 | Early and late poems of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
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 | |