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 | The poetical works of Lucy Larcom |  |
A LITTLE CAVALIER.
When I was very young indeed,—
Ages ago, my dear,—
I had, to stand by me at need,
A little cavalier;
The prettiest lad I ever met,
Black-eyed, red-cheeked, and fat:
His face I never can forget;
His name? Well—it was Nat.
Ages ago, my dear,—
I had, to stand by me at need,
A little cavalier;
The prettiest lad I ever met,
Black-eyed, red-cheeked, and fat:
His face I never can forget;
His name? Well—it was Nat.
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I saw him first one pleasant day,
Beside his mother's door;
His third year had not slipped away,
And I was scarcely four.
Upon his arm a wooden gun
He bore right soldierly;
I know not which it was first won
My heart, that gun or he.
Beside his mother's door;
His third year had not slipped away,
And I was scarcely four.
Upon his arm a wooden gun
He bore right soldierly;
I know not which it was first won
My heart, that gun or he.
There never was a clumsier trap
By child of mortal seen.
A button at its side went—snap!
The gun was painted green.
But, shouldering it with martial tread,
Proudest of girls was I;
While like a flag above his head
Would my pink bonnet fly.
By child of mortal seen.
A button at its side went—snap!
The gun was painted green.
But, shouldering it with martial tread,
Proudest of girls was I;
While like a flag above his head
Would my pink bonnet fly.
For Nat I gathered currants fine,
And flowers that bloomed around;
Though only yellow celandine
And blue gill-over-the-ground
Grew underneath the gray stone-wall,
Still they retain their charm—
Those homely blossoms which recall
That early sunshine warm.
And flowers that bloomed around;
Though only yellow celandine
And blue gill-over-the-ground
Grew underneath the gray stone-wall,
Still they retain their charm—
Those homely blossoms which recall
That early sunshine warm.
I never tasted gingerbread,
Or doughnuts crisp and new,
But in my mother's ear I said,
“For little Nat some, too.”
The days were dull and dark when him
To school I could not lead.
That love like ours at last grew dim
A pity seems, indeed.
Or doughnuts crisp and new,
But in my mother's ear I said,
“For little Nat some, too.”
The days were dull and dark when him
To school I could not lead.
That love like ours at last grew dim
A pity seems, indeed.
To me he brought no cake or toy;
But then you know, my dear,
That he was nothing but a boy,
And boys have ways so queer!
They do not stop to think of things
That give us girls delight;
But take the best that fortune brings
As if it were their right.
But then you know, my dear,
That he was nothing but a boy,
And boys have ways so queer!
They do not stop to think of things
That give us girls delight;
But take the best that fortune brings
As if it were their right.
'T was no such trifle made us part:
He loved my gifts to take,
And it was comfort to my heart
To see him eat my cake.
It happened thus: One afternoon,
As from the school we came,—
The day was sultry, late in June,
Our faces both aflame,—
He loved my gifts to take,
And it was comfort to my heart
To see him eat my cake.
It happened thus: One afternoon,
As from the school we came,—
The day was sultry, late in June,
Our faces both aflame,—
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Beneath the blooming locust-trees
We loitered, I and Nat;
His hair was lifted by the breeze;
I firmly held his hat
By its long bridle-string of green,
And lightly held his hand:
No happier tiny twain were seen
Than we, in all the land.
We loitered, I and Nat;
His hair was lifted by the breeze;
I firmly held his hat
By its long bridle-string of green,
And lightly held his hand:
No happier tiny twain were seen
Than we, in all the land.
A freckled girl was passing by,
And down she gazed at me,
As if we children, Nat and I,
Were something strange to see.
I looked at him and looked at her;
Why did she scan us so?
The cruel words she uttered were,
“I guess you 've got a beau!”
And down she gazed at me,
As if we children, Nat and I,
Were something strange to see.
I looked at him and looked at her;
Why did she scan us so?
The cruel words she uttered were,
“I guess you 've got a beau!”
“A beau! What! he?” At once I dropped
The little hand and hat,
And home I ran, and never stopped
Till I lost sight of Nat.
A beau! Some monstrous thing, no doubt,
All tusks and fangs and claws;
The one they read to me about
A boa-constrictor was.
The little hand and hat,
And home I ran, and never stopped
Till I lost sight of Nat.
A beau! Some monstrous thing, no doubt,
All tusks and fangs and claws;
The one they read to me about
A boa-constrictor was.
None did I with my grief annoy,
None should my terror know;
But, oh, I wondered if a boy
Must always be a beau!
And so my happy days were done!
That innocent-looking Nat,
The owner of that darling gun,
How came he to be that?
None should my terror know;
But, oh, I wondered if a boy
Must always be a beau!
And so my happy days were done!
That innocent-looking Nat,
The owner of that darling gun,
How came he to be that?
Nat's doorstep nevermore I sought;
No sign of woe gave he;
Much more of him I doubtless thought
Than ever he of me.
Forgetting is not hard, for men
As young as he, my dear,
And so I lost him there and then,—
My little cavalier.
No sign of woe gave he;
Much more of him I doubtless thought
Than ever he of me.
Forgetting is not hard, for men
As young as he, my dear,
And so I lost him there and then,—
My little cavalier.
| The poetical works of Lucy Larcom | |