 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
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POEMS FOR CHILDREN.
TO THE CHILDREN.
Dear little children, where'er you be,
Who are watched and cherished tenderly
By father and by mother;
Who are comforted by the love that lies
In the kindly depths of a sister's eyes,
Or the helpful words of a brother:
Who are watched and cherished tenderly
By father and by mother;
Who are comforted by the love that lies
In the kindly depths of a sister's eyes,
Or the helpful words of a brother:
I charge you by the years to come,
When some shall be far away from your home,
And some shall be gone forever;
By all you will have to feel at the last,
When you stand alone and think of the past,
That you speak unkindly never!
When some shall be far away from your home,
And some shall be gone forever;
By all you will have to feel at the last,
When you stand alone and think of the past,
That you speak unkindly never!
For cruel words, nay, even less,
Words spoken only in thoughtlessness,
Nor kept against you after;
If they made the face of a mother sad,
Or a tender sister's heart less glad,
Or checked a brother's laughter;
Words spoken only in thoughtlessness,
Nor kept against you after;
If they made the face of a mother sad,
Or a tender sister's heart less glad,
Or checked a brother's laughter;
Will rise again, and they will be heard,
And every thoughtless, foolish word
That ever your lips have spoken,
After the lapse of years and years,
Will wring from you such bitters tears
As fall when the heart is broken.
And every thoughtless, foolish word
That ever your lips have spoken,
After the lapse of years and years,
Will wring from you such bitters tears
As fall when the heart is broken.
May you never, never have to say,
When a wave from the past on some dreary day
Its wrecks at your feet is strewing,
“My father had not been bowed so low,
Nor my mother left us long ago,
But for deeds of my misdoing!”
When a wave from the past on some dreary day
Its wrecks at your feet is strewing,
“My father had not been bowed so low,
Nor my mother left us long ago,
But for deeds of my misdoing!”
May you never stand alone to weep
Where a little sister lies asleep,
With the flowery turf upon her,
And know you would have gone down to the dead
To save one curl of her shining head
From sorrow or dishonor:
Where a little sister lies asleep,
With the flowery turf upon her,
And know you would have gone down to the dead
To save one curl of her shining head
From sorrow or dishonor:
Yet have to think, with bitter tears,
Of some little sin of your childish years,
Till your soul is anguish-riven;
And cry, when there comes no word or smile,
“I sinned, but I loved you all the while,
And I wait to be forgiven!”
Of some little sin of your childish years,
Till your soul is anguish-riven;
And cry, when there comes no word or smile,
“I sinned, but I loved you all the while,
And I wait to be forgiven!”
May you never say of a brother dear,
“Did I do enough to aid and cheer,
Did I try to help and guide him?
Now the snares of the world about him lie,
And if unhonored he live and die,
I shall wish I were dead beside him!”
“Did I do enough to aid and cheer,
Did I try to help and guide him?
Now the snares of the world about him lie,
And if unhonored he live and die,
I shall wish I were dead beside him!”
Dear little innocent, precious ones,
Be loving, dutiful daughters and sons,
To father and to mother;
And, to save yourselves from the bitter pain
That comes when regret and remorse are vain,
Be good to one another!
Be loving, dutiful daughters and sons,
To father and to mother;
And, to save yourselves from the bitter pain
That comes when regret and remorse are vain,
Be good to one another!
GRISELDA GOOSE.
Near to a farm-house, and bordered round
By a meadow, sweet with clover,
There lay as clear and smooth a pond
As ever a goose swam over.
By a meadow, sweet with clover,
There lay as clear and smooth a pond
As ever a goose swam over.
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The farmer had failures in corn and hops,
From drought and various reasons;
But his geese had never failed in their crops
In the very worst of seasons.
From drought and various reasons;
But his geese had never failed in their crops
In the very worst of seasons.
And he had a flock, that any day
Could defy all sneers and slanders;
They were certainly handsome,—that is to say,
They were handsome for geese and ganders!
Could defy all sneers and slanders;
They were certainly handsome,—that is to say,
They were handsome for geese and ganders!
And, once upon a time, in spring,
A goose hatched out another,—
The softest, cunningest, downiest thing,
That ever gladdened a mother.
A goose hatched out another,—
The softest, cunningest, downiest thing,
That ever gladdened a mother.
There was never such a gosling born,
So the geese cried out by dozens;
She was praised and petted, night and morn,
By aunts, and uncles, and cousins.
So the geese cried out by dozens;
She was praised and petted, night and morn,
By aunts, and uncles, and cousins.
She must have a name with a lofty sound,
Said all, when they beheld her;
So they proudly led her down to the pond,
And christened her, Griselda!
Said all, when they beheld her;
So they proudly led her down to the pond,
And christened her, Griselda!
Now you think, no doubt, such love and pride,
Must perfectly content her;
That she grew to goosehood satisfied
To be what Nature meant her.
Must perfectly content her;
That she grew to goosehood satisfied
To be what Nature meant her.
But folk with gifts will find it out,
Though the world neglects that duty;
And a lovely female will seldom doubt,
Though others may, her beauty!
Though the world neglects that duty;
And a lovely female will seldom doubt,
Though others may, her beauty!
And if she had thought herself a fright,
And been content with her station,
She would n't have had a story to write,
Nor I, my occupation.
And been content with her station,
She would n't have had a story to write,
Nor I, my occupation.
But indeed the truth compels me to own,
Whoever may be offended,
That my heroine's vanity was shown
Ere her gosling days were ended.
Whoever may be offended,
That my heroine's vanity was shown
Ere her gosling days were ended.
When the mother tried to teach the art
Of swimming to her daughter,
She said that she did n't like to start,
Because it ruffled the water.
Of swimming to her daughter,
She said that she did n't like to start,
Because it ruffled the water.
“My stars!” cried the parent, “do I dream,
Or do I rightly hear her?
Can it be she would rather sit still on the stream,
Than spoil her beautiful mirror?”
Or do I rightly hear her?
Can it be she would rather sit still on the stream,
Than spoil her beautiful mirror?”
Yet, if any creature could be so fond
Of herself, as to reach insanity,
A goose, who lives on a glassy pond,
Has most excuse for such vanity!
Of herself, as to reach insanity,
A goose, who lives on a glassy pond,
Has most excuse for such vanity!
And I do not agree with those who said
They would glory in her disgraces;
Hers is n't the only goose's head
That ever was turned by praises.
They would glory in her disgraces;
Hers is n't the only goose's head
That ever was turned by praises.
And Griselda swallowed all their praise:
Though she said to her doting mother,
“Still, a goose is a goose, to the end of her days,
From one side of the world to the other!
Though she said to her doting mother,
“Still, a goose is a goose, to the end of her days,
From one side of the world to the other!
“And as to my name it is well enough
To say, or sing, or whistle;
But you just wait till I 'm old and tough,
And you 'll see they will call me Gristle!”
To say, or sing, or whistle;
But you just wait till I 'm old and tough,
And you 'll see they will call me Gristle!”
So she went, for the most of the time, alone,
Because she was such a scoffer;
And, awful to tell! she was nearly grown
Before she received an offer!
Because she was such a scoffer;
And, awful to tell! she was nearly grown
Before she received an offer!
“Nobody will have her, that is clear,”
Said those who spitefully eyed her;
Though they knew every gander, far and near,
Was dying to waddle beside her.
Said those who spitefully eyed her;
Though they knew every gander, far and near,
Was dying to waddle beside her.
And some of those that she used to slight,
Now come to matronly honor,
Began to feel that they had a right
To quite look down upon her.
Now come to matronly honor,
Began to feel that they had a right
To quite look down upon her.
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And some she had jilted were heard to declare,
“I do not understand her;
And I should n't wonder, and should n't care,
If she never got a gander!”
“I do not understand her;
And I should n't wonder, and should n't care,
If she never got a gander!”
But she said so all could overhear,—
And she hoped their ears might tingle,—
“If she could n't marry above their sphere,
She preferred remaining single!”
And she hoped their ears might tingle,—
“If she could n't marry above their sphere,
She preferred remaining single!”
She was praised and flattered to her face,
And blamed when she was not present;
And between her friends and foes, her place
Was anything but pleasant.
And blamed when she was not present;
And between her friends and foes, her place
Was anything but pleasant.
One day she learned what gave her a fright,
And a fit of deep dejection;
And she said to herself, that come what might,
She would cut the whole connection.
And a fit of deep dejection;
And she said to herself, that come what might,
She would cut the whole connection.
The farmer's wife to the geese proposed,
Their spending the day in the stable;
And the younger ones, left out, supposed
She would set an extra table.
Their spending the day in the stable;
And the younger ones, left out, supposed
She would set an extra table.
So they watched and waited till day was done,
With curiosity burning;
For it was n't till after set of sun,
That they saw them back returning.
With curiosity burning;
For it was n't till after set of sun,
That they saw them back returning.
Slowly they came, and each was bowed
As if some disgrace was upon her;
They did n't look as those who are proud
Of an unexpected honor!
As if some disgrace was upon her;
They did n't look as those who are proud
Of an unexpected honor!
Each told the naked truth: 't was a shock,
But who that saw, could doubt her?
They had plucked the pluckiest goose of the flock,
Of all the down about her.
But who that saw, could doubt her?
They had plucked the pluckiest goose of the flock,
Of all the down about her.
Said Miss Griselda, “That 's my doom,
If I stay another season;”
So she thought she 'd leave her roosting room;
And I think she had some reason.
If I stay another season;”
So she thought she 'd leave her roosting room;
And I think she had some reason.
Besides, there was something else she feared;
For oft in a kind of flurry,
A goose mysteriously disappeared,
And did n't come back in a hurry.
For oft in a kind of flurry,
A goose mysteriously disappeared,
And did n't come back in a hurry.
And scattered afterwards on the ground,—
Such things there is no mistaking,—
Familiar looking bones were found,
Which set her own a quaking.
Such things there is no mistaking,—
Familiar looking bones were found,
Which set her own a quaking.
She said, “There is danger if I stay,
From which there are none exempted;
So, though I perish in getting away,
The thing shall be attempted.”
From which there are none exempted;
So, though I perish in getting away,
The thing shall be attempted.”
And, perfectly satisfied about
Her claims to a foreign mission,
She slipped away, and started out
On a secret expedition.
Her claims to a foreign mission,
She slipped away, and started out
On a secret expedition.
And oh! how her bosom swelled with pride;
How eager hope upbore her;
As floating down the stream, she spied
A broad lake spread before her.
How eager hope upbore her;
As floating down the stream, she spied
A broad lake spread before her.
And bearing towards her, fair and white,
The pleasant breezes courting,
A flock of swans came full in sight,
On the crystal waters sporting.
The pleasant breezes courting,
A flock of swans came full in sight,
On the crystal waters sporting.
She saw the lake spread clear and wide,
And the rich man's stately dwelling,
And felt the thrill of hope and pride
Her very gizzard swelling.
And the rich man's stately dwelling,
And felt the thrill of hope and pride
Her very gizzard swelling.
“These swans,” she said, “are quite unknown,
Even to their ranks and stations;
Yet I think I need not fear to own
Such looking birds for relations.
Even to their ranks and stations;
Yet I think I need not fear to own
Such looking birds for relations.
“Besides, no birds that walk on lawns
Are made for common uses;
Men do not take their pick of swans
In the way they do of gooses.
Are made for common uses;
Men do not take their pick of swans
In the way they do of gooses.
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“Blanch Swan! I think I 'll take that name,
Nor be ashamed to wear it;
Griselda Goose! that sounds so tame
And low, I cannot bear it!”
Nor be ashamed to wear it;
Griselda Goose! that sounds so tame
And low, I cannot bear it!”
Thought she, the brave deserve to win,
And only they can do it:
So she made her plan, and sailed right in,
Determined to go through it.
And only they can do it:
So she made her plan, and sailed right in,
Determined to go through it.
Straight up she went to the biggest swan,
The one who talked the loudest;
For she knew the secret of getting on
Was standing up with the proudest.
The one who talked the loudest;
For she knew the secret of getting on
Was standing up with the proudest.
“Madam,” she said, “I am glad you 're home,
And I hope to know you better;
You' re an aunt of mine, I think, but I come
With an introductory letter.”
