 | [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary |  |
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POEMS FOR CHILDREN.
THE LITTLE BLACKSMITH.
We heard his hammer all day long
On the anvil ring and ring,
But he always came when the sun went down
To sit on the gate and sing.
On the anvil ring and ring,
But he always came when the sun went down
To sit on the gate and sing.
His little hands so hard and brown
Crossed idly on his knee,
And straw hat lopping over cheeks
As red as they could be;
Crossed idly on his knee,
And straw hat lopping over cheeks
As red as they could be;
His blue and faded jacket trimmed
With signs of work,—his feet
All bare and fair upon the grass,
He made a picture sweet.
With signs of work,—his feet
All bare and fair upon the grass,
He made a picture sweet.
For still his shoes, with iron shod,
On the smithy-wall he hung;
As forth he came when the sun went down,
And sat on the gate and sung.
On the smithy-wall he hung;
As forth he came when the sun went down,
And sat on the gate and sung.
The whistling rustic tending cows,
Would keep in pastures near,
And half the busy villagers
Lean from their doors to hear.
Would keep in pastures near,
And half the busy villagers
Lean from their doors to hear.
And from the time the bluebirds came
And made the hedges bright,
Until the stubble yellow grew,
He never missed a night.
And made the hedges bright,
Until the stubble yellow grew,
He never missed a night.
The hammer's stroke on the anvil filled
His heart with a happy ring,
And that was why, when the sun went down,
He came to the gate to sing.
His heart with a happy ring,
And that was why, when the sun went down,
He came to the gate to sing.
LITTLE CHILDREN.
Blessings, blessings on the beds
Whose white pillows softly bear,
Rows of little shining heads
That have never known a care.
Whose white pillows softly bear,
Rows of little shining heads
That have never known a care.
Pity for the heart that bleeds
In the homestead desolate
Where no little troubling needs
Make the weary working wait.
In the homestead desolate
Where no little troubling needs
Make the weary working wait.
Safely, safely to the fold
Bring them wheresoe'er they be,
Thou, who saidst of them, of old,
“Suffer them to come to me.”
Bring them wheresoe'er they be,
Thou, who saidst of them, of old,
“Suffer them to come to me.”
A CHRISTMAS STORY.
TO BE READ BY ALL WHO DEAL HARDLY WITH YOUNG CHILDREN.
PART I.
Up, Gregory! the cloudy east
Is bright with the break o' the day;
'T is time to yoke our cattle, and time
To eat our crust and away.
Up, out o' your bed! for the rosy red
Will soon be growing gray.
Is bright with the break o' the day;
'T is time to yoke our cattle, and time
To eat our crust and away.
Up, out o' your bed! for the rosy red
Will soon be growing gray.
Aye, straight to your feet, my lazy lad,
And button your jacket on—
Already neighbor Joe is afield,
And so is our neighbor John—
The golden light is turned to white,
And 't is time that we were gone!
And button your jacket on—
Already neighbor Joe is afield,
And so is our neighbor John—
The golden light is turned to white,
And 't is time that we were gone!
Nay, leave your shoes hung high and dry—
Do you fear a little sleet?
Your mother to-day is not by half
So dainty with her feet,
And I'll warrant you she had n't a shoe
At your age upon her feet!
Do you fear a little sleet?
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So dainty with her feet,
And I'll warrant you she had n't a shoe
At your age upon her feet!
What! shiv'ring on an April day?
Why this is pretty news!
The frosts before an hour will all
Be melted into dews,
And Christmas week will do, I think,
To talk about your shoes!
Why this is pretty news!
The frosts before an hour will all
Be melted into dews,
And Christmas week will do, I think,
To talk about your shoes!
Waiting to brew another cup
Of porridge? sure you 're mad—
One cup at your age, Gregory,
And precious small, I had.
We cannot bake the Christmas cake
At such a rate, my lad!
Of porridge? sure you 're mad—
One cup at your age, Gregory,
And precious small, I had.
We cannot bake the Christmas cake
At such a rate, my lad!
Out, out at once! and on with the yoke,
Your feet will never freeze!
The sun before we have done a stroke
Will be in the tops o' the trees.
A-Christmas Day you may eat and play
As much as ever you please!
Your feet will never freeze!
The sun before we have done a stroke
Will be in the tops o' the trees.
A-Christmas Day you may eat and play
As much as ever you please!
So out of the house, and into the sleet,
With his jacket open wide,
Went pale and patient Gregory—
All present joy denied—
And yoked his team like one in a dream,
Hungry and sleepy-eyed.
With his jacket open wide,
Went pale and patient Gregory—
All present joy denied—
And yoked his team like one in a dream,
Hungry and sleepy-eyed.
PART II.
It seemed to our little harvester
He could hear the shadows creep;
For the scythe lay idle in the grass,
And the reaper had ceased to reap.
'T was the burning noon of the leafy June,
And the birds were all asleep.
He could hear the shadows creep;
For the scythe lay idle in the grass,
And the reaper had ceased to reap.
'T was the burning noon of the leafy June,
And the birds were all asleep.
And he seemed to rather see than hear
The wind through the long leaves draw,
As he sat and notched the stops along
His pipe of hollow straw.
On Christmas Day he had planned to play
His tune without a flaw.
The wind through the long leaves draw,
As he sat and notched the stops along
His pipe of hollow straw.
On Christmas Day he had planned to play
His tune without a flaw.
Upon his sleeve the spider's web
Hung loose like points of lace,
And he looked like a picture painted there,
He was so full of grace.
For his cheeks they shone as if there had blown
Fresh roses in his face.
Hung loose like points of lace,
And he looked like a picture painted there,
He was so full of grace.
For his cheeks they shone as if there had blown
Fresh roses in his face.
Ah, never on his lady's arm
A lover's hand was laid
With touches soft as his upon
The flute that he had made,
As he bent his ear and watched to hear
The sweet, low tune he played.
A lover's hand was laid
With touches soft as his upon
The flute that he had made,
As he bent his ear and watched to hear
The sweet, low tune he played.
But all at once from out his cheek
The light o' the roses fled—
He had heard a coming step that crushed
The daisies 'neath its tread.
O happiness! thou art held by less
Than the spider's tiniest thread!
The light o' the roses fled—
He had heard a coming step that crushed
The daisies 'neath its tread.
O happiness! thou art held by less
Than the spider's tiniest thread!
A moment, and the old harsh call
Had broken his silver tune,
And with his sickle all as bright
And bent as the early moon,
He cut his way through the thick set hay
In the burning heat o' the June.
Had broken his silver tune,
And with his sickle all as bright
And bent as the early moon,
He cut his way through the thick set hay
In the burning heat o' the June.
As one who by a river stands,
Weary and worn and sad,
And sees the flowers the other side—
So was it with the lad.
There was Christmas light in his dream at night,
But a dream was all he had.
Weary and worn and sad,
And sees the flowers the other side—
So was it with the lad.
There was Christmas light in his dream at night,
But a dream was all he had.
Work, work in the light o' th' rosy morns,
Work, work in the dusky eves;
For now they must plough, and now they must plant,
And now they must bind the sheaves.
And far away was the holiday
All under the Christmas leaves.
Work, work in the dusky eves;
For now they must plough, and now they must plant,
And now they must bind the sheaves.
And far away was the holiday
All under the Christmas leaves.
For still it brought the same old cry,
If he would rest or play,
Some other week, or month, or year,
But not now—not to-day!
Nor feast, nor flower, for th' passing hour,
But all for the far away.
If he would rest or play,
Some other week, or month, or year,
But not now—not to-day!
Nor feast, nor flower, for th' passing hour,
But all for the far away.
PART III.
Now Christmas came, and Gregory
With the dawn was broad awake;
But there was the crumple cow to milk,
And there was the cheese to make;
And so it was noon ere he went to the town
To buy the Christmas cake.
With the dawn was broad awake;
But there was the crumple cow to milk,
And there was the cheese to make;
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To buy the Christmas cake.
“You'll leave your warm, new coat at home,
And keep it fresh and bright
To wear,” the careful old man said,
“When you come back to-night.”
“Aye,” answered the lad, for his heart was glad,
And he whistled out o' their sight.
And keep it fresh and bright
To wear,” the careful old man said,
“When you come back to-night.”
“Aye,” answered the lad, for his heart was glad,
And he whistled out o' their sight.
The frugal couple sat by the fire
And talked the hours away,
Turning over the years like leaves
To the friends of their wedding-day—
Saying who was wed, and who was dead,
And who was growing gray.
And talked the hours away,
Turning over the years like leaves
To the friends of their wedding-day—
Saying who was wed, and who was dead,
And who was growing gray.
And so at last the day went by,
As, somehow, all days will;
And when the evening winds began
To blow up wild and shrill,
They looked to see if their Gregory
Were coming across the hill.
As, somehow, all days will;
And when the evening winds began
To blow up wild and shrill,
They looked to see if their Gregory
Were coming across the hill.
They saw the snow-cloud on the sky,
With its rough and ragged edge,
And thought of the river running high,
And thought of the broken bridge;
But they did not see their Gregory
Keeping his morning's pledge!
With its rough and ragged edge,
And thought of the river running high,
And thought of the broken bridge;
But they did not see their Gregory
Keeping his morning's pledge!
The old wife rose, her fear to hide,
And set the house aright,
But oft she paused at the window side,
And looked out on the night.
The candles fine, they were all a-shine,
But they could not make it light.
And set the house aright,
But oft she paused at the window side,
And looked out on the night.
The candles fine, they were all a-shine,
But they could not make it light.
The very clock ticked mournfully,
And the cricket was not glad,
And to the old folks sitting alone,
The time was, oh! so sad;
For the Christmas light, it lacked that night
The cheeks of their little lad.
