 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
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POEMS FOR CHILDREN.
FAINT PRAISE.
Our Tabby she is very wise,
And also very nice,
But I must say that I despise
Her way of eating mice:
For if I was a cat
I would n't do that!
And also very nice,
But I must say that I despise
Her way of eating mice:
For if I was a cat
I would n't do that!
She lies with head so low and meek
Between her paws of silk,
But then she has a thievish trick
Of lapping at the milk;
And if I was a cat
I would n't do that!
Between her paws of silk,
But then she has a thievish trick
Of lapping at the milk;
And if I was a cat
I would n't do that!
'T is well enough to know your strength;
But she abuses power,
And worries at a mouse the length
Sometimes of half an hour.
Now if I was a cat
I would n't do that!
But she abuses power,
And worries at a mouse the length
Sometimes of half an hour.
Now if I was a cat
I would n't do that!
Her coat is modest, sober gray,
Set off with jetty spots,
But then she has a sloven way
Of rubbing on the pots;
And if I was a cat
I would n't do that!
Set off with jetty spots,
But then she has a sloven way
Of rubbing on the pots;
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I would n't do that!
The fur is soft upon her breast
As froth upon the pail,
But then to match against the rest
She has an ugly tail;
And if I was a cat
I would n't have that!
As froth upon the pail,
But then to match against the rest
She has an ugly tail;
And if I was a cat
I would n't have that!
THREE MILLERS.
There once were three millers,
A long time ago,
And one was named Peter,
One John, and one Joe.
A long time ago,
And one was named Peter,
One John, and one Joe.
They all lived together,
And worked just as one,
But the mill was owned wholly
By Joseph and John.
And worked just as one,
But the mill was owned wholly
By Joseph and John.
“The world is before us—
Our way is to win,”
Said Peter, who owned but
The beard on his chin.
Our way is to win,”
Said Peter, who owned but
The beard on his chin.
“And I mean, for my part,
With God's help and grace,
To hold to my manhood,
And stick to my place.”
With God's help and grace,
To hold to my manhood,
And stick to my place.”
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The mill was a good mill,
And all the folks round,
Who were farmers, brought thither
Their grain to be ground.
And all the folks round,
Who were farmers, brought thither
Their grain to be ground.
So 't was not uncommon
To see at the door
Three carts and six oxen—
There sometimes were more.
To see at the door
Three carts and six oxen—
There sometimes were more.
And all through the autumn,
At night and at morn,
The mill-door was garnished
With bags full of corn,—
At night and at morn,
The mill-door was garnished
With bags full of corn,—
While bushels of millet,
Of rye, and of wheat,
Gave token of plenty,
To have and to eat.
Of rye, and of wheat,
Gave token of plenty,
To have and to eat.
But Joseph took all this
Good fortune for ill,
And sold out to Peter
His share in the mill.
Good fortune for ill,
And sold out to Peter
His share in the mill.
'T was slow work and weary
To grind for his bread;
He would go where the gold
Grew on bushes, he said.
To grind for his bread;
He would go where the gold
Grew on bushes, he said.
“You had better stay with us,”
Said Peter; but no,
“I will gather my gold from
The bushes,” says Joe.
Said Peter; but no,
“I will gather my gold from
The bushes,” says Joe.
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So Peter wrought on with
A resolute will,
Though there were by two hands
The less in the mill.
A resolute will,
Though there were by two hands
The less in the mill.
And still the mill prospered,
And all the folks said,
“These sturdy young fellows
Are getting ahead!”
And all the folks said,
“These sturdy young fellows
Are getting ahead!”
Then John fell a-moping,
And saying, “Don't care!”
And offered to sell out
To Peter his share.
And saying, “Don't care!”
And offered to sell out
To Peter his share.
“I hate the hard mill work,”
He says, “and will go
And gather my gold from
The bushes, with Joe!”
He says, “and will go
And gather my gold from
The bushes, with Joe!”
Then Peter, half angry,
Half sorrowful, said,
“Well, don't you come back here
A-begging for bread!”
Half sorrowful, said,
“Well, don't you come back here
A-begging for bread!”
“Not I!” answered John;
“I may come back to lend.”
But Peter said, “Work, sir,
Is best in the end!”
“I may come back to lend.”
But Peter said, “Work, sir,
Is best in the end!”
So John, after Joe, turned
His back on the mill,
And Peter wrought on
As before, with a will.
His back on the mill,
And Peter wrought on
As before, with a will.