And I hope to know you better;
You' re an aunt of mine, I think, but I come
With an introductory letter.”
Then she fumbled, and said, “I 've lost the thing!
No matter! I can quote it;
And here 's the pen,” and she raised her wing,
“With which Lord Swansdown wrote it.
No matter! I can quote it;
And here 's the pen,” and she raised her wing,
“With which Lord Swansdown wrote it.
“Of course you never heard of me,
As I 'm rather below your station;
But a lady famed like yourself, you see,
Is known to all creation.”
As I 'm rather below your station;
But a lady famed like yourself, you see,
Is known to all creation.”
Then to herself the old swan said,
“Such talk 's not reprehensible;
Indeed, for a creature country-bred,
She 's very shrewd and sensible.”
“Such talk 's not reprehensible;
Indeed, for a creature country-bred,
She 's very shrewd and sensible.”
Griselda saw how her flattery took,
And cried, on the silence breaking,
“You see I have the family look,
My neck there is no mistaking.
And cried, on the silence breaking,
“You see I have the family look,
My neck there is no mistaking.
“It does n't compare with yours; you know
I 've a touch of the democracy;
While your style and manner plainly show
Your perfect aristocracy.”
I 've a touch of the democracy;
While your style and manner plainly show
Your perfect aristocracy.”
Such happy flattery did the thing:
Though the young swans doubtfully eyed her,
My Lady took her under her wing,
And kept her close beside her.
Though the young swans doubtfully eyed her,
My Lady took her under her wing,
And kept her close beside her.
And Griselda tried at ease to appear,
And forget the home she had quitted;
For she told herself she had reached a sphere
At last for which she was fitted.
And forget the home she had quitted;
For she told herself she had reached a sphere
At last for which she was fitted.
Though she had some fits of common sense,
And at times grew quite dejected;
For she was n't deceived by her own pretense,
And she knew what others suspected.
And at times grew quite dejected;
For she was n't deceived by her own pretense,
And she knew what others suspected.
If ever she went alone to stray,
Some pert young swan to tease her
Would ask, in a patronizing way,
If their poor home did n't please her?
Some pert young swan to tease her
Would ask, in a patronizing way,
If their poor home did n't please her?
Sometimes when a party went to sail
On the lake, in pleasant weather,
As if she was not within the pale,
She was left out altogether.
On the lake, in pleasant weather,
As if she was not within the pale,
She was left out altogether.
And then she would take a haughty tone,
As if she scorned them, maybe;
But often she hid in the weeds alone,
And cried like a homesick baby.
As if she scorned them, maybe;
But often she hid in the weeds alone,
And cried like a homesick baby.
One day when she had gone to her room,
With the plea that she was ailing,
They asked some rather gay birds to come
For the day, and try the sailing.
With the plea that she was ailing,
They asked some rather gay birds to come
For the day, and try the sailing.
But they said, “She will surely hear the stir,
So we 'll have to let her know it;
Of course we are all ashamed of her,
But it will not do to show it.”
So we 'll have to let her know it;
Of course we are all ashamed of her,
But it will not do to show it.”
So one of them went to her, and said,
With a sort of stately rustle:
“I suppose you would rather spare your head
Than join in our noise and bustle!
With a sort of stately rustle:
“I suppose you would rather spare your head
Than join in our noise and bustle!
If you wish to send the slightest excuse,
I 'll be very happy to take it;
And I hope you 're not such a little goose
As to hesitate to make it!”
I 'll be very happy to take it;
And I hope you 're not such a little goose
As to hesitate to make it!”
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Too well Griselda understood;
And said, “Though my pain 's distressing,
I think the change will do me good,
And I do not mind the dressing.”
And said, “Though my pain 's distressing,
I think the change will do me good,
And I do not mind the dressing.”
'T was the “little goose” that made her mad,
So mad she would n't refuse her;
Though she saw from the first how very glad
Her friend would be to excuse her.
So mad she would n't refuse her;
Though she saw from the first how very glad
Her friend would be to excuse her.
She had overdone the thing, poor swan!
As her ill success had shown her;
Shot quite beyond the mark, and her gun
Recoiled and hit the owner.
As her ill success had shown her;
Shot quite beyond the mark, and her gun
Recoiled and hit the owner.
“Don't you think,” she cried, “I 've done my best;
But as sure as I 'm a sinner,
That little dowdy, frightfully dressed,
Is coming down to dinner!
But as sure as I 'm a sinner,
That little dowdy, frightfully dressed,
Is coming down to dinner!
“I tried in every way to show
That I thought it an impropriety;
But I s'pose the creature does n't know
The manners of good society!”
That I thought it an impropriety;
But I s'pose the creature does n't know
The manners of good society!”
Griselda thought, “If it comes to that,
With the weapon she takes I 'll meet her.
She 's sharp, but I 'll give her tit for tat,
And I think that I can beat her.”
With the weapon she takes I 'll meet her.
She 's sharp, but I 'll give her tit for tat,
And I think that I can beat her.”
So she came among them quite at ease,
By her very look contriving
To say, “I 'm certain there 's nothing could please
You so much as my arriving.”
By her very look contriving
To say, “I 'm certain there 's nothing could please
You so much as my arriving.”
And her friend contrived to whisper low,
As she made her genuflexion:
“A country cousin of ours, you know;
A very distant connection!
As she made her genuflexion:
“A country cousin of ours, you know;
A very distant connection!
“She has n't much of an air, you see,
And is rather new to the city;
Aunt took her up quite from charity,
And keeps her just from pity.”
And is rather new to the city;
Aunt took her up quite from charity,
And keeps her just from pity.”
But Griselda paid her, fair and square,
For all her sneers and scorning;
And “the fête was quite a successful affair,”
So the papers said next morning.
For all her sneers and scorning;
And “the fête was quite a successful affair,”
So the papers said next morning.
And yet she cried at the close of day,
Till the lake almost ran over,
To think what a price she had to pay
To get into a sphere above her.
Till the lake almost ran over,
To think what a price she had to pay
To get into a sphere above her.
“Alas!” she said, “that our common sense
Should be lost when others flatter;
I was born a goose, and no pretense
Will change or help the matter!”
Should be lost when others flatter;
I was born a goose, and no pretense
Will change or help the matter!”
At last she did nothing but mope and fret,
And think of effecting a clearance!
She got as low as a lady can get,—
She did n't regard her appearance!
And think of effecting a clearance!
She got as low as a lady can get,—
She did n't regard her appearance!
She got her pretty pink slippers soiled
By wearing them out in bad weather;
And as for her feathers, they were not oiled
Sometimes for a week together.
By wearing them out in bad weather;
And as for her feathers, they were not oiled
Sometimes for a week together.
Had she seen just how to bring it about,
She would have left in a minute;
But she found it was harder getting out
Of trouble than getting in it.
She would have left in a minute;
But she found it was harder getting out
Of trouble than getting in it.
She looked down at the fish with envious eyes,
Because each mother's daughter,
Content in her element, never tries,
To keep her head above water!
Because each mother's daughter,
Content in her element, never tries,
To keep her head above water!
She wished she was by some good luck,
Turned into a salmon finny;
Into a chicken, or into a duck:
She wished herself in Guinea.
Turned into a salmon finny;
Into a chicken, or into a duck:
She wished herself in Guinea.
One day the Keeper came to the lake,
And if he did n't dissemble,
She saw that to her he meant to take,
In a way that made her tremble.
And if he did n't dissemble,
She saw that to her he meant to take,
In a way that made her tremble.
With a chill of fear her feathers shook,
Although to her friend she boasted
He had such a warm, admiring look,
That she feared she should be roasted;
Although to her friend she boasted
He had such a warm, admiring look,
That she feared she should be roasted;
And that for very modesty's sake,
Since nothing else could shield her,
She would go to the other end of the lake,
And stay till the night concealed her.
Since nothing else could shield her,
She would go to the other end of the lake,
And stay till the night concealed her.
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So, taking no leave, she stole away,
And nobody cared or missed her;
But the geese on the pond were surprised, next day,
By the sight of their missing sister.
And nobody cared or missed her;
But the geese on the pond were surprised, next day,
By the sight of their missing sister.
She told them she strayed too far and got lost;
And though being from home had pained her,
Some wealthy friends that she came across,
Against her will detained her.
And though being from home had pained her,
Some wealthy friends that she came across,
Against her will detained her.
But it leaked from the lake, or a bird of the air
Had carried to them the matter;
For even before her, her story was there,
And they all looked doubtfully at her.
Had carried to them the matter;
For even before her, her story was there,
And they all looked doubtfully at her.
Poor Griselda! unprotected, alone,
By their slights and sneers was nettled;
For all the friends that her youth had known
Were respectably married and settled;
By their slights and sneers was nettled;
For all the friends that her youth had known
Were respectably married and settled;
Or all but one,—a poor old coot,
That she used to scorn for a lover;
He was shabbier now, and had lost a foot,
That a cart-wheel had run over.
That she used to scorn for a lover;
He was shabbier now, and had lost a foot,
That a cart-wheel had run over.
But she said, “There is but one thing to be done
For stopping sneers and slanders;
For a lame excuse is better than none,
And so is the lamest of ganders!”
For stopping sneers and slanders;
For a lame excuse is better than none,
And so is the lamest of ganders!”
So she married him, but do you know,
They did not cease to flout her;
For she somehow could n't make it go
With herself, nor those about her.
They did not cease to flout her;
For she somehow could n't make it go
With herself, nor those about her.
They spoke of it with scornful lip,
Though they did n't exactly drop her;
As if 't was a limited partnership,
And not a marriage proper.
Though they did n't exactly drop her;
As if 't was a limited partnership,
And not a marriage proper.
And yet in truth I 'm bound to say
Her state was a little better;
Though I heard her friend say yesterday
To another one, who met her,—
Her state was a little better;
Though I heard her friend say yesterday
To another one, who met her,—
“Oh, I saw old Gristle Goose to-night,
(Of course I did not seek it);
I suppose she is really Mrs. White,
Though it sticks in my crop to speak it!”
(Of course I did not seek it);
I suppose she is really Mrs. White,
Though it sticks in my crop to speak it!”
THE ROBIN'S NEST.
Jenny Brown has as pretty a house of her own
As ever a bird need to want, I should think;
And the sheltering vine that about it had grown,
Half hid it in green leaves and roses of pink.
As ever a bird need to want, I should think;
And the sheltering vine that about it had grown,
Half hid it in green leaves and roses of pink.
As she never looked shabby, or seemed out of date,
It was surely enough, though she had but one dress;
And Robin, the fellow she took for her mate,
Was quite constant—that is, for a Robin, I guess.
It was surely enough, though she had but one dress;
And Robin, the fellow she took for her mate,
Was quite constant—that is, for a Robin, I guess.
Jenny Brown had four birdies, the cunningest things
That ever peeped back to a mother-bird's call;
That only could flutter their soft downy wings,
And open their mouths to take food—that was all.
That ever peeped back to a mother-bird's call;
That only could flutter their soft downy wings,
And open their mouths to take food—that was all.
Now I dare say you think she was happy and gay,
And she was almost always contented; but yet,
Though I know you will hardly believe what I say,
Sometimes she would ruffle her feathers and fret.
And she was almost always contented; but yet,
Though I know you will hardly believe what I say,
Sometimes she would ruffle her feathers and fret.
One day, tired of flying about in the heat,
She came home in her crossest and sulkiest mood;
And though she brought back not a morsel to eat,
She pecked little Robin for crying for food.
She came home in her crossest and sulkiest mood;
And though she brought back not a morsel to eat,
She pecked little Robin for crying for food.
Just then Robin came and looked in through the trees,
And saw with a quick glance that all was not right,
But he sung out as cheerful and gay as you please:
“Why, Jenny, dear Jenny, how are you to-night?”
And saw with a quick glance that all was not right,
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“Why, Jenny, dear Jenny, how are you to-night?”
It made her more angry to see him so calm,
While she suffered all that a bird could endure;
And she answered, “‘How am I?’ who cares how I am?
It is n't you, Robin, for one, I am sure!
While she suffered all that a bird could endure;
And she answered, “‘How am I?’ who cares how I am?
It is n't you, Robin, for one, I am sure!
