Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton collected and arranged by H. Augusta Dodge |
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A PENCILED-SKETCH |
 | Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton |  |
173
A PENCILED-SKETCH
My dear, was it ever your fortune to pass
Through a green meadow, soft with the fresh springing grass?
I might call it emerald or some precious stone,
But well enough is always best let alone.
If a meadow is green, why not say so I pray,
As well as go off in some roundabout way—
‘Feathered-songster,’ or ‘warbler,’ or any such word,
Is not to my ear half so sweet as a bird;
But let this alone, we'll go back to the cows,
Who can't be expected forever to browse.
Through a green meadow, soft with the fresh springing grass?
I might call it emerald or some precious stone,
But well enough is always best let alone.
If a meadow is green, why not say so I pray,
As well as go off in some roundabout way—
‘Feathered-songster,’ or ‘warbler,’ or any such word,
Is not to my ear half so sweet as a bird;
But let this alone, we'll go back to the cows,
Who can't be expected forever to browse.
I was going to remark on their wonderful strength,
Their sinewy legs and their horns' winding length;
Yet so gentle and tender, the softest white hand
Unharmed may stroke their brown necks as they stand.
But if you should chance on the pond in your path,
When the gander is just going down to a bath,
With a party of geese, and their goslings behind—
Whose strength if united you scarcely would mind—
Ten to one but he makes a blind rush, hit or miss,
Expanding his soul in a terrible hiss,
Flutters out his broad wings, stretches out his long neck,
And threatens to perpetrate terrible things,
Till you grasp the long neck with its rufflings,
And take him to walk by your side nolens volens,
Which very soon quenches the flame of his ire,
And makes him exceedingly long to retire.
Their sinewy legs and their horns' winding length;
Yet so gentle and tender, the softest white hand
Unharmed may stroke their brown necks as they stand.
But if you should chance on the pond in your path,
When the gander is just going down to a bath,
With a party of geese, and their goslings behind—
Whose strength if united you scarcely would mind—
Ten to one but he makes a blind rush, hit or miss,
Expanding his soul in a terrible hiss,
Flutters out his broad wings, stretches out his long neck,
And threatens to perpetrate terrible things,
174
And take him to walk by your side nolens volens,
Which very soon quenches the flame of his ire,
And makes him exceedingly long to retire.
The more of this in your memory you keep,
Wrapped, fashion-phrase,—still waters run deep—
Or less elegant yet of a usage far wide
To be carefully shunned, though all talk (beside),
But unlike the great number of morals you see
That alone is for you, and the moral for me,
For I have a story, my dear, to relate
Which hardly can merit the epithet—great—
And, ergo, to make it more worthy your time,
I have taken precaution to dress it in rhyme,
Indulging the hope, I mean no offence,
To make up in sound what is wanting in sense.
Wrapped, fashion-phrase,—still waters run deep—
Or less elegant yet of a usage far wide
To be carefully shunned, though all talk (beside),
But unlike the great number of morals you see
That alone is for you, and the moral for me,
For I have a story, my dear, to relate
Which hardly can merit the epithet—great—
And, ergo, to make it more worthy your time,
I have taken precaution to dress it in rhyme,
Indulging the hope, I mean no offence,
To make up in sound what is wanting in sense.
| Chips, fragments and vestiges by Gail Hamilton | |