And the cricket was not glad,
And to the old folks sitting alone,
The time was, oh! so sad;
For the Christmas light, it lacked that night
The cheeks of their little lad.
The winds and the woods fall wrestling now,
And they cry, as the storm draws near,
“If Gregory were but home alive,
He should not work all this year!”
For they saw him dead in the river's bed,
Through the surges of their fear.
And they cry, as the storm draws near,
“If Gregory were but home alive,
He should not work all this year!”
For they saw him dead in the river's bed,
Through the surges of their fear.
Of ghosts that walk o' nights they tell—
A sorry Christmas theme—
And of signs and tokens in the air,
And of many a warning dream,
Till the bough at the pane through th' sleet and rain
Drags like a corpse in a stream.
A sorry Christmas theme—
And of signs and tokens in the air,
And of many a warning dream,
Till the bough at the pane through th' sleet and rain
Drags like a corpse in a stream.
There was the warm, new coat unworn,
And the flute of straw unplayed;
And these were dreadfuller than ghosts
To make their souls afraid,
As the years that were gone came one by one,
And their slights before them laid.
And the flute of straw unplayed;
And these were dreadfuller than ghosts
To make their souls afraid,
As the years that were gone came one by one,
And their slights before them laid.
The Easter days and the Christmas days
Bereft of their sweet employ,
And working and waiting through them all
Their little pale-eyed boy,
Looking away to the holiday
That should bring the promised joy.
Bereft of their sweet employ,
And working and waiting through them all
Their little pale-eyed boy,
Looking away to the holiday
That should bring the promised joy.
“God's mercy on us!” cried they both,
“We have been so blind and deaf;
And justly are our gray heads bowed
To the very grave with grief.”
But hark! is 't the rain that taps at the pane,
Or the fluttering, falling leaf?
“We have been so blind and deaf;
And justly are our gray heads bowed
To the very grave with grief.”
But hark! is 't the rain that taps at the pane,
Or the fluttering, falling leaf?
Nay, fluttering leaf, nor snow, nor rain,
However hard they strive,
Can make a sound so sweet and soft,
Like a bee's wing in the hive.
Joy! joy! oh joy! it is their boy!
Safe, home, in their arms alive!
However hard they strive,
Can make a sound so sweet and soft,
Like a bee's wing in the hive.
Joy! joy! oh joy! it is their boy!
Safe, home, in their arms alive!
Ah, never was there pair so rich
As they that night, I trow,
And never a lad in all the world
With a merrier pipe to blow,
Nor Christmas light that shone so bright
At midnight on the snow.
As they that night, I trow,
And never a lad in all the world
With a merrier pipe to blow,
Nor Christmas light that shone so bright
At midnight on the snow.
NOVEMBER.
The leaves are fading and falling,
The winds are rough and wild,
The birds have ceased their calling,
But let me tell you, my child,
The winds are rough and wild,
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But let me tell you, my child,
Though day by day, as it closes,
Doth darker and colder grow,
The roots of the bright red roses
Will keep alive in the snow.
Doth darker and colder grow,
The roots of the bright red roses
Will keep alive in the snow.
And when the winter is over,
The boughs will get new leaves,
The quail come back to the clover,
And the swallow back to the eaves.
The boughs will get new leaves,
The quail come back to the clover,
And the swallow back to the eaves.
The robin will wear on his bosom
A vest that is bright and new,
And the lovliest way-side blossom
Will shine with the sun and dew.
A vest that is bright and new,
And the lovliest way-side blossom
Will shine with the sun and dew.
The leaves to-day are whirling,
The brooks are all dry and dumb,
But let me tell you, my darling,
The spring will be sure to come.
The brooks are all dry and dumb,
But let me tell you, my darling,
The spring will be sure to come.
There must be rough, cold weather,
And winds and rains so wild;
Not all good things together
Come to us here, my child.
And winds and rains so wild;
Not all good things together
Come to us here, my child.
So, when some dear joy loses
Its beauteous summer glow,
Think how the roots of the roses
Are kept alive in the snow.
Its beauteous summer glow,
Think how the roots of the roses
Are kept alive in the snow.
MAKE-BELIEVE.
All upon a summer day,
Seven children, girls and boys,
Raking in the meadow hay,
Waked the echoes with their noise.
Seven children, girls and boys,
Raking in the meadow hay,
Waked the echoes with their noise.
You must know them by their names—
Fanny Field and Mary,
Benjamin and Susan James,
Joe and John M'Clary.
Fanny Field and Mary,
Benjamin and Susan James,
Joe and John M'Clary.
Then a child, so very small,
She was only come for play—
Little Miss Matilda May,
And you have them one and all.
She was only come for play—
Little Miss Matilda May,
And you have them one and all.
'T was a pretty sight to see—
Seven girls and boys together
Raking in the summer weather,
Merry as they well could be!
Seven girls and boys together
Raking in the summer weather,
Merry as they well could be!
But one lad that we must own
Many a lad has represented,
Doing well, was not contented
To let well enough alone!
Many a lad has represented,
Doing well, was not contented
To let well enough alone!
This was Master Benny James,
Brother, you will see, to Sue,
If you glance along the names
As I set them down for you.
Brother, you will see, to Sue,
If you glance along the names
As I set them down for you.
Out he spoke—this Benjamin—
Standing with his lazy back
Close against a fragrant stack.
Out and up he spoke, and then
Called with much ado and noise
All the seven girls and boys
From their raking in the hay—
Fanny Field and Mary,
Sister Sue and Tilly May,
Joe and John M'Clary.
Standing with his lazy back
Close against a fragrant stack.
Out and up he spoke, and then
Called with much ado and noise
All the seven girls and boys
From their raking in the hay—
Fanny Field and Mary,
Sister Sue and Tilly May,
Joe and John M'Clary.
Two by two, and one by one
Turned upon their work their backs,
And with skip, and hop, and run
In and out among the stacks,
Turned upon their work their backs,
And with skip, and hop, and run
In and out among the stacks,
Came with faces flushed and red
As the flowers along the glen,
And began to question Ben,
Who made answer back, and said—
Speaking out so very loud—
Holding up his head so proud,
As he leaned his lazy back
Close against the fragrant stack:
“Listen will you, girls and boys!
This is what I have to say—
I 've invented a new play!”
Then they cried with merry noise—
“Tell us all about it, Ben!”
And he answered—“First of all,
All we boys, or large or small,
Must pretend that we are men!
As the flowers along the glen,
And began to question Ben,
Who made answer back, and said—
Speaking out so very loud—
Holding up his head so proud,
As he leaned his lazy back
Close against the fragrant stack:
“Listen will you, girls and boys!
This is what I have to say—
I 've invented a new play!”
Then they cried with merry noise—
“Tell us all about it, Ben!”
And he answered—“First of all,
All we boys, or large or small,
Must pretend that we are men!
“And you girls, Fan, Sue, and Molly,
Must pretend that you 're birds,
And must chirp and sing your words—
Never was there play so jolly!
Must pretend that you 're birds,
And must chirp and sing your words—
Never was there play so jolly!
“I'm to be called Captain Gray,
And, of course, the rest of you
All must do as I shall say.”
Here he called his sister Sue,
Telling her she must be blue,
And must answer to her name
When the call of Bluebird came.
And, of course, the rest of you
All must do as I shall say.”
Here he called his sister Sue,
Telling her she must be blue,
And must answer to her name
When the call of Bluebird came.
Fanny Field must be a Jay,
And the rest—no matter what—
Anything that they were not!
Mary might be Tilly May,
And Matilda, as for her,
She might be a Grasshopper!
And the rest—no matter what—
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Mary might be Tilly May,
And Matilda, as for her,
She might be a Grasshopper!
All cried out, “Oh, what a play!”
Fanny Field and Mary,
Susy James and Tilly May,
Joe and John M'Clary.
Fanny Field and Mary,
Susy James and Tilly May,
Joe and John M'Clary.
Here Ben said he was not Ben
Any more, but Captain Gray!
And gave order first—“My men,
Forward! march! and rake the hay!”
Any more, but Captain Gray!
And gave order first—“My men,
Forward! march! and rake the hay!”
Then he told his sister Sue
She must go and do the same,
But, forgetting she was blue,
Called her by her proper name.
She must go and do the same,
But, forgetting she was blue,
Called her by her proper name.
Loud enough laughed Susan then,
And declared she would not say
Any longer Captain Gray,
But would only call him Ben!
And declared she would not say
Any longer Captain Gray,
But would only call him Ben!
This was such a dreadful falling
Ben got angry, and alas,
Made the matter worse, by calling
Little Tilly, Hoppergrass!
Ben got angry, and alas,
Made the matter worse, by calling
Little Tilly, Hoppergrass!
Fanny Field, he did make out
To call Jay-bird, once or twice,
And, in turn, she flew about,
Chirping very wild and nice.
To call Jay-bird, once or twice,
And, in turn, she flew about,
Chirping very wild and nice.
Once she tried to make a wing,
Holding wide her linsey gown,
And went flapping up and down,
Laughing so she couldn't sing.
Holding wide her linsey gown,
And went flapping up and down,
Laughing so she couldn't sing.
But the captain to obey
When he called her Tilly May,
Was too hard for Mary,
And Matilda—praise to her—
Could not play the grasshopper,
But in honesty of heart,
Quite forgetful of her part,
Spoke to John M'Clary!
When he called her Tilly May,
Was too hard for Mary,
And Matilda—praise to her—
Could not play the grasshopper,
But in honesty of heart,
Quite forgetful of her part,
Spoke to John M'Clary!
Thus the hay-making went on,
Very bad and very slow—
All the worse that Joe and John
Now were Mister John and Joe!