“You know I 've been tied here day in and day out,
Till I 'm tired almost of my home and my life,
While you—you go carelessly roving about,
And singing to every one else but your wife.”
Till I 'm tired almost of my home and my life,
While you—you go carelessly roving about,
And singing to every one else but your wife.”
Then Robin replied: “Little reason you 've got
To complain of me, Jenny; wherever I roam
I still think of you, and your quieter lot,
And wish 't was my place to stay here at home.
To complain of me, Jenny; wherever I roam
I still think of you, and your quieter lot,
And wish 't was my place to stay here at home.
“And as to my singing, I give you my word,
'T is in concert, and always in public, beside;
For excepting yourself, there is no lady-bird
Knows the softest and lovingest notes I have tried.
'T is in concert, and always in public, beside;
For excepting yourself, there is no lady-bird
Knows the softest and lovingest notes I have tried.
“And, Jenny,”—and here he spoke tenderly quite,
As with head drooped aside he drew nearer and stood,—
“I heard some sad news as I came home to-night,
About our poor neighbors that live in the wood.
As with head drooped aside he drew nearer and stood,—
“I heard some sad news as I came home to-night,
About our poor neighbors that live in the wood.
“You know Nelly Jay, that wild, thoughtless young thing,
Who takes in her children and home no delight,
But early and late is abroad on the wing,
To chatter and gossip from morning till night,—
Who takes in her children and home no delight,
But early and late is abroad on the wing,
To chatter and gossip from morning till night,—
“Well, yesterday, just after noon, she went out,
And strayed till the sun had gone down in the west;
Complaining to some of her friends, I 've no doubt,
Of the trouble she had taking care of her nest;
And strayed till the sun had gone down in the west;
Complaining to some of her friends, I 've no doubt,
Of the trouble she had taking care of her nest;
“And her sweet little Nelly,—you 've seen her, my dear,
The brightest and sprightliest bird of them all,
The age of our Jenny, I think, very near,
Tumbled out of the nest and was killed by the fall.
The brightest and sprightliest bird of them all,
The age of our Jenny, I think, very near,
Tumbled out of the nest and was killed by the fall.
“I saw the poor thing lying stiff on the ground,
With its little wing broke and the film o'er its eyes,
While the mother was flying distractedly round
And startling the wood with her piteous cries.
With its little wing broke and the film o'er its eyes,
While the mother was flying distractedly round
And startling the wood with her piteous cries.
“As I stopped, just to say a kind, comforting word,
I thought how my own home was guarded and blessed;
For, Jenny, my darling, my beauty, my bird,
I knew I should find you content in the nest!
I thought how my own home was guarded and blessed;
For, Jenny, my darling, my beauty, my bird,
I knew I should find you content in the nest!
“And how are our birdies?—the dear little things;
How softly and snugly asleep they are laid;
But don't fold them quite so close under your wings,
Or you 'll kill them with kindness, my pet, I 'm afraid.
How softly and snugly asleep they are laid;
But don't fold them quite so close under your wings,
Or you 'll kill them with kindness, my pet, I 'm afraid.
“And, Jenny, I 'll stay with them now,—nay, I must,
While you go out a moment, and take the fresh air;
You sit here too much by yourself, I mistrust,
And are quite overburdened with work and with care.
While you go out a moment, and take the fresh air;
You sit here too much by yourself, I mistrust,
And are quite overburdened with work and with care.
“What, you don't want to go! you want nothing so long
As your dear little ones and your Robin are here?
Then I 'll stay with you, Jenny, and sing the old song
I sang when I courted you—shall I, my dear?”
As your dear little ones and your Robin are here?
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I sang when I courted you—shall I, my dear?”
RAIN AND SUNSHINE.
I was out in the country
To feel the sweet spring,
I was out in the country
To hear the birds sing;
To bask in the sunshine,
Breathe air pure and sweet,
And walk where the blossoms
Grew under my feet.
To feel the sweet spring,
I was out in the country
To hear the birds sing;
To bask in the sunshine,
Breathe air pure and sweet,
And walk where the blossoms
Grew under my feet.
So at morning I woke
While my chamber was dark,
And was up—or I should have been—
Up with the lark,
Only no lark was rising;
And never a throat
Of bird since the morning
Had uttered a note.
While my chamber was dark,
And was up—or I should have been—
Up with the lark,
Only no lark was rising;
And never a throat
Of bird since the morning
Had uttered a note.
It was raining, and sadly
I gazed on the skies,
Saying, “Nothing is left us
To gladden our eyes;
And no pleasanter sound
Than this drip on the pane!”
When I caught a soft patter
That was not the rain.
I gazed on the skies,
Saying, “Nothing is left us
To gladden our eyes;
And no pleasanter sound
Than this drip on the pane!”
When I caught a soft patter
That was not the rain.
First I heard the light falling
Of feet on the stair.
Then the voice of a child
Ringing clear through the air,
And with eyes wide awake,
And curls tumbled about,
Came Freddy, the darling,
With laugh and with shout.
Of feet on the stair.
Then the voice of a child
Ringing clear through the air,
And with eyes wide awake,
And curls tumbled about,
Came Freddy, the darling,
With laugh and with shout.
No longer we heeded
The rain or the gloom;
His smile, like the sunshine,
Illumined the room:
We missed not the birds
While his glad voice was nigh:
His lips were our roses,
His eyes were our sky.
The rain or the gloom;
His smile, like the sunshine,
Illumined the room:
We missed not the birds
While his glad voice was nigh:
His lips were our roses,
His eyes were our sky.
Sweet pet of the household,
And hope of each heart,
God keep thee, dear Freddy,
As pure as thou art,
And make thee, when changes
And sorrows shall come,
The comfort and sweetness
And sunshine of home!
And hope of each heart,
God keep thee, dear Freddy,
As pure as thou art,
And make thee, when changes
And sorrows shall come,
The comfort and sweetness
And sunshine of home!
BABY'S RING.
Mother's quite distracted,
Sister 's in despair;
All the household is astir,
Searching everywhere.
Every nook must be explored,
Every corner scanned—
Baby 's lost the tiny ring
From her little hand.
Sister 's in despair;
All the household is astir,
Searching everywhere.
Every nook must be explored,
Every corner scanned—
Baby 's lost the tiny ring
From her little hand.
Surely never such a babe
Made a mother glad;
Never such a dainty hand
Any baby had!
Smallest ring was ever made
Off her finger slips;
She should have a fairy's ring
For such rosy tips.
Made a mother glad;
Never such a dainty hand
Any baby had!
Smallest ring was ever made
Off her finger slips;
She should have a fairy's ring
For such rosy tips.
When she comes to womanhood,
If she keeps so fair,
She will surely wear the ring
Maidens love to wear:
And lest she should lose it then,
(She 'll be wise and deep)
She will give to somebody
Ring and hand to keep.
If she keeps so fair,
She will surely wear the ring
Maidens love to wear:
And lest she should lose it then,
(She 'll be wise and deep)
She will give to somebody
Ring and hand to keep.
DON'T GIVE UP.
If you tried and have not won,
Never stop for crying;
All that 's great and good is done
Just by patient trying.
Never stop for crying;
All that 's great and good is done
Just by patient trying.
Though young birds, in flying, fall,
Still their wings grow stronger;
And the next time they can keep
Up a little longer.
Still their wings grow stronger;
And the next time they can keep
Up a little longer.
Though the sturdy oak has known
Many a blast that bowed her,
She has risen again, and grown
Loftier and prouder.
Many a blast that bowed her,
She has risen again, and grown
Loftier and prouder.
If by easy work you beat,
Who the more will prize you?
Gaining victory from defeat,
That 's the test that tries you!
Who the more will prize you?
Gaining victory from defeat,
That 's the test that tries you!
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THE GOOD LITTLE SISTER.
That was a bitter winter
When Jenny was four years old
And lived in a lonely farm-house—
Bitter, and long, and cold.
When Jenny was four years old
And lived in a lonely farm-house—
Bitter, and long, and cold.
The crops had been a failure—
In the barns there was room to spare;
And Jenny's hard-working father
Was full of anxious care.
In the barns there was room to spare;
And Jenny's hard-working father
Was full of anxious care.
Neither his wife nor children
Knew lack of fire or bread;
They had whatever was needful,
Were sheltered, and clothed, and fed.
Knew lack of fire or bread;
They had whatever was needful,
Were sheltered, and clothed, and fed.
But the mother, alas! was ailing—
'T was a struggle just to live;
And they scarce had even hopeful words,
Or cheerful smiles to give.
'T was a struggle just to live;
And they scarce had even hopeful words,
Or cheerful smiles to give.
A good, kind man was the father,
He loved his girls and boys;
But he whose hands are his riches
Has little for gifts and toys.
He loved his girls and boys;
But he whose hands are his riches
Has little for gifts and toys.
So when it drew near the season
That makes the world so glad—
When Jenny knew 't was the time for gifts,
Her childish heart was sad.
That makes the world so glad—
When Jenny knew 't was the time for gifts,
Her childish heart was sad.
For she thought, “I shall get no present
When Christmas comes, I am sure;”
Ah! the poor man's child learns early
Just what it means to be poor.
When Christmas comes, I am sure;”
Ah! the poor man's child learns early
Just what it means to be poor.
Yet still on the holy even
As she sat by the hearth-stone bright,
And her sister told good stories,
Her heart grew almost light.
As she sat by the hearth-stone bright,
And her sister told good stories,
Her heart grew almost light.
For the hopeful skies of childhood
Are never quite o'ercast:
And she said, “Who knows but somehow,
Something will come at last!”
Are never quite o'ercast:
And she said, “Who knows but somehow,
Something will come at last!”
Lo, before she went to her pillow,
Her pretty stockings were tied
Safely together and slyly hung,
Close to the chimney side.
Her pretty stockings were tied
Safely together and slyly hung,
Close to the chimney side.
There was little room for hoping,
One would say who had lived more years;
Yet the faith of the child is wiser
Sometimes than our doubts and fears.
One would say who had lived more years;
Yet the faith of the child is wiser
Sometimes than our doubts and fears.
Jenny had a good little sister,
Very big to her childish eyes,
Who was womanly, sweet, and patient,
And kind as she was wise.
Very big to her childish eyes,
Who was womanly, sweet, and patient,
And kind as she was wise.
And she had thought of this Christmas,
And the little it could bring,
Ever since the crops were half destroyed
By the freshet in the spring.
And the little it could bring,
Ever since the crops were half destroyed
By the freshet in the spring.
So the sweetest nuts of the autumn
She had safely hidden away;
And the ripest and reddest apples
Hoarded for many a day.
She had safely hidden away;
And the ripest and reddest apples
Hoarded for many a day.
And last she mixed some seed-cakes
(Jenny was sleeping then),
And moulded them grotesquely,
Like birds, and beasts, and men.
(Jenny was sleeping then),
And moulded them grotesquely,
Like birds, and beasts, and men.
Then she slipped them into the stockings,
And smiled to think about
The joyful wonder of her pet,
When she found and poured them out.
And smiled to think about
The joyful wonder of her pet,
When she found and poured them out.
And you could n't have seen next morning
A gladder child in the land
Than that humble farmer's daughter,
With her simple gifts in her hand.
A gladder child in the land
Than that humble farmer's daughter,
With her simple gifts in her hand.
And the loving sister? ah! you know
How blessèd 't is to give;
And they who think of others most
Are the happiest folks that live!
How blessèd 't is to give;
And they who think of others most
Are the happiest folks that live!
She had done what she could, my children,
To brighten that Christmas Day;
And whether her heart or Jenny's
Was lightest, it is hard to say.
To brighten that Christmas Day;
And whether her heart or Jenny's
Was lightest, it is hard to say.
And this, if you have but little,
Is what I would say to you:
Make all you can of that little—
Do all the good you can do.
Is what I would say to you:
Make all you can of that little—
Do all the good you can do.
And though your gifts may be humble,
Let no little child, I pray,
Find only an empty stocking
On the morn of the Christmas Day!
Let no little child, I pray,
414
On the morn of the Christmas Day!
'T is years and years since that sister
Went to dwell with the just;
And over her body the roses
Blossom and turn to dust.
Went to dwell with the just;
And over her body the roses
Blossom and turn to dust.
And Jenny 's a happy woman,
With wealth enough and to spare;
And every year her lap is filled
With presents fine and rare.
With wealth enough and to spare;
And every year her lap is filled
With presents fine and rare.
But whenever she thanks the givers
For favors great and small,
She thinks of the good little sister
Who gave her more than they all!
For favors great and small,
She thinks of the good little sister
Who gave her more than they all!
NOW.
If something waits, and you should now
Begin and go right through it,
Don't think, if 't is put off a day,
You 'll not mind to do it.
Begin and go right through it,
Don't think, if 't is put off a day,
You 'll not mind to do it.
Waste not moments, no nor words,
In telling what you could do
Some other time; the present is
For doing what you should do.
In telling what you could do
Some other time; the present is
For doing what you should do.
Don't do right unwillingly,
And stop to plan and measure;
'T is working with the heart and soul,
That makes our duty pleasure.
And stop to plan and measure;
'T is working with the heart and soul,
That makes our duty pleasure.
THE CHICKEN'S MISTAKE.
A little downy chicken one day
Asked leave to go on the water,
Where she saw a duck with her brood at play,
Swimming and splashing about her.
Asked leave to go on the water,
Where she saw a duck with her brood at play,
Swimming and splashing about her.
Indeed, she began to peep and cry,
When her mother would n't let her:
“If the ducks can swim there, why can't I;
Are they any bigger or better?”
When her mother would n't let her:
“If the ducks can swim there, why can't I;
Are they any bigger or better?”
Then the old hen answered, “Listen to me,
And hush your foolish talking;
Just look at your feet, and you will see
They were only made for walking.”
And hush your foolish talking;
Just look at your feet, and you will see
They were only made for walking.”
But chicky wistfully eyed the brook,
And did n't half believe her,
For she seemed to say, by a knowing look,
“Such stories could n't deceive her.”
And did n't half believe her,
For she seemed to say, by a knowing look,
“Such stories could n't deceive her.”
And as her mother was scratching the ground,
She muttered lower and lower,
“I know I can go there and not be drowned,
And so I think I 'll show her.”
She muttered lower and lower,
“I know I can go there and not be drowned,
And so I think I 'll show her.”
Then she made a plunge, where the stream was deep,
And saw too late her blunder;
For she had n't hardly time to peep
Till her foolish head went under.
And saw too late her blunder;
For she had n't hardly time to peep
Till her foolish head went under.
And now I hope her fate will show
The child, my story reading,
That those who are older sometimes know
What you will do well in heeding,
The child, my story reading,
That those who are older sometimes know
What you will do well in heeding,
That each content in his place should dwell,
And envy not his brother;
And any part that is acted well,
Is just as good as another.
And envy not his brother;
And any part that is acted well,
Is just as good as another.
For we all have our proper sphere below,
And this is a truth worth knowing.
You will come to grief if you try to go
Where you never were made for going!
And this is a truth worth knowing.
You will come to grief if you try to go
Where you never were made for going!
EFFIE'S REASONS.
Tell me, Effie, while you are sitting,
Cosily beside me here,
Talking all about your brothers,
Which you like the best, my dear.
Cosily beside me here,
Talking all about your brothers,
Which you like the best, my dear.
“Tom is good sometimes,” said Effie,
“Good as any boy can be;
But at other times he does n't
Seem to care a bit for me.
“Good as any boy can be;
But at other times he does n't
Seem to care a bit for me.
“Half the days he will not help me,
Though the way to school is rough;
Nor assist me with my lessons,
When he knows them well enough.
Though the way to school is rough;
Nor assist me with my lessons,
When he knows them well enough.
“But, of course, I love him dearly—
He 's a brother like the rest,
Though I know he 's not the best one;
And I do not love him best.
He 's a brother like the rest,
415
And I do not love him best.
“Now there 's Charlie, my big brother,
Oh! he 's always just as kind!
All day I may ask him questions,
And he does n't seem to mind.
Oh! he 's always just as kind!
All day I may ask him questions,
And he does n't seem to mind.
“He with every lesson helps me,
And he 's sure to take my part;
So I think I ought to love him—
And I do with all my heart.
And he 's sure to take my part;
So I think I ought to love him—
And I do with all my heart.
“But there 's cunning little Neddy—
Well, he 's not so awful good;
But he never seems to mean it
When he answers cross or rude.
Well, he 's not so awful good;
But he never seems to mean it
When he answers cross or rude.
“Sometimes, half in fun, he strikes me,
Just, I mean, a little blow;
But he 'd never, never do it
If he thought it hurt, I know.
Just, I mean, a little blow;
But he 'd never, never do it
If he thought it hurt, I know.
“Then again he 's nice and pleasant,
Coaxing me and kissing me;
When he wants to ask a favor,
He 's as good as he can be.
Coaxing me and kissing me;
When he wants to ask a favor,
He 's as good as he can be.
“He can't help me with my lessons,
He has hardly learned to spell;
But in everything I help him,
And I like it just as well.
He has hardly learned to spell;
But in everything I help him,
And I like it just as well.
“He is never good as Charlie;
Naughtier oft than Tom, I know;
But for all that I love him,
Just because I love him so!”
Naughtier oft than Tom, I know;
But for all that I love him,
Just because I love him so!”
FEATHERS.
You restless, curious little Jo,
I have told you all the stories I know,
Written in poem or fable;
I have turned them over, and let you look
At everything like a picture-book
Upon my desk or table.
I have told you all the stories I know,
Written in poem or fable;
I have turned them over, and let you look
At everything like a picture-book
Upon my desk or table.
I think it 's enough to drive one wild
To be shut up with a single child,
And try for a day to please her.
Oh, dear me! what does a mother do,
Especially one who lives in a shoe,
And has a dozen to tease her?
To be shut up with a single child,
And try for a day to please her.
Oh, dear me! what does a mother do,
Especially one who lives in a shoe,
And has a dozen to tease her?
“Aha! I 've found the very thing,”
I cried, as I saw the beautiful wing
Of a bird, and I said demurely:
“Now, If you 'll be good the rest of the day,
I 'll give you a bird with which to play;
You know what a bird is, surely?”
I cried, as I saw the beautiful wing
Of a bird, and I said demurely:
“Now, If you 'll be good the rest of the day,
I 'll give you a bird with which to play;
You know what a bird is, surely?”
“Oh, yes!” and she opened wide her eyes,
“A bird is alive, and sings and flies;”
Then, folding her hands together,
She archly shook her wise little head,
And, looking very innocent, said,
“I know a bird from a feather!”
“A bird is alive, and sings and flies;”
Then, folding her hands together,
She archly shook her wise little head,
And, looking very innocent, said,
“I know a bird from a feather!”
Well! of all the smart things uttered yet
By a baby three years old, my pet!
It 's enough to frighten your mother.
Why, I 've seen women—yes, and men,
Who have lived for threescore years and ten,
Who did n't know one from the other!
By a baby three years old, my pet!
It 's enough to frighten your mother.
Why, I 've seen women—yes, and men,
Who have lived for threescore years and ten,
Who did n't know one from the other!
Now there is Kitty, past sixteen—
The one with the soldier beau, I mean—
When he makes his bayonet rattle,
And acts so bravely on parade,
She thinks he would n't be afraid
In the very front of battle.
The one with the soldier beau, I mean—
When he makes his bayonet rattle,
And acts so bravely on parade,
She thinks he would n't be afraid
In the very front of battle.
But yet, if I were allowed to guess,
I should say her soldier was all in the dress,
And you 'll find my guess is the right one.
If ever he has to meet the foe,
The first, and only feather he 'll show
That day will be a white one.
I should say her soldier was all in the dress,
And you 'll find my guess is the right one.
If ever he has to meet the foe,
The first, and only feather he 'll show
That day will be a white one.
There 's Mrs. Pie, in her gorgeous plumes;
Why, half the folks who visit her rooms,
Because she is dressed so finely
And holds herself at the highest price,
Pronounce her a bird of paradise,
And say she sings divinely;
Why, half the folks who visit her rooms,
Because she is dressed so finely
And holds herself at the highest price,
Pronounce her a bird of paradise,
And say she sings divinely;
While many a one, with a sweeter lay,
Because her feathers are plain and gray,
The world's approval misses,
And only gets its scorn and abuse;
She is called a failure, and called a goose,
And her song is met with hisses.
Because her feathers are plain and gray,
The world's approval misses,
And only gets its scorn and abuse;
She is called a failure, and called a goose,
And her song is met with hisses.
416
Men will stick as many plumes on their head
As an Indian chief who has bravely shed
The blood of a hostile nation,
When all the killing they 've done or seen
Was killing themselves—that is, I mean
In the public estimation.
As an Indian chief who has bravely shed
The blood of a hostile nation,
When all the killing they 've done or seen
Was killing themselves—that is, I mean
In the public estimation.
When Tom to his pretty wife was wed,
“She 's fuss and feathers,” people said,
That any woman could borrow;
And sure enough, her feathers fell,
Though the fuss was the genuine article,
As Tom has found to his sorrow.
“She 's fuss and feathers,” people said,
That any woman could borrow;
And sure enough, her feathers fell,
Though the fuss was the genuine article,
As Tom has found to his sorrow.
When Mrs. Butterfly, who was a grub,
First got her wings, she was such a snob,
She scorned the folks around her,
And made, as she said, the feathers fly;
But when she fell, she had gone so high,
She was smashed as flat as a flounder.
First got her wings, she was such a snob,
She scorned the folks around her,
And made, as she said, the feathers fly;
But when she fell, she had gone so high,
She was smashed as flat as a flounder.
Alas, alas! my little Jo,
I 'm sorry to tell it, and sorry it 's so;
But as to deceiving, I scorn to.
And I only hope that when you are grown
You will keep the wonderful wisdom you 've shown,
Nor lose the wit you were born to.
I 'm sorry to tell it, and sorry it 's so;
But as to deceiving, I scorn to.
And I only hope that when you are grown
You will keep the wonderful wisdom you 've shown,
Nor lose the wit you were born to.
But whether folks, so wise when they 're small,
Can ever live to grow up at all,
Is one of the doubtful whethers.
I 'm sure it happens but seldom, though,
Or there would n't be so many, you know,
Who can't tell birds from feathers.
Can ever live to grow up at all,
Is one of the doubtful whethers.
I 'm sure it happens but seldom, though,
Or there would n't be so many, you know,
Who can't tell birds from feathers.
THE PRAIRIE ON FIRE.
The long grass burned brown
In the summer's fierce heat,
Snaps brittle and dry
'Neath the traveler's feet,
As over the prairie,
Through all the long day,
His white, tent-like wagon
Moves slow on its way.
In the summer's fierce heat,
Snaps brittle and dry
'Neath the traveler's feet,
As over the prairie,
Through all the long day,
His white, tent-like wagon
Moves slow on its way.
Safe and snug with the goods
Are the little ones stowed,
And the big boys trudge on
By the team in the road;
While his sweet, patient wife,
With the babe on her breast,
Sees their new home in fancy,
And longs for its rest.
Are the little ones stowed,
And the big boys trudge on
By the team in the road;
While his sweet, patient wife,
With the babe on her breast,
Sees their new home in fancy,
And longs for its rest.
But hark! in the distance
That dull, trampling tread;
And see how the sky
Has grown suddenly red!
What has lighted the west
At the hour of noon?
It is not the sunset,
It is not the moon!
That dull, trampling tread;
And see how the sky
Has grown suddenly red!
What has lighted the west
At the hour of noon?
It is not the sunset,
It is not the moon!
The horses are rearing
And snorting with fear,
And over the prairie
Come flying the deer
With hot smoking haunches,
And eyes rolling back,
As if the fierce hunter
Were hard on their track.
And snorting with fear,
And over the prairie
Come flying the deer
With hot smoking haunches,
And eyes rolling back,
As if the fierce hunter
Were hard on their track.
The mother clasps closer
The babe on her arm,
While the children cling to her
In wildest alarm;
And the father speaks low
As the red light mounts higher:
“We are lost! we are lost!
'T is the prairie on fire!”
The babe on her arm,
While the children cling to her
In wildest alarm;
And the father speaks low
As the red light mounts higher:
“We are lost! we are lost!