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And when he was lonesome,
And when he was sad,
He would say that his work
Was the best friend he had.
And when he was sad,
He would say that his work
Was the best friend he had.
Some said he was foolish,
Some said he was wise;
Some thought of the bushes,
With tears in their eyes.
Some said he was wise;
Some thought of the bushes,
With tears in their eyes.
But when twenty years, like
The mill-wheel, had turned,
And a snug little fortune
Our Peter had earned,—
The mill-wheel, had turned,
And a snug little fortune
Our Peter had earned,—
All comers said, shaking
Him hard by the hand,
That there was n't a gold-bearing
Bush in the land!
Him hard by the hand,
That there was n't a gold-bearing
Bush in the land!
One night, when the wind blew
As hard as could be,
And a terrible moaning
Came up from the sea,—
As hard as could be,
And a terrible moaning
Came up from the sea,—
As he sat by the chimney,
And read the good Book,
There came such a knocking,
The door fairly shook.
And read the good Book,
There came such a knocking,
The door fairly shook.
Then straight little Peter
Got out of his bed—
The curls, bright as meal-dust,
All over his head,—
Got out of his bed—
The curls, bright as meal-dust,
All over his head,—
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And stood at his father's knee
Sucking his thumb,
With blue eyes wide open
To see who had come,—
Sucking his thumb,
With blue eyes wide open
To see who had come,—
While the mother upon the
Hot coals left her cake,
And opened the door wide
For charity's sake.
Hot coals left her cake,
And opened the door wide
For charity's sake.
Then spoke a low voice,
All a-tremble with fear,
“Can you tell if one Peter,
A miller, live near?
All a-tremble with fear,
“Can you tell if one Peter,
A miller, live near?
“We are poor men, half frozen,
And starving for bread.”
“My brothers!” cried Peter;
“Alive, and not dead!”
And starving for bread.”
“My brothers!” cried Peter;
“Alive, and not dead!”
For, wasted and hungry,
And coated with snow,
His loving eyes knew them
For John and for Joe.
And coated with snow,
His loving eyes knew them
For John and for Joe.
And the wife, all in tears,
Took her cake from the coals,
Smoking hot, saying, “Eat,
And be welcome, dear souls.”
Took her cake from the coals,
Smoking hot, saying, “Eat,
And be welcome, dear souls.”
Then Peter, one cheek to the
Bright little face
That was leaned to his own,
Asked a blessing of grace.
Bright little face
That was leaned to his own,
Asked a blessing of grace.
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And shamed the two who sat
At his feast, as they told
Of the long, fruitless search
For the bushes of gold;—
At his feast, as they told
Of the long, fruitless search
For the bushes of gold;—
Of the years they had wasted,
The hopes they had spent,
And come back a thousand
Times worse than they went!
The hopes they had spent,
And come back a thousand
Times worse than they went!
“Nay, brothers, take courage,”
Says Peter, at length;
“The weakness repented,
We turn into strength.
Says Peter, at length;
“The weakness repented,
We turn into strength.
“Ourselves, not our stars,
Make our fates, in the end,
And hence it is never
Too late to amend.”
Make our fates, in the end,
And hence it is never
Too late to amend.”
GRANDFATHER'S PICTURE.
“Why, here's grandfather! and the snow
A foot deep on the ground!
Still younger than the youngest of
His children, I'll be bound.
Rash, after nightfall, even for you,
To face out such a squall.
Now was n't it, dear grandfather?”
“Tut, tut! boy, not at all!”
A foot deep on the ground!
Still younger than the youngest of
His children, I'll be bound.
Rash, after nightfall, even for you,
To face out such a squall.
Now was n't it, dear grandfather?”
“Tut, tut! boy, not at all!”
“Why, when we kept your birthday last,
'T was Christmas, seems to me,
Nearly a year ago; and then
You passed for seventy-three!
The air is blind, and I should judge
That where the ground is flat,
The drifts are gathered two feet deep—”
“Ay, sir; and what of that?
'T was Christmas, seems to me,
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You passed for seventy-three!
The air is blind, and I should judge
That where the ground is flat,
The drifts are gathered two feet deep—”
“Ay, sir; and what of that?
“When I was young as you are now,
'T was just our dear delight
To take our guns and dogs, and tree
A bear on such a night!
I know once Johnny Horn and I—
You mind old Johnny Horn?”
“Oh, no; I 've heard you say he died
The year that I was born.”
'T was just our dear delight
To take our guns and dogs, and tree
A bear on such a night!
I know once Johnny Horn and I—
You mind old Johnny Horn?”
