Far-called, our navies melt away; On dune and headland sinks the fire: Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Or lesser breeds without the Law- For heathen heart that puts her trust And guarding, calls not Thee to guard, For frantic boast and foolish word- Thy Mercy on Thy People, Lord! Amen. Let our object be our country, our whole country, and nothing but our country. And, by the blessing of God, may that country itself become a vast and splendid monument, not of oppression and terror, but of wisdom, of peace, and of liberty, upon which the world may gaze with admiration for ever. Daniel Webster. DON QUIXOTE AND THE WINDMILLS BY MIGUEL DE CERVANTES The purpose of Cervantes in writing his famous satire, Don Quixote, was, he tells us, "to render abhorred of men false and absurd stories." His hero, Don Quixote, is a Spaniard whose brain is so filled with such stories that nothing in life appears to him as it really is. Imagining himself the champion of the world he sets forth on a ridiculous horse accompanied by Sancho Panza as his squire, in quest of adventure. In his excited imagination he sees in the humblest inn a castle, in a poor galley-slave a gentleman of fortune whose wrongs he must redress. Naturally, knight and squire alike fall into dire plight. As they were thus talking, they discovered some thirty or forty windmills in the plain. As soon as the knight saw them he cried, "Fortune directs our affairs better than we could have wished. Look yonder, Sancho, there are at least thirty monstrous giants, whom I intend to encounter. Having deprived them of life, we will begin to enrich ourselves with their spoils, for they are lawful prize, and the destruction of that cursed brood will be an acceptable service to Heaven." "What giants?" quoth Sancho Panza. "Those whom thou seest yonder," answered Don Quixote, "with their long extended arms; some of that detested race have arms of so immense a size that sometimes they reach two leagues in length." "Pray, look better, sir," quoth Sancho. "Those things yonder are not giants, but windmills, and the arms are. their sails, which, being whirled about by the wind, make the mill go." ""Tis a sign," cried Don Quixote, "that thou art but little acquainted with adventures! I tell thee, they are giants, and, therefore, if thou art afraid, go aside and say thy prayers, for I am resolved to engage in combat with them all." This said, he clapped spurs to his horse without giving ear to his squire, who bawled out to him, and assured him that they were windmills, and no giants. But he was so fully possessed with a strong belief to the contrary, that he did not so much as hear his squire, nor did he perceive what they were, although he was already very near them. Stand, cowards!" cried he as loud as he could; "stand your ground, ignoble creatures, and fly not basely from a single knight, who dares encounter you all." 66 The wind now rising, began to move the mill-sails; whereupon Don Quixote cried out, "Base miscreants, though you move more arms than the Giant Briareus, you shall pay for your arrogance. He most devoutly recommended himself to his lady Dulcinea, imploring her assistance in this perilous adventure. So, covering himself with his shield, and couching his lance, he rushed with Rosinante's utmost speed upon the first windmill he could come at, and as he ran his lance into the sail, the wind whirled it about with such swiftness, that the rapidity of the motion presently broke the lance into shivers, and hurled away both knight and horse along with it, till down he fell, rolling a good way off in the field. Sancho Panza ran as fast as his donkey could drive to help his master, whom he found lying, and not able to stir. "Did I not give your worship fair warning?" cried he; "did not I tell you they were windmills, and that nobody could think otherwise, unless he had also windmills in his head?" 66 Peace, friend Sancho," replied Don Quixote, "there is nothing so subject to the fickleness of fortune as war.” "So let it be," replied Sancho. And, heaving him up again upon his legs, once more the knight mounted poor Rosinante, who was half disjointed with his fall. From "Don Quixote." Flower in the crannied wall, Alfred, Lord Tennyson. |