'T is the prairie on fire!”
The boys, terror-stricken,
Stand still, all but one:
He has seen in a moment
The thing to be done;
He has lighted the grass,
The quick flames leap in air;
And the pathway before them
Lies blackened and bare.
Stand still, all but one:
He has seen in a moment
The thing to be done;
He has lighted the grass,
The quick flames leap in air;
And the pathway before them
Lies blackened and bare.
How the fire-fiend behind
Rushes on in his power;
But nothing is left
For his wrath to devour.
On the scarred smoking earth
They stand safe, every one,
While the flames in the distance
Sweep harmlessly on.
Rushes on in his power;
But nothing is left
For his wrath to devour.
On the scarred smoking earth
They stand safe, every one,
While the flames in the distance
Sweep harmlessly on.
Then reverently under
The wide sky they kneel,
With spirits too thankful
To speak what they feel;
But the father in silence
Is blessing his boy,
While the mother and chidren
Are weeping for joy.
The wide sky they kneel,
With spirits too thankful
To speak what they feel;
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Is blessing his boy,
While the mother and chidren
Are weeping for joy.
DAPPLEDUN.
A little boy who, strange to say,
Was called by the name of John,
Once bought himself a little horse
To ride behind, and upon.
Was called by the name of John,
Once bought himself a little horse
To ride behind, and upon.
A handsomer beast you never saw,
He was so sleek and fat;
“He has but a single fault,” said John,
“And a trifling one at that.”
He was so sleek and fat;
“He has but a single fault,” said John,
“And a trifling one at that.”
His mane and tail grew thick and long,
He was quick to trot or run;
His coat was yellow, flecked with brown;
John called him Dappledun.
He was quick to trot or run;
His coat was yellow, flecked with brown;
John called him Dappledun.
He never kicked and never bit;
In harness well he drew;
But this was the single foolish thing
That Dappledun would do.
In harness well he drew;
But this was the single foolish thing
That Dappledun would do.
He ran in clover up to his knees,
His trough was filled with stuff;
Yet he 'd jump the neighbor's fence, and act
As if he had n't enough.
His trough was filled with stuff;
Yet he 'd jump the neighbor's fence, and act
As if he had n't enough.
If he only could have been content
With his feed of oats and hay,
Poor headstrong, foolish Dappledun
Had been alive to-day.
With his feed of oats and hay,
Poor headstrong, foolish Dappledun
Had been alive to-day.
But one night when his rack was filled
With what he ought to eat.
He thrust his nose out of his stall,
And into a bin of wheat.
With what he ought to eat.
He thrust his nose out of his stall,
And into a bin of wheat.
And there he ate, and ate, and ate,
And when he reached the tank
Where Johnny watered him next morn,
He drank, and drank, and drank.
And when he reached the tank
Where Johnny watered him next morn,
He drank, and drank, and drank.
And when that night John carried him
The sweet hay from the rick,
He lay and groaned, and groaned, and groaned,
For Dappledun was sick.
The sweet hay from the rick,
He lay and groaned, and groaned, and groaned,
For Dappledun was sick.
And when another morning came
And John rose from his bed
And went to water Dappledun,
Poor Dappledun was dead!
And John rose from his bed
And went to water Dappledun,
Poor Dappledun was dead!
SUPPOSE!
Suppose, my little lady,
Your doll should break her head,
Could you make it whole by crying
Till your eyes and nose are red?
And would n't it be pleasanter
To treat it as a joke;
And say you 're glad “'T was Dolly's
And not your head that broke?”
Your doll should break her head,
Could you make it whole by crying
Till your eyes and nose are red?
And would n't it be pleasanter
To treat it as a joke;
And say you 're glad “'T was Dolly's
And not your head that broke?”
Suppose you 're dressed for walking,
And the rain comes pouring down,
Will it clear off any sooner
Because you scold and frown?
And would n't it be nicer
For you to smile than pout,
And so make sunshine in the house
When there is none without?
And the rain comes pouring down,
Will it clear off any sooner
Because you scold and frown?
And would n't it be nicer
For you to smile than pout,
And so make sunshine in the house
When there is none without?
Suppose your task, my little man,
Is very hard to get,
Will it make it any easier
For you to sit and fret?
And would n't it be wiser
Than waiting like a dunce,
To go to work in earnest
And learn the thing at once?
Is very hard to get,
Will it make it any easier
For you to sit and fret?
And would n't it be wiser
Than waiting like a dunce,
To go to work in earnest
And learn the thing at once?
Suppose that some boys have a horse,
And some a coach and pair.
Will it tire you less while walking
To say, “It is n't fair?”
And would n't it be nobler
To keep your temper sweet,
And in your heart be thankful
You can walk upon your feet?
And some a coach and pair.
Will it tire you less while walking
To say, “It is n't fair?”
And would n't it be nobler
To keep your temper sweet,
And in your heart be thankful
You can walk upon your feet?
And suppose the world don't please you,
Nor the way some people do,
Do you think the whole creation
Will be altered just for you?
And is n't it, my boy or girl,
The wisest, bravest plan,
Whatever comes, or does n't come,
To do the best you can?
Nor the way some people do,
Do you think the whole creation
Will be altered just for you?
And is n't it, my boy or girl,
The wisest, bravest plan,
Whatever comes, or does n't come,
To do the best you can?
A LEGEND OF THE NORTHLAND.
Away, away in the Northland,
Where the hours of the day are few,
And the nights are so long in winter,
They cannot sleep them through;
Where the hours of the day are few,
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They cannot sleep them through;
Where they harness the swift reindeer
To the sledges, when it snows;
And the children look like bear's cubs
In their funny, furry clothes:
To the sledges, when it snows;
And the children look like bear's cubs
In their funny, furry clothes:
They tell them a curious story—
I don't believe 't is true;
And yet you may learn a lesson
If I tell the tale to you.
I don't believe 't is true;
And yet you may learn a lesson
If I tell the tale to you.
Once, when the good Saint Peter
Lived in the world below,
And walked about it, preaching,
Just as he did, you know;
Lived in the world below,
And walked about it, preaching,
Just as he did, you know;
He came to the door of a cottage,
In traveling round the earth,
Where a little woman was making cakes,
And baking them on the hearth;
In traveling round the earth,
Where a little woman was making cakes,
And baking them on the hearth;
And being faint with fasting,
For the day was almost done,
He asked her, from her store of cakes,
To give him a single one.
For the day was almost done,
He asked her, from her store of cakes,
To give him a single one.
So she made a very little cake,
But as it baking lay,
She looked at it, and thought it seemed
Too large to give away.
But as it baking lay,
She looked at it, and thought it seemed
Too large to give away.
Therefore she kneaded another,
And still a smaller one;
But it looked, when she turned it over,
As large as the first had done.
And still a smaller one;
But it looked, when she turned it over,
As large as the first had done.
Then she took a tiny scrap of dough,
And rolled and rolled it flat;
And baked it thin as a wafer—
But she could n't part with that.
And rolled and rolled it flat;
And baked it thin as a wafer—
But she could n't part with that.
For she said, “My cakes that seem too small
When I eat of them myself,
Are yet too large to give away.”
So she put them on the shelf.
When I eat of them myself,
Are yet too large to give away.”
So she put them on the shelf.
Then good Saint Peter grew angry,
For he was hungry and faint;
And surely such a woman
Was enough to provoke a saint.
For he was hungry and faint;
And surely such a woman
Was enough to provoke a saint.
And he said, “You are far too selfish
To dwell in a human form,
To have both food and shelter,
And fire to keep you warm.
To dwell in a human form,
To have both food and shelter,
And fire to keep you warm.
“Now, you shall build as the birds do,
And shall get your scanty food
By boring, and boring, and boring,
All day in the hard dry wood.”
And shall get your scanty food
By boring, and boring, and boring,
All day in the hard dry wood.”
Then up she went through the chimney,
Never speaking a word,
And out of the top flew a woodpecker,
For she was changed to a bird.
Never speaking a word,
And out of the top flew a woodpecker,
For she was changed to a bird.
She had a scarlet cap on her head,
And that was left the same,
But all the rest of her clothes were burned
Black as a coal in the flame.
And that was left the same,
But all the rest of her clothes were burned
Black as a coal in the flame.
And every country school-boy
Has seen her in the wood;
Where she lives in the trees till this very day,
Boring and boring for food.
Has seen her in the wood;
Where she lives in the trees till this very day,
Boring and boring for food.
And this is the lesson she teaches:
Live not for yourself alone,
Lest the needs you will not pity
Shall one day be your own.
Live not for yourself alone,
Lest the needs you will not pity
Shall one day be your own.
Give plenty of what is given to you,
Listen to pity's call;
Don't think the little you give is great,
And the much you get is small.
Listen to pity's call;
Don't think the little you give is great,
And the much you get is small.
Now, my little boy, remember that,
And try to be kind and good,
When you see the woodpecker's sooty dress,
And see her scarlet hood.
And try to be kind and good,
When you see the woodpecker's sooty dress,
And see her scarlet hood.
You may n't be changed to a bird, though you live
As selfishly as you can;
But you will be changed to a smaller thing—
A mean and selfish man.
As selfishly as you can;
But you will be changed to a smaller thing—
A mean and selfish man.
EASY LESSONS.
Come, little children, come with me,
Where the winds are singing merrily,
As they toss the crimson clover;
We 'll walk on the hills and by the brooks,
And I 'll show you stories in prettier books
Than the ones you are poring over.
Where the winds are singing merrily,
As they toss the crimson clover;
We 'll walk on the hills and by the brooks,
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Than the ones you are poring over.
Do you think you could learn to sing a song,
Though you drummed and hummed it all day long,
Till hands and brains were aching,
That would match the clear, untutored notes
That drop from the pretty, tender throats
Of birds, when the day is breaking?
Though you drummed and hummed it all day long,
Till hands and brains were aching,
That would match the clear, untutored notes
That drop from the pretty, tender throats
Of birds, when the day is breaking?
Did you ever read, on any page,
Though written with all the wisdom of age,
And all the truth of preaching,
Any lesson that taught you so plain
Content with your humble work and gain,
As the golden bee is teaching?
Though written with all the wisdom of age,
And all the truth of preaching,
Any lesson that taught you so plain
Content with your humble work and gain,
As the golden bee is teaching?
For see, as she floats on her airy wings,
How she sings and works, and works and sings,
Never stopping nor staying;
Showing us clearly what to do
To make of duty a pleasure, too,
And to make our work but playing.
How she sings and works, and works and sings,
Never stopping nor staying;
Showing us clearly what to do
To make of duty a pleasure, too,
And to make our work but playing.
Do you suppose that a book can tell
Maxims of prudence, half so well
As the little ant, who is telling
To man, as she patiently goes and comes,
Bearing her precious grains and crumbs,
How want is kept from the dwelling?
Maxims of prudence, half so well
As the little ant, who is telling
To man, as she patiently goes and comes,
Bearing her precious grains and crumbs,
How want is kept from the dwelling?
Whatever a story can teach to you
Of the good a little thing may do,
The hidden brook is showing,
Whose quiet way is only seen
Because of its banks, so fresh and green,
And the flowers beside it growing.
Of the good a little thing may do,
The hidden brook is showing,
Whose quiet way is only seen
Because of its banks, so fresh and green,
And the flowers beside it growing.
If we go where the golden lily grows,
Where, clothed in raiment fine, she glows
Like a king in all his glory,
And ponder over each precious leaf,
We shall find there, written bright and brief,
The words of a wondrous story.
Where, clothed in raiment fine, she glows
Like a king in all his glory,
And ponder over each precious leaf,
We shall find there, written bright and brief,
The words of a wondrous story.
We shall learn the beautiful lesson there
That our Heavenly Father's loving care,
Even the lily winneth;
For rich in beauty thus she stands,
Arrayed by his gracious, tender hands,
Though she toileth not, nor spinneth.
That our Heavenly Father's loving care,
Even the lily winneth;
For rich in beauty thus she stands,
Arrayed by his gracious, tender hands,
Though she toileth not, nor spinneth.
There is n't a blossom under our feet,
But has some teaching, short and sweet,
That is richly worth the knowing;
And the roughest hedge, or the sharpest thorn,
Is blest with a power to guard or warn,
If we will but heed its showing.
But has some teaching, short and sweet,
That is richly worth the knowing;
And the roughest hedge, or the sharpest thorn,
Is blest with a power to guard or warn,
If we will but heed its showing.
So do not spoil your happy looks
By poring always over your books,
Written by scholars and sages;
For there 's many a lesson in brooks or birds,
Told in plainer and prettier words
Than those in your printed pages.
By poring always over your books,
Written by scholars and sages;
For there 's many a lesson in brooks or birds,
Told in plainer and prettier words
Than those in your printed pages.
And yet, I would not have you think
No wisdom comes through pen and ink,
And all books are dull and dreary;
For not all of life can be pleasant play,
Nor every day a holiday,
And tasks must be hard and weary.
No wisdom comes through pen and ink,
And all books are dull and dreary;
For not all of life can be pleasant play,
Nor every day a holiday,
And tasks must be hard and weary.
And that is the very reason why
I would have you learn from earth and sky
Their lessons of good, and heed them:
For there our Father, with loving hand,
Writes truths that a child may understand,
So plain that a child can read them.
I would have you learn from earth and sky
Their lessons of good, and heed them:
For there our Father, with loving hand,
Writes truths that a child may understand,
So plain that a child can read them.
OBEDIENCE.
If you're told to do a thing,
And mean to do it really;
Never let it be by halves;
Do it fully, freely!
And mean to do it really;
Never let it be by halves;
Do it fully, freely!
Do not make a poor excuse,
Waiting, weak, unsteady;
All obedience worth the name,
Must be prompt and ready.
Waiting, weak, unsteady;
All obedience worth the name,
Must be prompt and ready.
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THE CROW'S CHILDREN.
A huntsman, bearing his gun a-field,
Went whistling merrily;
When he heard the blackest of black crows
Call out from a withered tree:
Went whistling merrily;
When he heard the blackest of black crows
Call out from a withered tree:
“You are going to kill the thievish birds,
And I would if I were you;
But you mus n't touch my family,
Whatever else you do!”
And I would if I were you;
But you mus n't touch my family,
Whatever else you do!”
“I 'm only going to kill the birds
That are eating up my crop;
And if your young ones do such things,
Be sure they 'll have to stop.”
That are eating up my crop;
And if your young ones do such things,
Be sure they 'll have to stop.”
“Oh,” said the crow, “my children
Are the best ones ever born;
There is n't one among them all
Would steal a grain of corn.”
Are the best ones ever born;
There is n't one among them all
Would steal a grain of corn.”
“But how shall I know which ones they are?
Do they resemble you?”
“Oh, no,” said the crow, “they 're the prettiest birds,
And the whitest that ever flew!”
Do they resemble you?”
“Oh, no,” said the crow, “they 're the prettiest birds,
And the whitest that ever flew!”
So off went the sportsman, whistling,
And off, too, went his gun;
And its startling echoes never ceased
Again till the day was done.
And off, too, went his gun;
And its startling echoes never ceased
Again till the day was done.
And the old crow sat untroubled,
Cawing away in her nook;
For she said, “He 'll never kill my birds,
Since I told him how they look.
Cawing away in her nook;
For she said, “He 'll never kill my birds,
Since I told him how they look.
“Now there 's the hawk, my neighbor,
She 'll see what she will see, soon;
And that saucy whistling blackbird
May have to change his tune!”
She 'll see what she will see, soon;
And that saucy whistling blackbird
May have to change his tune!”
When, lo! she saw the hunter
Taking his homeward track,
With a string of crows as long as his gun,
Hanging down his back.
Taking his homeward track,
With a string of crows as long as his gun,
Hanging down his back.
“Alack, alack!” said the mother,
“What in the world have you done?
You promised to spare my pretty birds,
And you 've killed them every one.”
“What in the world have you done?
You promised to spare my pretty birds,
And you 've killed them every one.”
“Your birds!” said the puzzled hunter;
“Why, I found them in my corn;
And besides, they are black and ugly
As any that ever were born!”
“Why, I found them in my corn;
And besides, they are black and ugly
As any that ever were born!”
“Get out of my sight, you stupid!”
Said the angriest of crows;
“How good and fair her children are,
There 's none but a parent knows!”
Said the angriest of crows;
“How good and fair her children are,
There 's none but a parent knows!”
“Ah! I see, I see,” said the hunter,
“But not as you do, quite;
It takes a mother to be so blind
She can't tell black from white!”
“But not as you do, quite;
It takes a mother to be so blind
She can't tell black from white!”
HIVES AND HOMES.
When March has gone with his cruel wind,
That frightens back the swallow,
And the pleasant April sun has shined
Out through her showery clouds, we find
Pale blooms in the wood and hollow.
That frightens back the swallow,
And the pleasant April sun has shined
Out through her showery clouds, we find
Pale blooms in the wood and hollow.
But after the darling May awakes,
Bedecked with flowers like a fairy;
About the meadows and streams and lakes
She drops them every step she takes,
For she has too many to carry.
Bedecked with flowers like a fairy;
About the meadows and streams and lakes
She drops them every step she takes,
For she has too many to carry.
And when June has set in the leafy trees
Her bird-tunes all a-ringing,
Wherever a blossom nods in the breeze
The good, contented, cheerful bees
Are found at work and singing.
Her bird-tunes all a-ringing,
Wherever a blossom nods in the breeze
The good, contented, cheerful bees
Are found at work and singing.
Ah, the wise little bees! they know how to live,
Each one in peace with his neighbor;
For though they dwell in a narrow hive,
They never seem too thick to thrive,
Nor so many they spoil their labor.
Each one in peace with his neighbor;
For though they dwell in a narrow hive,
They never seem too thick to thrive,
Nor so many they spoil their labor.
And well may they sing a pleasant tune,
Since their life has such completeness;
Their hay is made in the sun of June,
And every moon is a honeymoon,
And home a home of sweetness.
Since their life has such completeness;
Their hay is made in the sun of June,
And every moon is a honeymoon,
And home a home of sweetness.
The golden belts they wear each day
Are lighter than belts of money;
And making work as pleasant as play,
The stings of life they give away,
And only keep the honey.
Are lighter than belts of money;
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The stings of life they give away,
And only keep the honey.
They are teaching lessons, good and true,
To each idle drone and beauty,
And, my youthful friends, if any of you
Should think (though, of course, you never do)
Of love, and home, and duty—
To each idle drone and beauty,
And, my youthful friends, if any of you
Should think (though, of course, you never do)
Of love, and home, and duty—
And yet it often happens, you know,
True to the very letter,
That youths and maidens, when they grow,
Swarm off from the dear old hive and go
To another, for worse or better!
True to the very letter,
That youths and maidens, when they grow,
Swarm off from the dear old hive and go
To another, for worse or better!
So you 'd better learn that this life of ours
Is not all show and glitter,
And skillfully use your noblest powers
To suck the sweets from its poison flowers,
And leave behind the bitter.
Is not all show and glitter,
And skillfully use your noblest powers
To suck the sweets from its poison flowers,
And leave behind the bitter.
But wherever you stay, or wherever you roam,
In the days while you live in clover,
You should gather your honey and bring it home,
Because the winter will surely come,
When the summer of life is over.
In the days while you live in clover,
You should gather your honey and bring it home,
Because the winter will surely come,
When the summer of life is over.
NORA'S CHARM.
'T was the fisher's wife at her neighbor's door,
And she cried, as she wrung her hands,
“O Nora, get your cloak and hood,
And haste with me o'er the sands.”
And she cried, as she wrung her hands,
“O Nora, get your cloak and hood,
And haste with me o'er the sands.”
Now a kind man was the fisherman,
And a lucky man was he;
And never a steadier sailed away
From the Bay of Cromarty.
And a lucky man was he;
And never a steadier sailed away
From the Bay of Cromarty.
And the wife had plenty on her board,
And the babe in her arms was fair;
But her heart was always full of fear,
And her brow was black with care.
And the babe in her arms was fair;
But her heart was always full of fear,
And her brow was black with care.
And she stood at her neighbor's door and cried,
“Oh, woe is me this night!
For the fairies have stolen my pretty babe,
And left me an ugly sprite.
“Oh, woe is me this night!
For the fairies have stolen my pretty babe,
And left me an ugly sprite.
“My pretty babe, that was more than all
The wealth of the world to me;
With his coral lips, and his hair of gold,
And his teeth like pearls of the sea!
The wealth of the world to me;
With his coral lips, and his hair of gold,
And his teeth like pearls of the sea!
“I went to look for his father's boat,
When I heard the stroke of the oar;
And I left him cooing soft in his bed,
As the bird in her nest by the door.
When I heard the stroke of the oar;
And I left him cooing soft in his bed,
As the bird in her nest by the door.
“And there was the father fair in sight,
And pulling hard to the land;
And my foot was back o'er the sill again,
Ere his keel had struck the sand.
And pulling hard to the land;
And my foot was back o'er the sill again,
Ere his keel had struck the sand.
“But the fairies had time to steal my babe,
And leave me in his place
A restless imp, with a wicked grin,
And never a smile on his face.”
And leave me in his place
A restless imp, with a wicked grin,
And never a smile on his face.”
And Nora took her cloak and hood,
And softly by the hand
She led the fisher's wife through the night,
Across the yellow sand.
And softly by the hand
She led the fisher's wife through the night,
Across the yellow sand.
“Nay, do not rave, and talk so wild;”
'T was Nora thus that spoke;
“We must have our wits to work against
The arts of fairy folk.
'T was Nora thus that spoke;
“We must have our wits to work against
The arts of fairy folk.
“There 's a charm to help us in our need,
But its power we cannot try,
With the black cloud hanging o'er the brow,
And the salt tear in the eye.
But its power we cannot try,
With the black cloud hanging o'er the brow,
And the salt tear in the eye.
“For wicked things may gibe and grin
With noisy jeer and shout;
But the joyous peal of a happy laugh
Has power to drive them out.
With noisy jeer and shout;
But the joyous peal of a happy laugh
Has power to drive them out.
“And if this sprite we can but please,
Till he laughs with merry glee,
We shall break the spell that holds him here,
And keeps the babe from your knee.”
Till he laughs with merry glee,
We shall break the spell that holds him here,
And keeps the babe from your knee.”
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So the mother wiped her tears away,
And patiently and long
They plied the restless, stubborn imp
With cunning trick and song.
And patiently and long
They plied the restless, stubborn imp
With cunning trick and song.
They blew a blast on the fisher's horn,
Each curious prank they tried;
They rocked the cradle where he lay,
As a boat is rocked on the tide.
Each curious prank they tried;
They rocked the cradle where he lay,
As a boat is rocked on the tide.
But there the hateful creature kept,
In place of the human child;
And never once his writhing ceased,
And never once he smiled.
In place of the human child;
And never once his writhing ceased,
And never once he smiled.
Then Nora cried, “Take yonder egg
That lies upon the shelf,
And make of it two hollow cups,
Like tiny cups of delf.”
That lies upon the shelf,
And make of it two hollow cups,
Like tiny cups of delf.”
And the mother took the sea-mew's egg,
And broke in twain the shell,
And made of it two tiny cups,
And filled them at the well.
And broke in twain the shell,
And made of it two tiny cups,
And filled them at the well.
She filled them up as Nora bade,
And set them on the coals:
And the imp grew still, for he ne'er had seen
In fairy-land such bowls.
And set them on the coals:
And the imp grew still, for he ne'er had seen
In fairy-land such bowls.
And when the water bubbled and boiled,
Like a fountain in its play,
Mirth bubbled up to his lips, and he laughed
Till he laughed himself away!
Like a fountain in its play,
Mirth bubbled up to his lips, and he laughed
Till he laughed himself away!
And the mother turned about, and felt
The heart in her bosom leap;
For the imp was gone, and there in his place
Lay her baby fast asleep.
The heart in her bosom leap;
For the imp was gone, and there in his place
Lay her baby fast asleep.
And Nora said to her neighbor, “Now
There sure can be no doubt
But a merry heart and a merry laugh
Drive evil spirits out!
There sure can be no doubt
But a merry heart and a merry laugh
Drive evil spirits out!
“And who can say but the dismal frown
And the doleful sigh are the sin
That keeps the good from our homes and hearts,
And lets the evil in!”