Very bad and very slow—
All the worse that Joe and John
Now were Mister John and Joe!
Work is work, and play is play,
And the two will not be one;
Therefore half the meadow-hay
Lay unraked at set of sun.
And the two will not be one;
Therefore half the meadow-hay
Lay unraked at set of sun.
Then the farmer who had hired
All the seven girls and boys,
Being out of heart, and tired
With no work and much of noise,
All the seven girls and boys,
Being out of heart, and tired
With no work and much of noise,
Came upon them all at once,
And made havoc of their play.
Calling Benjamin a dunce,
In the stead of Captain Gray!
And made havoc of their play.
Calling Benjamin a dunce,
In the stead of Captain Gray!
So to make excuse, in part,
For the unraked field of hay,
Tilly—bless her honest heart!
Up and told about the play.
For the unraked field of hay,
Tilly—bless her honest heart!
Up and told about the play.
How that Benny, discontented
With the work of raking hay,
Of his own head had invented
Such a pretty, pretty play!
With the work of raking hay,
Of his own head had invented
Such a pretty, pretty play!
“Benny calls it Make-believe!”
Tilly said, with cheeks aglow,
“Not at all, sir, to deceive,
But to make things fine, you know?”
Tilly said, with cheeks aglow,
“Not at all, sir, to deceive,
But to make things fine, you know?”
Then she said, that he might see
Just how charming it must be,
“Fanny Field, sir, is a jay,
And her sister Mary,
Is myself, Matilda May,
Joe and John M'Clary,
Mister Joe and Mister John—
Sue a bluebird and so on
Up to lofty Captain Gray.
Oh it is the funniest play!
Would n't you like to play it, sir?
I was just a grasshopper,
But I could n't play my part!
Hopping, I was sure to fall—
Somehow, 't was not in my heart,
But 't was very nice, for all!”
Just how charming it must be,
“Fanny Field, sir, is a jay,
And her sister Mary,
Is myself, Matilda May,
Joe and John M'Clary,
Mister Joe and Mister John—
Sue a bluebird and so on
Up to lofty Captain Gray.
Oh it is the funniest play!
Would n't you like to play it, sir?
I was just a grasshopper,
But I could n't play my part!
Hopping, I was sure to fall—
Somehow, 't was not in my heart,
But 't was very nice, for all!”
Looking in the farmer's eyes,
All a-tiptoe stood the child;
Half in kindliness he smiled,
Half in pitiful surprise.
All a-tiptoe stood the child;
Half in kindliness he smiled,
Half in pitiful surprise.
Then he said, “My little friends,”
Calling one by one their names,
Fanny Field and Mary,
Benjamin and Susan James,
Joe and John M'Clary,
And Matilda—“Life's great ends
Are not gained by make-believe.
This you all must learn at length,
Lies are weak and truth is strong,
And as much as you deceive,
Just so much you lose of strength—
Right is right, and wrong is wrong.
Calling one by one their names,
Fanny Field and Mary,
Benjamin and Susan James,
Joe and John M'Clary,
And Matilda—“Life's great ends
Are not gained by make-believe.
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Lies are weak and truth is strong,
And as much as you deceive,
Just so much you lose of strength—
Right is right, and wrong is wrong.
“If 't is hay you want to make,
Mind this, every one of you!
You must call a rake, a rake,
And must use it smartly, too.
Mind this, every one of you!
You must call a rake, a rake,
And must use it smartly, too.
“Oh, be honest through and through!
Cherish truth until it grows,
And through all your being shows
Like the sunshine in the dew!
Cherish truth until it grows,
And through all your being shows
Like the sunshine in the dew!
“Using power is getting power—
He that giveth seldom lacks,
Doing right, wrong done retrieves.”
Then the children turned their backs
On their foolish make-believes.
And in just a single hour
Filled the meadow full of stacks!
He that giveth seldom lacks,
Doing right, wrong done retrieves.”
Then the children turned their backs
On their foolish make-believes.
And in just a single hour
Filled the meadow full of stacks!
And as home they went that night,
Each and all had double pay
For the raking of that hay,
And the best pay was delight.
Each and all had double pay
For the raking of that hay,
And the best pay was delight.
And I think without a doubt,
If they lived they all became
Wiser women, wiser men
For the lesson learned that day
Simple-hearted Tilly May,
Fanny Field and Mary.
If they lived they all became
Wiser women, wiser men
For the lesson learned that day
Simple-hearted Tilly May,
Fanny Field and Mary.
Susan James and Benjamin,
Joe and John M'Clary,
Leaving in their lives the game
Of the make-believing out;
Yes, I think so, without doubt.
Joe and John M'Clary,
Leaving in their lives the game
Of the make-believing out;
Yes, I think so, without doubt.
A NUT HARD TO CRACK.
Says John to his mother, “Look here! look here!
For my brain is on the rack—
I have gotten a nut as smooth to the sight
As the shell of an egg, and as fair and white,
Except for a streak of black.
Why that should mar it I can't make clear.”
And Johnny's mother replied, “My dear,
Your nut will be hard to crack.”
For my brain is on the rack—
I have gotten a nut as smooth to the sight
As the shell of an egg, and as fair and white,
Except for a streak of black.
Why that should mar it I can't make clear.”
And Johnny's mother replied, “My dear,
Your nut will be hard to crack.”
John, calling louder, “Look here! look here!
I want to get on the track,
And trace the meaning, for never a nut
Had outside fairer than this one, but
For this ugly streak of black!
I can't for my life its use make clear.”
And Johnny's mother replied, “My dear,
Your nut will be hard to crack.”
I want to get on the track,
And trace the meaning, for never a nut
Had outside fairer than this one, but
For this ugly streak of black!
I can't for my life its use make clear.”
And Johnny's mother replied, “My dear,
Your nut will be hard to crack.”
Then John, indignant, “Look here! look here!
And he gave the hammer a thwack;
And there was the nut quite broke in two,
And all across it, and through and through,
The damaging streak of black!
“It grew with his growth,” he says, “that 's clear,
But why!” And his mother replied, “My dear,
That nut will be hard to crack.”
And he gave the hammer a thwack;
And there was the nut quite broke in two,
And all across it, and through and through,
The damaging streak of black!
“It grew with his growth,” he says, “that 's clear,
But why!” And his mother replied, “My dear,
That nut will be hard to crack.”
Then John, in anger, “Look here! look here!
You may have your wisdom back.
The nut is cracked—broke all to splint,
But it does n't give me even a hint
Toward showing why the black
Should spoil the else sweet meat.” “My dear,”
Says Johnny's mother, “it's very clear
Your nut will be hard to crack.
You may have your wisdom back.
The nut is cracked—broke all to splint,
But it does n't give me even a hint
Toward showing why the black
Should spoil the else sweet meat.” “My dear,”
Says Johnny's mother, “it's very clear
Your nut will be hard to crack.
“For, John, whichever way we steer,
There is evil on our track;
And whence it came, or how it fell,
No wisest man of all can tell.
We only know that black
Is mixed with white, and pain with bliss,
So all that I can say is this,
Your nut will be hard to crack.”
There is evil on our track;
And whence it came, or how it fell,
No wisest man of all can tell.
We only know that black
Is mixed with white, and pain with bliss,
So all that I can say is this,
Your nut will be hard to crack.”
HIDE AND SEEK.
As I sit and watch at the window-pane
The light in the sunset skies,
The pictures rise in my heart and brain,
As the stars do in the skies.
The light in the sunset skies,
The pictures rise in my heart and brain,
As the stars do in the skies.
Among the rest, doth rise and pass,
With the blue smoke curling o'er,
The house I was born in, with the grass
And roses round the door.
With the blue smoke curling o'er,
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And roses round the door.
I see the well-sweep, rough and brown,
And I hear the creaking tell
Of the bucket going up and down
On the stony sides of the well.
And I hear the creaking tell
Of the bucket going up and down
On the stony sides of the well.
I see the cows, by the water-side—
Red Lily, and Pink, and Star,—
And the oxen with their horns so wide,
Close locked in playful war.
Red Lily, and Pink, and Star,—
And the oxen with their horns so wide,
Close locked in playful war.
I see the field where the mowers stand
In the clover-flowers, knee-deep;
And the one with his head upon his hand,
In the locust-shade asleep.
In the clover-flowers, knee-deep;
And the one with his head upon his hand,
In the locust-shade asleep.
I see beneath his shady brim,
The heavy eyelids sealed,
And the mowers stopping to look at him,
As they mow across the field.
The heavy eyelids sealed,
And the mowers stopping to look at him,
As they mow across the field.
I hear the bluebird's twit-te-tweet!
And the robin's whistle blithe;
And then I see him spring to his feet,
And take up his shining scythe.
And the robin's whistle blithe;
And then I see him spring to his feet,
And take up his shining scythe.
I see the barn with the door swung out,—
Still dark with its mildew streak,—
And the stacks, and the bushes all about,
Where we played at Hide and Seek!
Still dark with its mildew streak,—
And the stacks, and the bushes all about,
Where we played at Hide and Seek!
I see and count the rafters o'er,
'Neath which the swallow sails,
And I see the sheaves on the threshing-floor,
And the threshers with the flails.
'Neath which the swallow sails,
And I see the sheaves on the threshing-floor,
And the threshers with the flails.
I hear the merry shout and laugh
Of the careless boys and girls,
As the wind-mill drops the golden chaff,
Like sunshine in their curls.
Of the careless boys and girls,
As the wind-mill drops the golden chaff,
Like sunshine in their curls.
The shadow of all the years that stand
'Twixt me and my childhood's day,
I strip like a glove from off my hand,
And am there with the rest at play.
'Twixt me and my childhood's day,
I strip like a glove from off my hand,
And am there with the rest at play.
