zone to zone Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. seen against the poet originally wrote painted on, but as some one objected to it the line was changed. 5 10 |