And the doleful sigh are the sin
That keeps the good from our homes and hearts,
And lets the evil in!”
THEY DID N'T THINK.
Once a trap was baited
With a piece of cheese;
It tickled so a little mouse
It almost made him sneeze;
An old rat said, “There's danger,
Be careful where you go!”
“Nonsense!” said the other,
“I don't think you know!”
So he walked in boldly—
Nobody in sight;
First he took a nibble,
Then he took a bite;
Close the trap together
Snapped as quick as wink,
Catching mousey fast there,
'Cause he did n't think.
With a piece of cheese;
It tickled so a little mouse
It almost made him sneeze;
An old rat said, “There's danger,
Be careful where you go!”
“Nonsense!” said the other,
“I don't think you know!”
So he walked in boldly—
Nobody in sight;
First he took a nibble,
Then he took a bite;
Close the trap together
Snapped as quick as wink,
Catching mousey fast there,
'Cause he did n't think.
Once a little turkey,
Fond of her own way,
Would n't ask the old ones
Where to go or stay;
She said, “I 'm not a baby,
Here I am half-grown;
Surely I am big enough
To run about alone!”
Off she went, but somebody
Hiding saw her pass;
Soon like snow her feathers
Covered all the grass.
So she made a supper
For a sly young mink,
'Cause she was so headstrong
That she would n't think.
Fond of her own way,
Would n't ask the old ones
Where to go or stay;
She said, “I 'm not a baby,
Here I am half-grown;
Surely I am big enough
To run about alone!”
Off she went, but somebody
Hiding saw her pass;
Soon like snow her feathers
Covered all the grass.
So she made a supper
For a sly young mink,
'Cause she was so headstrong
That she would n't think.
Once there was a robin
Lived outside the door,
Who wanted to go inside
And hop upon the floor
“Ho, no,” said the mother,
“You must stay with me;
Little birds are safest
Sitting in a tree.”
“I don't care,” said Robin,
And gave his tail a fling,
“I don't think the old folks
Know quite everything.”
Down he flew, and Kitty seized him,
Before he 'd time to blink.
“Oh,” he cried, “I 'm sorry,
But I did n't think.”
Lived outside the door,
Who wanted to go inside
And hop upon the floor
“Ho, no,” said the mother,
“You must stay with me;
Little birds are safest
Sitting in a tree.”
“I don't care,” said Robin,
And gave his tail a fling,
“I don't think the old folks
Know quite everything.”
Down he flew, and Kitty seized him,
Before he 'd time to blink.
“Oh,” he cried, “I 'm sorry,
But I did n't think.”
Now, my little children,
You who read this song,
Don't you see what trouble
Comes of thinking wrong?
And can't you take a warning
From their dreadful fate
Who began their thinking
When it was too late?
Don't think there 's always safety
Where no danger shows.
Don't suppose you know more
Than anybody knows;
But when you 're warned of ruin,
Pause upon the brink.
And don't go under headlong,
'Cause you did n't think.
You who read this song,
Don't you see what trouble
Comes of thinking wrong?
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From their dreadful fate
Who began their thinking
When it was too late?
Don't think there 's always safety
Where no danger shows.
Don't suppose you know more
Than anybody knows;
But when you 're warned of ruin,
Pause upon the brink.
And don't go under headlong,
'Cause you did n't think.
AJAX.
Old Ajax was a faithful dog,
Of the best and bravest sort;
And we made a friend and pet of him,
And called him “Jax” for short.
He served us well for many a year.
But at last there came a day
When, a superannuated dog,
In the sun he idly lay.
Of the best and bravest sort;
And we made a friend and pet of him,
And called him “Jax” for short.
He served us well for many a year.
But at last there came a day
When, a superannuated dog,
In the sun he idly lay.
And though as kindly as before
He still was housed and fed,
We brought a younger, sprightlier dog
For service in his stead.
Poor “Jax!” he knew and felt it all,
As well as you or I;
He laid his head on his trembling paws,
And his whine was like a cry.
He still was housed and fed,
We brought a younger, sprightlier dog
For service in his stead.
Poor “Jax!” he knew and felt it all,
As well as you or I;
He laid his head on his trembling paws,
And his whine was like a cry.
And then he rose: he would not stay
Near where the intruder stayed:
He took the other side of the house,
Though that was in the shade.
And he never answered when we called,
He would not touch his bone;
'T was more than he could bear to have
A rival near his throne.
Near where the intruder stayed:
He took the other side of the house,
Though that was in the shade.
And he never answered when we called,
He would not touch his bone;
'T was more than he could bear to have
A rival near his throne.
We tried to soothe his wounded pride
By every kindly art:
But if ever creature did, poor “Jax”
Died of a broken heart.
Alas! he would not learn the truth,
He was not still a pup;
That every dog must have his day,
And then must give it up!
By every kindly art:
But if ever creature did, poor “Jax”
Died of a broken heart.
Alas! he would not learn the truth,
He was not still a pup;
That every dog must have his day,
And then must give it up!
“KEEP A STIFF UPPER LIP!”
There has something gone wrong
My brave boy, it appears,
For I see your proud struggle
To keep back the tears.
That is right. When you cannot
Give trouble the slip,
Then bear it, still keeping
“A stiff upper lip!”
My brave boy, it appears,
For I see your proud struggle
To keep back the tears.
That is right. When you cannot
Give trouble the slip,
Then bear it, still keeping
“A stiff upper lip!”
Though you cannot escape
Disappointment and care,
The next best thing to do
Is to learn how to bear.
If when for life's prizes
You 're running, you trip,
Get up, start again—
“Keep a stiff upper lip!”
Disappointment and care,
The next best thing to do
Is to learn how to bear.
If when for life's prizes
You 're running, you trip,
Get up, start again—
“Keep a stiff upper lip!”
Let your hands and your conscience
Be honest and clean:
Scorn to touch or to think of
The thing that is mean;
But hold on to the pure
And the right with firm grip,
And though hard be the task,
“Keep a stiff upper lip!”
Be honest and clean:
Scorn to touch or to think of
The thing that is mean;
But hold on to the pure
And the right with firm grip,
And though hard be the task,
“Keep a stiff upper lip!”
Through childhood, through manhood,
Through life to the end.
Struggle bravely and stand
By your colors, my friend.
Only yield when you must:
Never “give up the ship,”
But fight on to the last
“With a stiff upper lip!”
Through life to the end.
Struggle bravely and stand
By your colors, my friend.
Only yield when you must:
Never “give up the ship,”
But fight on to the last
“With a stiff upper lip!”
WHAT THE FROGS SING.
“I've got such a cold I cannot sing,”
Said a bull-frog living close to the spring,—
“And it keeps me all the time so hoarse,
That my voice is very bass of course.
I hate to live in this nasty bog;
It is n't fit for a decent frog:
Now there 's that bird, just hear the note
So soft and sweet, from out her throat.”
He said, as a thrush in the tree above
Was trilling her liquid song of love:
“And what pretty feathers on her back,
While mine is mottled, yellow and black:
And then for moving she has her wings,
They must be very handy things;—
And this all comes, as one may see,
Just from living up in a tree;
She 'd look as queer as I do, I 'll bet,
If she had to live down here in the wet,
And be as hoarse, if doomed to tramp
About all day where her feet got damp.
Said a bull-frog living close to the spring,—
“And it keeps me all the time so hoarse,
That my voice is very bass of course.
I hate to live in this nasty bog;
It is n't fit for a decent frog:
Now there 's that bird, just hear the note
So soft and sweet, from out her throat.”
He said, as a thrush in the tree above
Was trilling her liquid song of love:
“And what pretty feathers on her back,
While mine is mottled, yellow and black:
And then for moving she has her wings,
They must be very handy things;—
And this all comes, as one may see,
Just from living up in a tree;
She 'd look as queer as I do, I 'll bet,
If she had to live down here in the wet,
424
About all day where her feet got damp.
“As the world is managed, I do declare,
Things do not seem exactly fair;
For instance, here on the ground I lie,
While the bird lives up there, high and dry;
Some frogs may n't care, perhaps they don't,
But I can't stand such things and I won't;
So I 'll see if I can't make a rise.
Who knows what he can do till he tries?”
Things do not seem exactly fair;
For instance, here on the ground I lie,
While the bird lives up there, high and dry;
Some frogs may n't care, perhaps they don't,
But I can't stand such things and I won't;
So I 'll see if I can't make a rise.
Who knows what he can do till he tries?”
So this cunning frog he winked his eye,
He was lying low and playing sly;
For he did not want the frogs about
To find his precious secret out:
But when they were all in the mud a-bed,
And the thrush in her wing had hid her head,
Then Mr. Bull his legs uncurled,
And began to take a start in the world.
'T was from the foot of the tree to hop,
But how was he to reach the top?
For it was n't fun, as he learned in time,
To climb with feet not made to climb;
And twenty times he fell on his head,
But he would n't give it up, he said,
For nobody saw him in the dark.
So he clutched once more at the scraggy bark,
And just as the stars were growing dim,
He sat and swung on the topmost limb;
He was damp with sweat from foot to head;
“Why it 's wet enough up here,” he said,
“And I 've been nicely fooled, I see,
In thinking it dry to live in a tree.
Why what with the rain, and with the dews,
I shall have more water than I can use!”
And so he sat there, gay as a grig,
And saw the sun rise bright and big;
And when he caught the thrush's note,
He, too, began to tune his throat;
But his style of music seemed to sound
Even worse than it did on the ground;
So all the frightened birds took wing,
And he felt, himself, that it was n't the thing,
Though he said, “I don't believe what I 've heard
That a frog in a tree won't be a bird.”
But soon the sun rose higher and higher,
And froggy's back got drier and drier,
Till he thought perhaps it might be better,
If the place was just a little wetter;
But when he felt the mid-day glare,
He said “high life was a poor affair!”
No wings on his back were coming out,
He did n't feel even a feather sprout;
He could n't sing; and began to see
He was just a bull-frog up a tree;
But he feared the sneers of his friends in the bog,
For he was proud as any other frog;
And he knew, if they saw him coming down,
He would be the laugh and jest of the town.
So he waited there, while his poor dry back
Seemed burning up, and ready to crack;
His yellow sides looked pale and dim,
And his eyes with tears began to swim,
And he said, “You learn when you come to roam,
That nature is nature, and home is home.”
He was lying low and playing sly;
For he did not want the frogs about
To find his precious secret out:
But when they were all in the mud a-bed,
And the thrush in her wing had hid her head,
Then Mr. Bull his legs uncurled,
And began to take a start in the world.
'T was from the foot of the tree to hop,
But how was he to reach the top?
For it was n't fun, as he learned in time,
To climb with feet not made to climb;
And twenty times he fell on his head,
But he would n't give it up, he said,
For nobody saw him in the dark.
So he clutched once more at the scraggy bark,
And just as the stars were growing dim,
He sat and swung on the topmost limb;
He was damp with sweat from foot to head;
“Why it 's wet enough up here,” he said,
“And I 've been nicely fooled, I see,
In thinking it dry to live in a tree.
Why what with the rain, and with the dews,
I shall have more water than I can use!”
And so he sat there, gay as a grig,
And saw the sun rise bright and big;
And when he caught the thrush's note,
He, too, began to tune his throat;
But his style of music seemed to sound
Even worse than it did on the ground;
So all the frightened birds took wing,
And he felt, himself, that it was n't the thing,
Though he said, “I don't believe what I 've heard
That a frog in a tree won't be a bird.”
But soon the sun rose higher and higher,
And froggy's back got drier and drier,
Till he thought perhaps it might be better,
If the place was just a little wetter;
But when he felt the mid-day glare,
He said “high life was a poor affair!”
No wings on his back were coming out,
He did n't feel even a feather sprout;
He could n't sing; and began to see
He was just a bull-frog up a tree;
But he feared the sneers of his friends in the bog,
For he was proud as any other frog;
And he knew, if they saw him coming down,
He would be the laugh and jest of the town.
So he waited there, while his poor dry back
Seemed burning up, and ready to crack;
His yellow sides looked pale and dim,
And his eyes with tears began to swim,
And he said, “You learn when you come to roam,
That nature is nature, and home is home.”