“Oh, no; I 've heard you say he died
The year that I was born.”
“Ay, ay; I have n't seen his face
These dozen years, I know—”
“These dozen years? I'm thirty-five!”
“Well, well, boy, let it go!
I meant to tell about the bear
We killed. But never mind:
Folks don't care any more, it seems,
To stop and look behind.”
These dozen years, I know—”
“These dozen years? I'm thirty-five!”
“Well, well, boy, let it go!
I meant to tell about the bear
We killed. But never mind:
Folks don't care any more, it seems,
To stop and look behind.”
“I do, you know, dear grandfather;
But here 's your chair,—sit down
And tell us what's the news at home;
Or have you been to town
With Uncle Sam, or Benjamin,
To see the sights?”—“Why, no!
Besides, sir, I could go alone,
If I should choose to go!
But here 's your chair,—sit down
And tell us what's the news at home;
Or have you been to town
With Uncle Sam, or Benjamin,
To see the sights?”—“Why, no!
Besides, sir, I could go alone,
If I should choose to go!
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“The town—what care I for the town?
They 've got no shows, I doubt,
Worth going after; none, at least,
That I can't do without.”
“But, grandfather, they've got that witch—
You know the one I mean?”
“Of Endor? Poh, poh! what is she
To witches I have seen!
They 've got no shows, I doubt,
Worth going after; none, at least,
That I can't do without.”
“But, grandfather, they've got that witch—
You know the one I mean?”
“Of Endor? Poh, poh! what is she
To witches I have seen!
“There was your grandmother—all tongues
Were ringing with her praise
The night she danced with me—you 've got
No dancers nowadays;
And there was Betsy Byar—a neck
As graceful as a swan;
And Mistress Motley—who was 't said
That she was dead and gone?”
Were ringing with her praise
The night she danced with me—you 've got
No dancers nowadays;
And there was Betsy Byar—a neck
As graceful as a swan;
And Mistress Motley—who was 't said
That she was dead and gone?”
“But, grandfather, about the shows!
They talk of four or five
New cherubs in the Academy,
That seem almost alive!”
“And what o' that? I'll venture now
That since the sun was down
I've seen as fine a picture
As the finest in the town.”
They talk of four or five
New cherubs in the Academy,
That seem almost alive!”
“And what o' that? I'll venture now
That since the sun was down
I've seen as fine a picture
As the finest in the town.”
“What was it, grandfather?”—“Why, this:
Upon my way to-night
I stopt at Benjamin's, to see
That everything was right.
And there, his little girl upon
His knee, sat Ben, and read,
His chin propt up above the page
Upon her golden head.
Upon my way to-night
I stopt at Benjamin's, to see
That everything was right.
And there, his little girl upon
His knee, sat Ben, and read,
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Upon her golden head.
“And upright in the cradle, all
As quiet as a lamb,
The baby, with his wide eyes toward
The shadow on the jamb;
While Jerry down among his books,
Along the floor lay flat,
One hand upon the open page,
And one upon the cat.
As quiet as a lamb,
The baby, with his wide eyes toward
The shadow on the jamb;
While Jerry down among his books,
Along the floor lay flat,
One hand upon the open page,
And one upon the cat.
“The logs were heapt, and on the hearth,
As bright as bright could be,
The teakettle was humming to
The tune of coming tea:
And wife and mother filled the while
The house with her repose—
The brown bands round her face like rings
Of bees about a rose.
As bright as bright could be,
The teakettle was humming to
The tune of coming tea:
And wife and mother filled the while
The house with her repose—
The brown bands round her face like rings
Of bees about a rose.
“It seemed to me the very clock
Perceived the scene was fair,
And counted off the minutes just
As slowly as she dare.
The moaning of the homeless wind,
The snowflakes, as they drove
In clouds across the panes, enhanced
The warmth, the light, the love.
Perceived the scene was fair,
And counted off the minutes just
As slowly as she dare.
The moaning of the homeless wind,
The snowflakes, as they drove
In clouds across the panes, enhanced
The warmth, the light, the love.
“A pretty story, to be sure,
If I must scour the land
For pictures, having such an one
A stone's throw from my hand!”
“I think you 're right, dear grandfather:
I have n't seen the one
That outshines this of yours—”—“What 's more,
You never will, my son!”
If I must scour the land
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A stone's throw from my hand!”
“I think you 're right, dear grandfather:
I have n't seen the one
That outshines this of yours—”—“What 's more,
You never will, my son!”
| Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |