 | A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England |  |
325
EDWARD'S TRIAL.
A TRUE STORY.
A roguish elf is Ned, I ween,
Five blooming years the boy has seen,
Yet even now, his wily wit
Far older lips would well befit.
Five blooming years the boy has seen,
Yet even now, his wily wit
Far older lips would well befit.
One day, as by the door he stands,
He cries aloud, “My father comes!”
And clasps, in joy, his little hands;
“He's brought me home some sugar-plums!”
For dearly loves the petted boy
A sweetmeat, cake, or candied toy.
He cries aloud, “My father comes!”
And clasps, in joy, his little hands;
“He's brought me home some sugar-plums!”
For dearly loves the petted boy
A sweetmeat, cake, or candied toy.
The father entered,—put aside
His hat and coat with quiet care,
Then slow the packet's string untied,
And laid its tempting treasures bare;
With lips apart, th' impatient child,
Delighted, eyed the feast, and smiled!
His hat and coat with quiet care,
Then slow the packet's string untied,
And laid its tempting treasures bare;
With lips apart, th' impatient child,
Delighted, eyed the feast, and smiled!
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And now his sire selects a plum—
The largest there—with aspect bland;
On tiptoe, with expectance dumb,
Ned reached his ready, dimpled hand;
The largest there—with aspect bland;
On tiptoe, with expectance dumb,
Ned reached his ready, dimpled hand;
Mistaken boy!—slow rose the prize,
Till in his father's mouth it vanished!
And Ned beheld, with wondering eyes,
And felt his fond confiding banished.
Till in his father's mouth it vanished!
And Ned beheld, with wondering eyes,
And felt his fond confiding banished.
But wilder, wider still they grew—
Those cloudless eyes,—as one by one,
The sweets, in swift succession, flew
Where fled the first, till half were gone!
Those cloudless eyes,—as one by one,
The sweets, in swift succession, flew
Where fled the first, till half were gone!
Poor Ned had half a mind to cry,
And still another half to smile;
So, with a sweet philosophy,
He chose the happiest half the while,
And lifting up his pleasant eyes,
With glance demure, and sly, and wise,
And wrinkling his soft brow of snow,
Was not his self-command a virtue?)
Said, in a tone of comic woe,—
“Dear father! I'm afraid they'll hurt you!”
And still another half to smile;
So, with a sweet philosophy,
He chose the happiest half the while,
And lifting up his pleasant eyes,
With glance demure, and sly, and wise,
And wrinkling his soft brow of snow,
Was not his self-command a virtue?)
Said, in a tone of comic woe,—
“Dear father! I'm afraid they'll hurt you!”
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The father caught him to his breast,
And on his lips fond kisses prest,—
I'll warrant, Edward thought them sweet
As any plum he e'er did eat!
Yet whispered, with a smothered laugh,—
“Pray is it mine—the other half?”
“It is!”—'twas scarcely said before
The boy had seized the precious store,
And flew to find his sister Jane,
To share with her his well-earned gain.
And on his lips fond kisses prest,—
I'll warrant, Edward thought them sweet
As any plum he e'er did eat!
Yet whispered, with a smothered laugh,—
“Pray is it mine—the other half?”
“It is!”—'twas scarcely said before
The boy had seized the precious store,
And flew to find his sister Jane,
To share with her his well-earned gain.
Dear children, learn the moral,—Many a slip
May be between the sugar and the lip;
But he, the sugar never need to miss
Who bears his loss with temper sweet as this!
May be between the sugar and the lip;
But he, the sugar never need to miss
Who bears his loss with temper sweet as this!
| A Wreath of Wild Flowers From New England | |