And when at last the sun was gone,
And the shadows cool were stealing on,
With many a slow and feeble hop
He got himself away from the top;
He reached the trunk, and then with a bound
He landed safely on the ground,
And managed back to the spring to creep,
While all his friends were fast asleep.
Next morning, those who were sitting near,
Saw that he looked a little queer,
So they asked, hoping to have some fun,
Where he had been, and what he had done.
Now, though our hero scorned to lie,
He thought he had a right to be sly;
For, said he, if the fellows find me out,
I 'd better have been “up the spout.”
So he told them he 'd been very dry,
And, to own the truth, got rather high!
And the shadows cool were stealing on,
With many a slow and feeble hop
He got himself away from the top;
He reached the trunk, and then with a bound
He landed safely on the ground,
And managed back to the spring to creep,
While all his friends were fast asleep.
Next morning, those who were sitting near,
Saw that he looked a little queer,
So they asked, hoping to have some fun,
Where he had been, and what he had done.
Now, though our hero scorned to lie,
He thought he had a right to be sly;
For, said he, if the fellows find me out,
I 'd better have been “up the spout.”
So he told them he 'd been very dry,
And, to own the truth, got rather high!
Then all the frogs about the spring
Began at once this song to sing:
First high it rose, and then it sunk:—
“A frog-got-drunk-got-drunk-got-drunk—
We 'll-search-the-spring-for-his-whiskey-jug—
Ka-chee, ka-chi, ka-cho, ka-chug!”
And my story's true, as you may know,
For still the bull-frogs sing just so;
But that Mr. Bull was up a tree,
There 's nobody knows but himself and me.
Began at once this song to sing:
First high it rose, and then it sunk:—
425
We 'll-search-the-spring-for-his-whiskey-jug—
Ka-chee, ka-chi, ka-cho, ka-chug!”
And my story's true, as you may know,
For still the bull-frogs sing just so;
But that Mr. Bull was up a tree,
There 's nobody knows but himself and me.
THE HUNCHBACK.
If he walked he could not keep beside
The lads that were straight and well;
And yet, poor boy, how hard he tried,
There 's none of us can tell.
To get himself in trim for school
Was weary work, and slow;
And once his thoughtless brother said,
“You 're never ready, Joe!”
The lads that were straight and well;
And yet, poor boy, how hard he tried,
There 's none of us can tell.
To get himself in trim for school
Was weary work, and slow;
And once his thoughtless brother said,
“You 're never ready, Joe!”
He sat in the sun, against the wall,
When the rest were blithe and gay;
For he could not run and catch the ball
Nor join in the noisy play.
And first or last he would not share
In a quarrel or a fight;
But he was prompt enough to say,
“No, boys, it is n't right!”
When the rest were blithe and gay;
For he could not run and catch the ball
Nor join in the noisy play.
And first or last he would not share
In a quarrel or a fight;
But he was prompt enough to say,
“No, boys, it is n't right!”
And when a lad o'er a puzzling “sum”
Perplexed his head in doubt,
Poor little, patient, hunchbacked Joe,
Could always help him out.
And surely as the time came round
To read, define, and spell,
Poor little Joe was ready first,
And knew his lessons well.
Perplexed his head in doubt,
Poor little, patient, hunchbacked Joe,
Could always help him out.
And surely as the time came round
To read, define, and spell,
Poor little Joe was ready first,
And knew his lessons well.
And not a child in Sunday-school
Was half so quick as he,
To tell who blessed the children once
And took them on his knee.
And if you could but draw him out,
'T was good to hear him talk
Of Him who made the blind to see
And caused the lame to walk.
Was half so quick as he,
To tell who blessed the children once
And took them on his knee.
And if you could but draw him out,
'T was good to hear him talk
Of Him who made the blind to see
And caused the lame to walk.
When sick upon his bed he lay,
He uttered no complaint;
For scarce in patient gentleness
Was he behind a saint.
And when the summons came, that soon
Or late must come to all,
Poor little, happy, hunchbacked Joe,
Was ready for the call.
He uttered no complaint;
For scarce in patient gentleness
Was he behind a saint.
And when the summons came, that soon
Or late must come to all,
Poor little, happy, hunchbacked Joe,
Was ready for the call.
THE ENVIOUS WREN.
On the ground lived a hen,
In a tree lived a wren,
Who picked up her food here and there;
While biddy had wheat
And all nice things to eat.
Said the wren, I declare, 't is n't fair!”
In a tree lived a wren,
Who picked up her food here and there;
While biddy had wheat
And all nice things to eat.
Said the wren, I declare, 't is n't fair!”
“It is really too bad!”
She exclaimed—she was mad—
“To go out when it is raining this way!
And to earn what you eat,
Does n't make your food sweet,
In spite of what some folks may say.
She exclaimed—she was mad—
“To go out when it is raining this way!
And to earn what you eat,
Does n't make your food sweet,
In spite of what some folks may say.
“Now there is that hen,”
Said this cross little wren,
“She 's fed till she 's fat as a drum;
While I strive and sweat
For each bug that I get,
And nobody gives me a crumb.
Said this cross little wren,
“She 's fed till she 's fat as a drum;
While I strive and sweat
For each bug that I get,
And nobody gives me a crumb.
“I can't see for my life
Why the old farmer's wife
Treats her so much better than me;
Suppose on the ground
I hop carelessly round
For a while, and just see what I 'll see.”
Why the old farmer's wife
Treats her so much better than me;
Suppose on the ground
I hop carelessly round
For a while, and just see what I 'll see.”
Said this 'cute little wren,
“I 'll make friends with the hen,
And perhaps she will ask me to stay;
And then upon bread
Every day I 'd be fed,
And life would be nothing but play.”
“I 'll make friends with the hen,
And perhaps she will ask me to stay;
And then upon bread
Every day I 'd be fed,
And life would be nothing but play.”
So down flew the wren.
“Stop to tea,” said the hen;
And soon biddy's supper was sent;
But scarce stopping to taste,
The poor bird left in haste,
And this was the reason she went:
“Stop to tea,” said the hen;
And soon biddy's supper was sent;
But scarce stopping to taste,
The poor bird left in haste,
And this was the reason she went:
When the farmer's kind dame
To the poultry-yard came,
She said—and the wren shook with fright—
“Biddy's so fat she 'll do
For a pie or a stew.
And I guess I shall kill her to-night.”
To the poultry-yard came,
She said—and the wren shook with fright—
“Biddy's so fat she 'll do
For a pie or a stew.
And I guess I shall kill her to-night.”
426
THE HAPPY LITTLE WIFE.
“Now, Gudhand, have you sold the cow
You took this morn to town?
And did you get the silver groats
In your hand, paid safely down?
You took this morn to town?
And did you get the silver groats
In your hand, paid safely down?
“And yet I hardly need to ask;
You hardly need to tell;
For I see by the cheerful face you bring,
That you have done right well.”
You hardly need to tell;
For I see by the cheerful face you bring,
That you have done right well.”
“Well! I did not exactly sell her,
Nor give her away, of course;
But I 'll tell you what I did, good wife,
I swapped her for a horse.”
Nor give her away, of course;
But I 'll tell you what I did, good wife,
I swapped her for a horse.”
“A horse! Oh, Gudhand, you have done
Just what will please me best,
For now we can have a carriage,
And ride as well as the rest.”
Just what will please me best,
For now we can have a carriage,
And ride as well as the rest.”
“Nay, not so fast, my good dame,
We shall not want a gig:
I had not ridden half a mile
Till I swapped my horse for a pig.”
We shall not want a gig:
I had not ridden half a mile
Till I swapped my horse for a pig.”
“That 's just the thing,” she answered,
“I would have done myself:
We can have a flitch of bacon now
To put upon the shelf.
“I would have done myself:
We can have a flitch of bacon now
To put upon the shelf.
“And when our neighbors come to dine
With us, they 'll have a treat;
There is no need that we should ride,
But there is that we should eat.”
With us, they 'll have a treat;
There is no need that we should ride,
But there is that we should eat.”
“Alack! alack!” said Gudhand,
“I fear you 'll change your note,
When I tell you I have n't got the pig—
I swapped him for a goat.”
“I fear you 'll change your note,
When I tell you I have n't got the pig—
I swapped him for a goat.”
“Now, bless us!” cried the good wife,
“You manage things so well;
What I should ever do with a pig
I 'm sure I cannot tell.
“You manage things so well;
What I should ever do with a pig
I 'm sure I cannot tell.
“If I put my bacon on the shelf,
Or put it in the pot,
The folks would point at us and say
‘They eat up all they 've got!’
Or put it in the pot,
The folks would point at us and say
‘They eat up all they 've got!’
“But a good milch goat, ah! that 's the thing
I 've wanted all my life;
And now we 'll have both milk and cheese,”
Cried the happy little wife.
I 've wanted all my life;
And now we 'll have both milk and cheese,”
Cried the happy little wife.
“Nay, not so fast,” said Gudhand,
“You make too long a leap;
When I found I could n't drive my goat,
I swapped him for a sheep.”
“You make too long a leap;
When I found I could n't drive my goat,
I swapped him for a sheep.”
“A sheep, my dear! you must have tried
To suit me all the time;
'T would plague me so to have a goat,
Because the things will climb!
To suit me all the time;
'T would plague me so to have a goat,
Because the things will climb!
“But a sheep! the wool will make us clothes
To keep us from the cold;
Run out, my dear, this very night,
And build for him a fold.”
To keep us from the cold;
Run out, my dear, this very night,
And build for him a fold.”
“Nay, wife, it is n't me that cares
If he be penned or loosed:
I do not own the sheep at all,
I swapped him for a goose.”
If he be penned or loosed:
I do not own the sheep at all,
I swapped him for a goose.”
“There, Gudhand, I am so relieved;
It almost made me sick
To think that I should have the wool
To clip, and wash, and pick!
It almost made me sick
To think that I should have the wool
To clip, and wash, and pick!
“'T is cheaper, too, to buy our clothes,
Than make them up at home;
And I have n't got a spinning-wheel,
Nor got a carding-comb.
Than make them up at home;
And I have n't got a spinning-wheel,
Nor got a carding-comb.
“But a goose! I love the taste of goose,
When roasted nice and brown;
And then we want a feather bed,
And pillows stuffed with down.”
When roasted nice and brown;
And then we want a feather bed,
And pillows stuffed with down.”
“Now stop a bit,” cried Gudhand,
“Your tongue runs like a clock;
The goose is neither here nor there,
I swapped him for a cock.”
“Your tongue runs like a clock;
The goose is neither here nor there,
I swapped him for a cock.”
“Dear me, you manage everything
As I would have it done;
We 'll know now when to stir our stumps,
And rise before the sun.
As I would have it done;
We 'll know now when to stir our stumps,
And rise before the sun.
427
“A goose would be quite troublesome
For me to roast and stuff;
And then our pillows and our beds
You know, are soft enough.”
For me to roast and stuff;
And then our pillows and our beds
You know, are soft enough.”
“Well, soft or hard,” said Gudhand,
“I guess they 'll have to do;
And that we 'll have to wake at morn,
Without the crowing, too!
“I guess they 'll have to do;
And that we 'll have to wake at morn,
Without the crowing, too!
“For you know I could n't travel
All day with naught to eat;
So I took a shilling for my cock,
And bought myself some meat.”
All day with naught to eat;
So I took a shilling for my cock,
And bought myself some meat.”
“That was the wisest thing of all,”
Said the good wife, fond and true;
“You do just after my own heart,
Whatever thing you do.
Said the good wife, fond and true;
“You do just after my own heart,
Whatever thing you do.
“We do not want a cock to crow,
Nor want a clock to strike;
Thank God that we may lie in bed
As long now as we like!”
Nor want a clock to strike;
Thank God that we may lie in bed
As long now as we like!”
And then she took him by the beard
That fell about his throat,
And said, “While you are mine, I want
Nor goose, nor swine, nor goat!”
That fell about his throat,
And said, “While you are mine, I want
Nor goose, nor swine, nor goat!”
And so the wife kissed Gudhand,
And Gudhand kissed his wife;
And they promised to each other
To be all in all through life.
And Gudhand kissed his wife;
And they promised to each other
To be all in all through life.
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |