THE WHIRLIGIG
Glee at the cottage-doors to-day!
Small hearts with joy are big;
The merchant chanced to come our way
Who vends the whirligig.
You know the marvel-stick of deal,
And, where the top should taper,
Pinned lightly, the ecstatic wheel,
Flaunting its purple paper.
Raptures a halfpenny each; and see
The liberal-bosomed mother
Faltering; they tug her skirts the three,
(Ah, soon will come another!)
Away they start! Swift, swifter fly
The buzzing, whirring chips,
O eyes grown great! O gleesome cry
From daubed, cherubic lips!
I as companion of my walk
Had chosen a soul heroic
(So much I love superior talk)
An Emperor and a Stoic.
The cowslip tossed; upsoared the lark;
Our choice was to recline us
Against an elm-bole, I and Mark
Aurelius Antoninus.
Pale victory lightened on his brow,
Grieved conquest wrung from pain;
Of Nature's course he spake, and how
Man should sustain, abstain.
Physician of the soul, he spake
Of simples that allay
The blood, and how the nerves that ache
Freeze under ethic spray.
I turned; perhaps his touch of pride
Moved me, a garb he wore;
I saw those children eager-eyed,
And Rome's pale Emperor.
“You miss,” I said, “born Nature's rule,
Her statutes unrepealed,
You would remove us from the school,
And from the playing-field.
And if our griefs be vain, our joys
Vainer, all's in the plan;
For what are we but gamesome boys?
Through these we grow to man.
I to my hornbook now give heed,
Now hear my playmates call,
Will ‘chase the rolling circles speed,
And urge the flying ball.’
Joys, pains, hopes, fears,—a mingled heap,
Grant me, nor Prince nor prig!
I want, sad Emperor, rosy sleep,
Leave me my whirligig.”
In haste I spoke; such gusty talk
Oft wrongs these lips of mine;
Under grey clouds some day I'll walk
Again with Antonine.