Out there, half hid in its leafy screen,
I can see a rose-red cheek,
And up in the hay-mow I catch the sheen
Of the darling head I seek.
I can see a rose-red cheek,
And up in the hay-mow I catch the sheen
Of the darling head I seek.
Just where that whoop was smothered low,
I have seen the branches stir;
It is there that Margaret hides, I know,
And away I chase for her!
I have seen the branches stir;
It is there that Margaret hides, I know,
And away I chase for her!
And now with curls that toss so wide
They shade his eyes like a brim,
Runs Dick for a safer place to hide,
And I turn and chase for him!
They shade his eyes like a brim,
Runs Dick for a safer place to hide,
And I turn and chase for him!
And rounding close by the jutting stack,
Where it hangs in a rustling sheet,
In spite of the body that presses back,
I espy two tell-tale feet!
Where it hangs in a rustling sheet,
In spite of the body that presses back,
I espy two tell-tale feet!
Now all at once with a reckless shout,
Alphonse from his covert springs,
And whizzes by, with his elbows out,
Like a pair of sturdy wings.
Alphonse from his covert springs,
And whizzes by, with his elbows out,
Like a pair of sturdy wings.
Then Charley leaps from the cattle-rack,
And spins at so wild a pace,
The grass seems fairly swimming back
As he shouts, “I am home! Base! Base!”
And spins at so wild a pace,
The grass seems fairly swimming back
As he shouts, “I am home! Base! Base!”
While modest Mary, shy as a nun,
Keeps close by the grape-vine wall,
And waits, and waits, till our game is done,
And never is found at all.
Keeps close by the grape-vine wall,
And waits, and waits, till our game is done,
And never is found at all.
But suddenly, at my crimson pane,
The lights grow dim and die,
And the pictures fade from heart and brain,
As the stars do from the sky.
The lights grow dim and die,
And the pictures fade from heart and brain,
As the stars do from the sky.
The bundles slide from the threshing-floor,
And the mill no longer whirls,
And I find my playmates now no more
By their shining cheeks and curls.
And the mill no longer whirls,
And I find my playmates now no more
By their shining cheeks and curls.
I call them far, and I call them wide,
From the prairie, and over the sea,
“Oh why do you tarry, and where do you hide?”
But they may not answer me.
From the prairie, and over the sea,
“Oh why do you tarry, and where do you hide?”
But they may not answer me.
God grant that when the sunset sky
Of my life shall cease to glow,
I may find them waiting me on high,
As I waited them below.
Of my life shall cease to glow,
I may find them waiting me on high,
As I waited them below.
261
THREE BUGS.
Three little bugs in a basket,
And hardly room for two!
And one was yellow, and one was black,
And one like me, or you.
The space was small, no doubt, for all;
But what should three bugs do?
And hardly room for two!
And one was yellow, and one was black,
And one like me, or you.
The space was small, no doubt, for all;
But what should three bugs do?
Three little bugs in a basket,
And hardly crumbs for two;
And all were selfish in their hearts,
The same as I or you:
So the strong ones said, “We will eat the bread,
And that is what we'll do.”
And hardly crumbs for two;
And all were selfish in their hearts,
The same as I or you:
So the strong ones said, “We will eat the bread,
And that is what we'll do.”
Three little bugs in a basket,
And the beds but two would hold;
So they all three fell to quarreling—
The white, and black, and the gold;
And two of the bugs got under the rugs,
And one was out in the cold!
And the beds but two would hold;
So they all three fell to quarreling—
The white, and black, and the gold;
And two of the bugs got under the rugs,
And one was out in the cold!
So he that was left in the basket,
Without a crumb to chew,
Or a thread to wrap himself withal,
When the wind across him blew,
Pulled one of the rugs from one of the bugs,
And so the quarrel grew!
Without a crumb to chew,
Or a thread to wrap himself withal,
When the wind across him blew,
Pulled one of the rugs from one of the bugs,
And so the quarrel grew!
And so there was war in the basket,
Ah, pity, 't is, 't is true!
But he that was frozen and starved at last,
A strength from his weakness drew,
And pulled the rugs from both of the bugs,
And killed and ate them, too!
Ah, pity, 't is, 't is true!
But he that was frozen and starved at last,
A strength from his weakness drew,
And pulled the rugs from both of the bugs,
And killed and ate them, too!
Now, when bugs live in a basket,
Though more than it well can hold,
It seems to me they had better agree—
The white, and the black, and the gold—
And share what comes of the beds and crumbs,
And leave no bug in the cold!
Though more than it well can hold,
It seems to me they had better agree—
The white, and the black, and the gold—
And share what comes of the beds and crumbs,
And leave no bug in the cold!
WAITING FOR SOMETHING TO TURN UP.
“And why do you throw down your hoe by the way
As if that furrow were done?”
It was the good farmer, Bartholomew Grey,
That spoke on this wise to his son.
As if that furrow were done?”
It was the good farmer, Bartholomew Grey,
That spoke on this wise to his son.
Now Barty, the younger, was not very bad,
But he did n't take kindly to work,
And the father had oftentimes said of the lad
That the thing he did best was to shirk!
But he did n't take kindly to work,
And the father had oftentimes said of the lad
That the thing he did best was to shirk!
It was early in May, and a beautiful morn—
The rosebuds tipt softly with red—
The pea putting on her white bloom, and the corn
Being just gotten up out of bed.
The rosebuds tipt softly with red—
The pea putting on her white bloom, and the corn
Being just gotten up out of bed.
And after the first little break of the day
Had broadened itself on the blue,
The provident farmer, Bartholomew Grey,
Had driven afield through the dew.
Had broadened itself on the blue,
The provident farmer, Bartholomew Grey,
Had driven afield through the dew.
His brown mare, Fair Fanny, in collar and harness
Went before him, so sturdy and stout,
And ere the sun's fire yet had kindled to flames,
They had furrowed the field twice about.
Went before him, so sturdy and stout,
And ere the sun's fire yet had kindled to flames,
They had furrowed the field twice about.
And still as they came to the southerly slope
He reined in Fair Fanny, with Whoa!
And gazed toward the homestead, and gazed, in the hope
Of seeing young Barty—but no!
He reined in Fair Fanny, with Whoa!
And gazed toward the homestead, and gazed, in the hope
Of seeing young Barty—but no!
“Asleep yet?” he said —“in a minute the horn
That shall call to the breakfast, will sound,
And all these long rows of the tender young corn
Left choking, and ploughed in the ground!”
That shall call to the breakfast, will sound,
And all these long rows of the tender young corn
Left choking, and ploughed in the ground!”
Now this was the work, which the farmer had planned
For Barty—a task kindly meant,
To follow the plough, with the hoe in his hand,
And to set up the stalks as he went.
For Barty—a task kindly meant,
To follow the plough, with the hoe in his hand,
And to set up the stalks as he went.
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But not till the minutes to hours had run,
And the heat was aglow far and wide,
Did he see his slow-footed and sleepy-eyed son
A-dragging his hoe by his side.
And the heat was aglow far and wide,
Did he see his slow-footed and sleepy-eyed son
A-dragging his hoe by his side.
Midway of the corn field he stopped, gaped around;
“What use is there working?” says he,
And saying so, threw himself flat on the ground
In the shade of a wide-spreading tree.
“What use is there working?” says he,
And saying so, threw himself flat on the ground
In the shade of a wide-spreading tree.
And this was the time that Bartholomew Grey,
Fearing bad things might come to the worst,
Drew rein on Fair Fanny, the sweat wiped away.
And spoke as we quoted at first.
Fearing bad things might come to the worst,
Drew rein on Fair Fanny, the sweat wiped away.
And spoke as we quoted at first.
He had thought to have given the lad such a start
As would bring him at once to his feet,
And he stood in the furrow, amazed, as young Bart.
Lying lazy, and smiling so sweet,
As would bring him at once to his feet,
And he stood in the furrow, amazed, as young Bart.
Lying lazy, and smiling so sweet,
Replied—“The world owes me a living, you see,
And something, or sooner or late,
I'm certain as can be, will turn up for me,
And I am contented to wait!”
And something, or sooner or late,
I'm certain as can be, will turn up for me,
And I am contented to wait!”
“My son,” says the farmer, “take this to your heart.
For to live in the world is to learn,
The good things that turn up are for the most part
The things we ourselves help to turn!
For to live in the world is to learn,
The good things that turn up are for the most part
The things we ourselves help to turn!
“So boy, if you want to be sure of your bread
Ere the good time of working is gone,
Brush the cobwebs of nonsense all out of your head.
And take up your hoe, and move on!”
Ere the good time of working is gone,
Brush the cobwebs of nonsense all out of your head.
And take up your hoe, and move on!”
SUPPOSE.
How dreary would the meadows be
In the pleasant summer light,
Suppose there was n't a bird to sing.
And suppose the grass was white!
In the pleasant summer light,
Suppose there was n't a bird to sing.
And suppose the grass was white!
And dreary would the garden be,
With all its flowery trees,
Suppose there were no butterflies,
And suppose there were no bees.
With all its flowery trees,
Suppose there were no butterflies,
And suppose there were no bees.
And what would all the beauty be,
And what the song that cheers,
Suppose we had n't any eyes,
And suppose we had n't ears?
And what the song that cheers,
Suppose we had n't any eyes,
And suppose we had n't ears?
For though the grass were gay and green,
And song-birds filled the glen,
And the air were purple with butterflies,
What good would they do us then?
And song-birds filled the glen,
And the air were purple with butterflies,
What good would they do us then?
Ah, think of it, my little friends;
And when some pleasure flies,
Why, let it go, and still be glad
That you have your ears and eyes.
And when some pleasure flies,
Why, let it go, and still be glad
That you have your ears and eyes.
A GOOD RULE.
A farmer, who owned a fine orchard, one day
Went out with his sons to take a survey,
The time of the year being April or May.
Went out with his sons to take a survey,
The time of the year being April or May.
The buds were beginning to break into bloom,
The air all about him was rich with perfume,
And nothing, at first, waked a feeling of gloom.
The air all about him was rich with perfume,
And nothing, at first, waked a feeling of gloom.
But all at once, going from this place to that,
He shaded his eyes with the brim of his hat,
Saying, “Here is a tree dying out, that is flat!”
He shaded his eyes with the brim of his hat,
Saying, “Here is a tree dying out, that is flat!”
He called his sons, Joseph and John, and said he,
“This sweeting, you know, was my favorite tree—
Just look at the top now, and see what you see!
“This sweeting, you know, was my favorite tree—
Just look at the top now, and see what you see!
“The blossoms are blighted, and, sure as you live,
It won't have a bushel of apples to give!
What ails it? the rest of the trees seem to thrive.
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What ails it? the rest of the trees seem to thrive.
“Run, boys, bring hither your tools, and don't stop,
But take every branch that is falling alop,
And saw it out quickly, from bottom to top!”
But take every branch that is falling alop,
And saw it out quickly, from bottom to top!”
“Yes, father,” they said, and away they both ran—
For they always said father, and never old man,
And for my part I don't see how good children can.
For they always said father, and never old man,
And for my part I don't see how good children can.
And before a half hour of the morning was gone.
They were back in the orchard, both Joseph and John,
And presently all the dead branches were sawn.
They were back in the orchard, both Joseph and John,
And presently all the dead branches were sawn.
“Well, boys,” said the farmer, “I think, for my share,
If the rain and the sunshine but second our care,
The old sweeting yet will be driven to bear!”
If the rain and the sunshine but second our care,
The old sweeting yet will be driven to bear!”
And so when a month, may be more, had gone by,
And borne out the June, and brought in the July,
He came back the luck of the pruning to try.
And borne out the June, and brought in the July,
He came back the luck of the pruning to try.
And lo! when the sweeting was reached, it was found
That windfalls enough were strewn over the ground,
But never an apple all blushing and sound.
That windfalls enough were strewn over the ground,
But never an apple all blushing and sound.
Then the farmer said, shaping his motions to suit,
First up to the boughs and then down to the fruit,
“Come Johnny, come Joseph, and dig to the root!”
First up to the boughs and then down to the fruit,
“Come Johnny, come Joseph, and dig to the root!”
And straightway they came with their spades and their hoes,
And threw off their jackets, and shouting, “Here goes!”
They digged down and down with the sturdiest blows.
And threw off their jackets, and shouting, “Here goes!”
They digged down and down with the sturdiest blows.
And, by and by, Joseph his grubbing-hoe drew
From the earth and the roots, crying. “Father, look! do!”
And he pointed his words with the toe of his shoe!
From the earth and the roots, crying. “Father, look! do!”
And he pointed his words with the toe of his shoe!
And the farmer said, shaping a gesture to suit,
“I see why our sweeting has brought us no fruit—
There 's a worm sucking out all the sap at the root!”
“I see why our sweeting has brought us no fruit—
There 's a worm sucking out all the sap at the root!”
Then John took his spade with an awful grimace,
And lifted the ugly thing out of its place,
And put the loose earth back in very short space.
And lifted the ugly thing out of its place,
And put the loose earth back in very short space.
And when the next year came, it only is fair
To say, that the sweeting rewarded the care,
And bore them good apples, enough and to spare.
To say, that the sweeting rewarded the care,
And bore them good apples, enough and to spare.
And now, my dear children, whenever you see
A life that is profitless, think of that tree;
For ten chances to one, you'll find there will be
A life that is profitless, think of that tree;
For ten chances to one, you'll find there will be
Some habit of evil indulged day by day,
And hid as the earth-worm was hid in the clay,
That is steadily sapping the life-blood away.
And hid as the earth-worm was hid in the clay,
That is steadily sapping the life-blood away.
The fruit, when the blossom is blighted, will fall;
The sin will be searched out, no matter how small;
So, what you 're ashamed to do, don't do at all.
The sin will be searched out, no matter how small;
So, what you 're ashamed to do, don't do at all.
TO MOTHER FAIRIE.
Good old mother Fairie,
Sitting by your fire,
Have you any little folk
You would like to hire?
Sitting by your fire,
Have you any little folk
You would like to hire?
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I want no chubby drudges
To milk, and churn, and spin,
Nor old and wrinkled Brownies,
With grisly beards, and thin:
To milk, and churn, and spin,
Nor old and wrinkled Brownies,
With grisly beards, and thin:
But patient little people,
With hands of busy care,
And gentle speech, and loving hearts;
Say, have you such to spare?
With hands of busy care,
And gentle speech, and loving hearts;
Say, have you such to spare?
I know a poor, pale body,
Who cannot sleep at night,
And I want the little people
To keep her chamber bright;
Who cannot sleep at night,
And I want the little people
To keep her chamber bright;
To chase away the shadows
That make her moan and weep,
To sing her loving lullabies,
And kiss her eyes asleep.
That make her moan and weep,
To sing her loving lullabies,
And kiss her eyes asleep.
And when in dreams she reaches
For pleasures dead and gone,
To hold her wasted fingers,
And make the rings stay on.
For pleasures dead and gone,
To hold her wasted fingers,
And make the rings stay on.
They must be very cunning
To make the future shine
Like leaves, and flowers, and strawberries,
A-growing on one vine.
To make the future shine
Like leaves, and flowers, and strawberries,
A-growing on one vine.
Good old mother Fairie,
Since my need you know,
Tell me, have you any folk
Wise enough to go?
Since my need you know,
Tell me, have you any folk
Wise enough to go?
BARBARA BLUE.
There was an old woman
Named Barbara Blue,
But not the old woman
Who lived in a shoe,
And did n't know what
With her children to do.
Named Barbara Blue,
But not the old woman
Who lived in a shoe,
And did n't know what
With her children to do.
For she that I tell of
Lived all alone.
A miserly creature
As ever was known.
And had never a chick
Or child of her own.
Lived all alone.
A miserly creature
As ever was known.
And had never a chick
Or child of her own.
She kept very still,
Some said she was meek;
Others said she was only
Too stingy to speak;
That her little dog fed
On one bone for a week!
Some said she was meek;
Others said she was only
Too stingy to speak;
That her little dog fed
On one bone for a week!
She made apple-pies,
And she made them so tart
That the mouths of the children
Who ate them would smart;
And these she went peddling
About in a cart.
And she made them so tart
That the mouths of the children
Who ate them would smart;
And these she went peddling
About in a cart.
One day, on her travels,
She happened to meet
A farmer, who said
He had apples so sweet
That all the town's-people
Would have them to eat.
She happened to meet
A farmer, who said
He had apples so sweet
That all the town's-people
Would have them to eat.
“And how do you sell them?”
Says Barbara Blue.
“Why, if you want only
A bushel or two,”
Says the farmer, “I don't mind
To give them to you.”
Says Barbara Blue.
“Why, if you want only
A bushel or two,”
Says the farmer, “I don't mind
To give them to you.”
“What! give me a bushel?”
Cries Barbara Blue,
“A bushel of apples,
And sweet apples, too!”
“Be sure,” says the farmer,
“Be sure, ma'am, I do.”
Cries Barbara Blue,
“A bushel of apples,
And sweet apples, too!”
“Be sure,” says the farmer,
“Be sure, ma'am, I do.”
And then he said if she
Would give him a tart
(She had a great basket full
There in her cart),
He would show her the orchard,
And then they would part.
Would give him a tart
(She had a great basket full
There in her cart),
He would show her the orchard,
And then they would part.
So she picked out a little one,
Burnt at the top,
And held it a moment,
And then let it drop,
And then said she had n't
A moment to stop,
And drove her old horse
Away, hippity hop!
Burnt at the top,
And held it a moment,
And then let it drop,
And then said she had n't
A moment to stop,
And drove her old horse
Away, hippity hop!
One night when the air was
All blind with the snow,
Dame Barbara, driving
So soft and so slow
That the farmer her whereabouts
Never would know,
All blind with the snow,
Dame Barbara, driving
So soft and so slow
That the farmer her whereabouts
Never would know,
Went after the apples;
And avarice grew
When she saw their red coats,
Till, before she was through,
She took twenty bushels,
Instead of the two!
And avarice grew
When she saw their red coats,
Till, before she was through,
265
Instead of the two!
She filled the cart full,
And she heaped it a-top,
And if just an apple
Fell off, she would stop,
And then drive ahead again,
Hippity hop!
And she heaped it a-top,
And if just an apple
Fell off, she would stop,
And then drive ahead again,
Hippity hop!
Her horse now would stumble,
And now he would fall,
And where the high river-bank
Sloped like a wall,
Sheer down, they went over it,
Apples and all!
And now he would fall,
And where the high river-bank
Sloped like a wall,
Sheer down, they went over it,
Apples and all!
TAKE CARE.
Little children, you must seek
Rather to be good than wise,
For the thoughts you do not speak
Shine out in your cheeks and eyes.
Rather to be good than wise,
For the thoughts you do not speak
Shine out in your cheeks and eyes.
If you think that you can be
Cross or cruel, and look fair,
Let me tell you how to see
You are quite mistaken there.
Cross or cruel, and look fair,
Let me tell you how to see
You are quite mistaken there.
Go and stand before the glass,
And some ugly thought contrive,
And my word will come to pass
Just as sure as you 're alive!
And some ugly thought contrive,
And my word will come to pass
Just as sure as you 're alive!
What you have, and what you lack,
All the same as what you wear,
You will see reflected back;
So, my little folks, take care!
All the same as what you wear,
You will see reflected back;
So, my little folks, take care!
And not only in the glass
Will your secrets come to view;
All beholders, as they pass,
Will perceive and know them too.
Will your secrets come to view;
All beholders, as they pass,
Will perceive and know them too.
Goodness shows in blushes bright,
Or in eyelids dropping down,
Like a violet from the light;
Badness, in a sneer or frown.
Or in eyelids dropping down,
Like a violet from the light;
Badness, in a sneer or frown.
Out of sight, my boys and girls,
Every root of beauty starts;
So think less about your curls,
More about your minds and hearts.
Every root of beauty starts;
So think less about your curls,
More about your minds and hearts.
Cherish what is good, and drive
Evil thoughts and feelings far;
For, as sure as you 're alive,
You will show for what you are.
Evil thoughts and feelings far;
For, as sure as you 're alive,
You will show for what you are.
THE GRATEFUL SWAN.
One day, a poor peddler,
Who carried a pack,
Felt something come
Flippity-flop on his back.
Who carried a pack,
Felt something come
Flippity-flop on his back.
He looked east and west,
He turned white, he turned red,
Then bent his back lower,
And traveled ahead.
He turned white, he turned red,
Then bent his back lower,
And traveled ahead.
The sun was gone down
When he entered his door,
And loosened the straps
From his shoulders once more.
When he entered his door,
And loosened the straps
From his shoulders once more.
Then up sprang his wife,
Crying, “Bless your heart, John,
Here, sitting atop of your pack,
Is a swan.
Crying, “Bless your heart, John,
Here, sitting atop of your pack,
Is a swan.
“A wing like a lily,
A beak like a rose;
Now good luck go with her
Wherever she goes!”
A beak like a rose;
Now good luck go with her
Wherever she goes!”
“Dear me!” cried the peddler,
“What fullness of crop!
No wonder I felt her
Come flippity-flop!
“What fullness of crop!
No wonder I felt her
Come flippity-flop!
“I'll bet you, good wife,
All the weight of my pack,
I've carried that bird
For ten miles on my back!”
All the weight of my pack,
I've carried that bird
For ten miles on my back!”
“Perhaps,” the wife answered,
“She'll lay a gold egg
To pay you; but, bless me!
She 's broken a leg.”
“She'll lay a gold egg
To pay you; but, bless me!
She 's broken a leg.”
Then went to the cupboard,
And brought from the shelf
A part of the supper
She 'd meant for herself.
And brought from the shelf
A part of the supper
She 'd meant for herself.
Of course two such nurses
Effected a cure;
One leg stiff, but better
Than none, to be sure!
Effected a cure;
One leg stiff, but better
Than none, to be sure!
“No wonder,” says John,
As she stood there a-lop,
“That I should have felt her
Come flippity-flop!”
As she stood there a-lop,
266
Come flippity-flop!”
Then straight to his pack
For a bandage he ran,
While Jannet, the good wife,
To splints broke her fan;
For a bandage he ran,
While Jannet, the good wife,
To splints broke her fan;
And, thinking no longer
About the gold egg,
All tenderly held her
And bound up the leg;
About the gold egg,
All tenderly held her
And bound up the leg;
All summer they lived
Thus together—the swan,
And peddler and peddler's wife
Jannet and John.
Thus together—the swan,
And peddler and peddler's wife
Jannet and John.
At length, when the leaves
In the garden grew brown,
The bird came one day
With her head hanging down;
In the garden grew brown,
The bird came one day
With her head hanging down;
And told her kind master
And mistress so dear,
She was going to leave them
Perhaps for a year.
And mistress so dear,
She was going to leave them
Perhaps for a year.
“What mean you?” cried Jannet,
“What mean you?” cried John.
“You will see, if I ever
Come back,” said the swan.
“What mean you?” cried John.
“You will see, if I ever
Come back,” said the swan.
And so, with the tears
Rolling down, drip-a-drop,
She lifted her snowy wings,
Flippity-flop!
Rolling down, drip-a-drop,
She lifted her snowy wings,
Flippity-flop!
And sailed away, stretching
Her legs and her neck,
Till all they could see
Was a little white speck.
Her legs and her neck,
Till all they could see
Was a little white speck.
Then Jannet said, turning
Her eyes upon John,
But speaking, no doubt,
Of the bird that was gone:
Her eyes upon John,
But speaking, no doubt,
Of the bird that was gone:
“A wing like a lily,
A beak like a rose;
And good luck go with her
Wherever she goes!”
A beak like a rose;
And good luck go with her
Wherever she goes!”
The winter was weary,
But vanished at last,
As all winters will do;
And when it was past,
But vanished at last,
As all winters will do;
And when it was past,
And doffies beginning
To show their bright heads,
One day as our Jannet
Was making the beds—
To show their bright heads,
One day as our Jannet
Was making the beds—
The beds in the garden,
I 'd have you to know,
She saw in the distance
A speck white as snow.
I 'd have you to know,
She saw in the distance
A speck white as snow.
She saw it sail nearer
And nearer, then stop
And land in her garden path,
Flippity-flop!
And nearer, then stop
And land in her garden path,
Flippity-flop!
One moment of wonder,
Then cried she, “O John!
As true as you 're living, man,
Here is our swan!
Then cried she, “O John!
As true as you 're living, man,
Here is our swan!
“And by her sleek feathers,
She comes from the south;
But what thing is this
Shining so in her mouth?”
She comes from the south;
But what thing is this
Shining so in her mouth?”
“A diamond!” cried Johnny;
The swan nearer drew,
And dropped it in Jannet's
Nice apron of blue;
The swan nearer drew,
And dropped it in Jannet's
Nice apron of blue;
Then held up the mended leg
Quite to her crop,
And danced her great wings
About, flippity-flop!
Quite to her crop,
And danced her great wings
About, flippity-flop!
“I never beheld such a bird
In my life!”
Cried Johnny, the peddler;
“Nor I!” said his wife.
In my life!”
Cried Johnny, the peddler;
“Nor I!” said his wife.
A SHORT SERMON.
Children, who read my lay,
Thus much I have to say:
Each day, and every day,
Do what is right!
Right things, in great and small;
Then, though the sky should fall,
Sun, moon, and stars, and all,
You shall have light!
Thus much I have to say:
Each day, and every day,
Do what is right!
Right things, in great and small;
Then, though the sky should fall,
Sun, moon, and stars, and all,
You shall have light!
This further I would say:
Be you tempted as you may,
Each day, and every day,
Speak what is true!
True things, in great and small;
Then, though the sky should fall,
Sun, moon, and stars, and all.
Heaven would show through!
Be you tempted as you may,
Each day, and every day,
Speak what is true!
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Then, though the sky should fall,
Sun, moon, and stars, and all.
Heaven would show through!
Figs, as you see and know,
Do not out of thistles grow:
And, though the blossoms blow
White on the tree,
Grapes never, never yet
On the limbs of thorns were set;
So, if you a good would get,
Good you must be!
Do not out of thistles grow:
And, though the blossoms blow
White on the tree,
Grapes never, never yet
On the limbs of thorns were set;
So, if you a good would get,
Good you must be!
Life's journey, through and through,
Speaking what is just and true;
Doing what is right to do
Unto one and all,
When you work and when you play,
Each day, and every day:
Then peace shall gild your way,
Though the sky should fall.
Speaking what is just and true;
Doing what is right to do
Unto one and all,
When you work and when you play,
Each day, and every day:
Then peace shall gild your way,
Though the sky should fall.
STORY OF A BLACKBIRD.
Come, gather round me, children,
Who just as you please would do,
And hear me tell what fate befell,
A blackbird that I knew.
Who just as you please would do,
And hear me tell what fate befell,
A blackbird that I knew.
He lived one year in our orchard,
From spring till fall, you see,
And swung and swung, and sung and sung,
In the top of the highest tree.
From spring till fall, you see,
And swung and swung, and sung and sung,
In the top of the highest tree.
He had a blood-red top-knot.
And wings that were tipped to match:
And he held his head as if he said,
“I'm a fellow hard to catch!”
And wings that were tipped to match:
And he held his head as if he said,
“I'm a fellow hard to catch!”
And never built himself a nest,
Nor took a mate—not he!
But swung and swung, and sung and sung,
In the top of the highest tree.
Nor took a mate—not he!
But swung and swung, and sung and sung,
In the top of the highest tree.
And yet, the little bluebird,
So modest and so shy.
Could beat him to death with a single breath,
If she had but a mind to try.
So modest and so shy.
Could beat him to death with a single breath,
If she had but a mind to try.
And the honest, friendly robin,
That went in a russet coat,
Though he was n't the bird that sung to be heard,
Had twice as golden a throat.
That went in a russet coat,
Though he was n't the bird that sung to be heard,
Had twice as golden a throat.
But robin, bluebird, and all the birds,
Were afraid as they could be;
He looked so proud and sung so loud,
Atop of the highest tree.
Were afraid as they could be;
He looked so proud and sung so loud,
Atop of the highest tree.
We often said, we children,
He only wants to be seen!
For his bosom set like a piece of jet,
In the glossy leaves of green.
He only wants to be seen!
For his bosom set like a piece of jet,
In the glossy leaves of green.
He dressed his feathers again and again,
Till the oil did fairly run,
And the tuft on his head, of bright blood-red,
Like a ruby shone in the sun.
Till the oil did fairly run,
And the tuft on his head, of bright blood-red,
Like a ruby shone in the sun.
But summer lasts not always,
And the leaves they faded brown;
And when the breeze went over the trees,
They fluttered down and down.
And the leaves they faded brown;
And when the breeze went over the trees,
They fluttered down and down.
The robin, and wren, and bluebird,
They sought a kindlier clime;
But the blackbird cried, in his foolish pride,
“I'll see my own good time!”
They sought a kindlier clime;
But the blackbird cried, in his foolish pride,
“I'll see my own good time!”
And whistled, whistled, and whistled,
Perhaps to hide his pain;
Until, one day, the air grew gray,
With the slant of the dull, slow rain.
Perhaps to hide his pain;
Until, one day, the air grew gray,
With the slant of the dull, slow rain.
And then, wing-tip and top-knot,
They lost their blood-red shine;
Unhoused to be, in the top of a tree,
Was not so very fine!
They lost their blood-red shine;
Unhoused to be, in the top of a tree,
Was not so very fine!
At first he cowered and shivered,
And then he ceased to sing,
And then he spread about his head,
One drenched and dripping wing.
And then he ceased to sing,
And then he spread about his head,
One drenched and dripping wing.
And stiffer winds at sunset,
Began to beat and blow;
And next daylight the ground was white
With a good inch-depth of snow!
Began to beat and blow;
And next daylight the ground was white
With a good inch-depth of snow!
And oh, for the foolish blackbird,
That had n't a house for his head!
The bitter sleet began at his feet
And chilled and killed him dead!
That had n't a house for his head!
The bitter sleet began at his feet
And chilled and killed him dead!
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And the rabbit, when he saw him,
Enrapt in his snowy shroud,
Let drop his ears and said, with tears,
“This comes of being proud.”
Enrapt in his snowy shroud,
Let drop his ears and said, with tears,
“This comes of being proud.”
FAIRY-FOLK.
The story-books have told you
Of the fairy-folks so nice,
That make them leathern aprons
Of the ears of little mice;
And wear the leaves of roses,
Like a cap upon their heads,
And sleep at night on thistle-down,
Instead of feather beds!
Of the fairy-folks so nice,
That make them leathern aprons
Of the ears of little mice;
And wear the leaves of roses,
Like a cap upon their heads,
And sleep at night on thistle-down,
Instead of feather beds!
These stories, too, have told you,
No doubt to your surprise,
That the fairies ride in coaches
That are drawn by butterflies;
And come into your chambers,
When you are locked in dreams,
And right across your counterpanes
Make bold to drive their teams;
And that they heap your pillows
With their gifts of rings and pearls;
But do not heed such idle tales,
My little boys and girls.
No doubt to your surprise,
That the fairies ride in coaches
That are drawn by butterflies;
And come into your chambers,
When you are locked in dreams,
And right across your counterpanes
Make bold to drive their teams;
And that they heap your pillows
With their gifts of rings and pearls;
But do not heed such idle tales,
My little boys and girls.
There are no fairy-folk that ride
About the world at night,
Who give you rings and other things,
To pay for doing right.
But if you do to others what
You 'd have them do to you,
You'll be as blest as if the best
Of story-books were true.
About the world at night,
Who give you rings and other things,
To pay for doing right.
But if you do to others what
You 'd have them do to you,
You'll be as blest as if the best
Of story-books were true.
BURIED GOLD.
In a little bird's-nest of a house,
About the color of a mouse,
And low, and quaint, and square—
Twenty feet, perhaps, in all—
With never a chamber nor a hall,
There lived a queer old pair
Once on a time. They are dead and gone;
But in their day their names were John
And Emeline Adair.
About the color of a mouse,
And low, and quaint, and square—
Twenty feet, perhaps, in all—
With never a chamber nor a hall,
There lived a queer old pair
Once on a time. They are dead and gone;
But in their day their names were John
And Emeline Adair.
John used to sit and take his ease,
With two great patches at his knees,
And spectacles on his nose,
With a bit of twine or other thread,
That met behind his heavy head
And tied the big brass bows.
With two great patches at his knees,
And spectacles on his nose,
With a bit of twine or other thread,
That met behind his heavy head
And tied the big brass bows.
His jacket was a snuffy brown,
His coat was just a farmer's gown,
That once had been bright blue;
But the oldest man could hardly say
When it was not less blue than gray,
It was frayed and faded such a way,
And both the elbows through!
His coat was just a farmer's gown,
That once had been bright blue;
But the oldest man could hardly say
When it was not less blue than gray,
It was frayed and faded such a way,
And both the elbows through!
But, somehow or other, Emeline
Went dressed in silks and laces fine;
She was proud and high of head,
And she used to go, and go, and go,
Through mud and mire, and rain and snow,
Visiting high and visiting low,
As idle gossips will you know;
And many a thing that was n't so
She told, the neighbors said.
Went dressed in silks and laces fine;
She was proud and high of head,
And she used to go, and go, and go,
Through mud and mire, and rain and snow,
Visiting high and visiting low,
As idle gossips will you know;
And many a thing that was n't so
She told, the neighbors said.
Amongst the rest that her husband John,
Though his gown was poor to look upon,
And his trowsers patched and old,
Had money to spend, and money to spare,
As sure as her name was Mrs. Adair;
And though she said it, who say it should not,
Somewhere back or front of their lot,
He had buried her iron dinner-pot,
A pewter pan, and she did n't know what
Beside, chock-full of gold!
Though his gown was poor to look upon,
And his trowsers patched and old,
Had money to spend, and money to spare,
As sure as her name was Mrs. Adair;
And though she said it, who say it should not,
Somewhere back or front of their lot,
He had buried her iron dinner-pot,
A pewter pan, and she did n't know what
Beside, chock-full of gold!
Well, by and by her tongue got still,
That had clattered and clattered like a mill,
Little for good, and a good deal for ill,
Having all her life-time had her will—
The poor old woman died:
And John, when he missed the whirl and whir
Of her goosey-gabble, refused to stir,
But moped till he broke his heart for her:
And they laid him by her side.
That had clattered and clattered like a mill,
Little for good, and a good deal for ill,
Having all her life-time had her will—
The poor old woman died:
And John, when he missed the whirl and whir
Of her goosey-gabble, refused to stir,
But moped till he broke his heart for her:
And they laid him by her side.
And lo! his neighbors, young and old,
Who had heard about the pot of gold
Of which old Mrs. Adair had told,
Got spades, and picks, and bars.
You would have thought, had you seen them dig,
Sage and simple, little and big,
Up and down and across the lot,
They expected not only to find the pot
And the pan, but the moon and stars!
Who had heard about the pot of gold
Of which old Mrs. Adair had told,
Got spades, and picks, and bars.
You would have thought, had you seen them dig,
Sage and simple, little and big,
269
They expected not only to find the pot
And the pan, but the moon and stars!
Just one, and only one man stayed
At home and plied an honest trade,
Contented to be told
How they digged down under the shed,
And up and out through the turnip-bed,
Turning every inch of the lot,
And never finding sign of the pot
That was buried full of gold!
At home and plied an honest trade,
Contented to be told
How they digged down under the shed,
And up and out through the turnip-bed,
Turning every inch of the lot,
And never finding sign of the pot
That was buried full of gold!
And when ten years were come and gone.
And poor old Emeline and John
Had nearly been forgot,
This careful, quiet man that stayed
At home and plied an honest trade,
Was the owner of the lot—
Such luck to industry doth fall.
And he built a house with a stately hall,
Full fifty feet from wall to wall:
And poor old Emeline and John
Had nearly been forgot,
This careful, quiet man that stayed
At home and plied an honest trade,
Was the owner of the lot—
Such luck to industry doth fall.
And he built a house with a stately hall,
Full fifty feet from wall to wall:
And the foolish ones were envious
That he should be rewarded thus
Upon the very spot
Where they had digged their strength away,
Day and night, till their heads were gray,
In search of the pan and pot
Which Mrs. Emeline Adair
Had made believe were buried there,
As buried they were not.
That he should be rewarded thus
Upon the very spot
Where they had digged their strength away,
Day and night, till their heads were gray,
In search of the pan and pot
Which Mrs. Emeline Adair
Had made believe were buried there,
As buried they were not.
RECIPE FOR AN APPETITE.
My lad, who sits at breakfast
With forehead in a frown,
Because the chop is under-done,
And the fritter over-brown,—
With forehead in a frown,
Because the chop is under-done,
And the fritter over-brown,—
Just leave your dainty mincing,
And take, to mend your fare,
A slice of golden sunshine,
And a cup of the morning air.
And take, to mend your fare,
A slice of golden sunshine,
And a cup of the morning air.
And when you have eat and drunken,
If you want a little fun,
Throw by your jacket of broadcloth,
And take an up-hill run.
If you want a little fun,
Throw by your jacket of broadcloth,
And take an up-hill run.
And what with one and the other
You will be so strong and gay,
That work will be only a pleasure
Through all the rest of the day.
You will be so strong and gay,
That work will be only a pleasure
Through all the rest of the day.
And when it is time for supper,
Your bread and milk will be
As sweet as a comb of honey.
Will you try my recipe?
Your bread and milk will be
As sweet as a comb of honey.
Will you try my recipe?
THE PIG AND THE HEN.
The pig and the hen,
They both got in one pen,
And the hen said she would n't go out.
“Mistress Hen,” says the pig,
“Don't you be quite so big!”
And he gave her a push with his snout.
They both got in one pen,
And the hen said she would n't go out.
“Mistress Hen,” says the pig,
“Don't you be quite so big!”
And he gave her a push with his snout.
“You are rough, and you 're fat,
But who cares for all that:
I will stay if I choose,” says the hen.
“No, mistress, no longer!”
Says pig: “ I'm the stronger,
And mean to be boss of my pen!”
But who cares for all that:
I will stay if I choose,” says the hen.
“No, mistress, no longer!”
Says pig: “ I'm the stronger,
And mean to be boss of my pen!”
Then the hen cackled out
Just as close to his snout
As she dare: “You 're an ill-natured brute;
And if I had the corn,
Just as sure as I'm born,
I would send you to starve or to root!”
Just as close to his snout
As she dare: “You 're an ill-natured brute;
And if I had the corn,
Just as sure as I'm born,
I would send you to starve or to root!”
“But you don't own the cribs;
So I think that my ribs
Will be never the leaner for you:
This trough is my trough,
And the sooner you 're off,”
Says the pig, “why the better you'll do!”
So I think that my ribs
Will be never the leaner for you:
This trough is my trough,
And the sooner you 're off,”
Says the pig, “why the better you'll do!”
“ You 're not a bit fair,
And you 're cross as a bear:
What harm do I do in your pen?
But a pig is a pig,
And I don't care a fig
For the worst you can say,” says the hen.
And you 're cross as a bear:
What harm do I do in your pen?
But a pig is a pig,
And I don't care a fig
For the worst you can say,” says the hen.
Says the pig, “You will care
If I act like a bear
And tear your two wings from your neck.”
“What a nice little pen
You have got!” says the hen.
Beginning to scratch and to peck.
If I act like a bear
And tear your two wings from your neck.”
“What a nice little pen
You have got!” says the hen.
Beginning to scratch and to peck.
Now the pig stood amazed,
And the bristles, upraised
A moment past, fell down so sleek.
“Neighbor Biddy,” says he,
“If you'll just allow me,
I will show you a nice place to pick!”
And the bristles, upraised
A moment past, fell down so sleek.
“Neighbor Biddy,” says he,
270
I will show you a nice place to pick!”
So she followed him off,
And they ate from one trough—
They had quarreled for nothing, they saw;
And when they had fed,
“Neighbor Hen,” the pig said,
“Won't you stay here and roost in my straw?”
And they ate from one trough—
They had quarreled for nothing, they saw;
And when they had fed,
“Neighbor Hen,” the pig said,
“Won't you stay here and roost in my straw?”
“No, I thank you: you see
That I sleep in a tree,”
Says the hen; “but I must go away;
So a grateful good-by.”
“Make your home in my sty,”
Says the pig, “and come in every day.”
That I sleep in a tree,”
Says the hen; “but I must go away;
So a grateful good-by.”
“Make your home in my sty,”
Says the pig, “and come in every day.”
Now my child will not miss
The true moral of this
Little story of anger and strife;
For a word spoken soft
Will turn enemies oft
Into friends that will stay friends for life.
The true moral of this
Little story of anger and strife;
For a word spoken soft
Will turn enemies oft
Into friends that will stay friends for life.
SPIDER AND FLY.
Once when morn was flowing in,
Broader, redder, wider,
In her house with walls so thin
That they could not hide her,
Just as she would never spin,
Sat a little spider—
Sat she on her silver stairs,
Meek as if she said her prayers.
Broader, redder, wider,
In her house with walls so thin
That they could not hide her,
Just as she would never spin,
Sat a little spider—
Sat she on her silver stairs,
Meek as if she said her prayers.
Came a fly, whose wings had been
Making circles wider,
Having but the buzz and din
Of herself to guide her.
Nearer to these walls so thin,
Nearer to the spider,
Sitting on her silver stairs,
Meek as if she said her prayers.
Making circles wider,
Having but the buzz and din
Of herself to guide her.
Nearer to these walls so thin,
Nearer to the spider,
Sitting on her silver stairs,
Meek as if she said her prayers.
Said the silly fly, “Too long
Malice has belied her;
How should she do any wrong,
With no walls to hide her?”
So she buzzed her pretty song
To the wily spider,
Sitting on her silver stairs
Meek as though she said her prayers.
Malice has belied her;
How should she do any wrong,
With no walls to hide her?”
So she buzzed her pretty song
To the wily spider,
Sitting on her silver stairs
Meek as though she said her prayers.
But in spite her modest mien,
Had the fly but eyed her
Close enough, she would have seen
Fame had not belied her—
That, as she had always been,
She was still a spider;
And that she was not at prayers,
Sitting on her silver stairs.
Had the fly but eyed her
Close enough, she would have seen
Fame had not belied her—
That, as she had always been,
She was still a spider;
And that she was not at prayers,
Sitting on her silver stairs.
A LESSON OF MERCY.
A boy named Peter
Found once in the road
All harmless and helpless,
A poor little toad;
Found once in the road
All harmless and helpless,
A poor little toad;
And ran to his playmate,
And all out of breath
Cried, “John, come and help,
And we'll stone him to death!”
And all out of breath
Cried, “John, come and help,
And we'll stone him to death!”
And picking up stones,
The two went on the run,
Saying, one to the other,
“Oh won't we have fun?”
The two went on the run,
Saying, one to the other,
“Oh won't we have fun?”
Thus primed and all ready,
They 'd got nearly back,
When a donkey came
Dragging a cart on the track.
They 'd got nearly back,
When a donkey came
Dragging a cart on the track.
Now the cart was as much
As the donkey could draw,
And he came with his head
Hanging down; so he saw,
As the donkey could draw,
And he came with his head
Hanging down; so he saw,
All harmless and helpless,
The poor little toad,
A-taking his morning nap
Right in the road.
The poor little toad,
A-taking his morning nap
Right in the road.
He shivered at first,
Then he drew back his leg,
And set up his ears,
Never moving a peg.
Then he drew back his leg,
And set up his ears,
Never moving a peg.
Then he gave the poor toad,
With his warm nose a dump,
And he woke and got off
With a hop and a jump.
With his warm nose a dump,
And he woke and got off
With a hop and a jump.
And then with an eye
Turned on Peter and John,
And hanging his homely head
Down, he went on.
Turned on Peter and John,
And hanging his homely head
Down, he went on.
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“We can't kill him now, John,”
Says Peter, “that 's flat,
In the face of an eye and
An action like that!”
Says Peter, “that 's flat,
In the face of an eye and
An action like that!”
“For my part, I have n't
The heart to,” says John;
“But the load is too heavy
That donkey has on:
The heart to,” says John;
“But the load is too heavy
That donkey has on:
“Let 's help him;” so both lads
Set off with a will
And came up with the cart
At the foot of the hill.
Set off with a will
And came up with the cart
At the foot of the hill.
And when each a shoulder
Had put to the wheel,
They helped the poor donkey
A wonderful deal.
Had put to the wheel,
They helped the poor donkey
A wonderful deal.
When they got to the top
Back again they both run,
Agreeing they never
Had had better fun.
Back again they both run,
Agreeing they never
Had had better fun.
THE FLOWER SPIDER.
You've read of a spider, I suppose,
Dear children, or been told,
That has a back as red as a rose,
And legs as yellow as gold.
Dear children, or been told,
That has a back as red as a rose,
And legs as yellow as gold.
Well, one of these fine creatures ran
In a bed of flowers, you see,
Until a drop of dew in the sun
Was hardly as bright as she.
In a bed of flowers, you see,
Until a drop of dew in the sun
Was hardly as bright as she.
Her two plump sides, they were besprent
With speckles of all dyes,
And little shimmering streaks were bent
Like rainbows round her eyes.
With speckles of all dyes,
And little shimmering streaks were bent
Like rainbows round her eyes.
Well, when she saw her legs a-shine,
And her back as red as a rose,
She thought that she herself was fine
Because she had fine clothes!
And her back as red as a rose,
She thought that she herself was fine
Because she had fine clothes!
Then wild she grew, like one possessed,
For she thought, upon my word,
That she was n't a spider with the rest,
And set up for a bird!
For she thought, upon my word,
That she was n't a spider with the rest,
And set up for a bird!
Aye, for a humming-bird at that!
And the summer day all through,
With her head in a tulip-bell she sat,
The same as the hum-birds do.
And the summer day all through,
With her head in a tulip-bell she sat,
The same as the hum-birds do.
She had her little foolish day,
But her pride was doomed to fall,
And what do you think she had to pay
In the ending of it all?
But her pride was doomed to fall,
And what do you think she had to pay
In the ending of it all?
Just this; on dew she could not sup,
And she could not sup on pride,
And so, with her head in the tulip cup,
She starved until she died!
And she could not sup on pride,
And so, with her head in the tulip cup,
She starved until she died!
For in despite of the golden legs,
And the back as red as a rose,
With what is hatched from the spider's eggs
The spider's nature goes!
And the back as red as a rose,
With what is hatched from the spider's eggs
The spider's nature goes!
DAN AND DIMPLE, AND HOW THEY QUARRELED.
To begin, in things quite simple
Quarrels scarcely ever fail—
And they fell out, Dan and Dimple,
All about a horse's tail!
Quarrels scarcely ever fail—
And they fell out, Dan and Dimple,
All about a horse's tail!
So that by and by the quarrel
Quite broke up and spoiled their play;
Danny said the tail was sorrel,
Dimple said that it was gray!
Quite broke up and spoiled their play;
Danny said the tail was sorrel,
Dimple said that it was gray!
“Gray!” said Danny, “you are simple!”
“Just as gray as mother's shawl!”
“And that 's red!” Said saucy Dimple,
“You 're a fool, and that is all!”
“Just as gray as mother's shawl!”
“And that 's red!” Said saucy Dimple,
“You 're a fool, and that is all!”
Then the sister and the brother—
As indeed they scarce could fail,
In such anger, struck each other—
All about the horse's tail!
As indeed they scarce could fail,
In such anger, struck each other—
All about the horse's tail!
“Red!” cried Dimple, speaking loudly,
“How you play at fast and loose!”
“Yes,” said Danny, still more proudly,
“When I'm playing with a goose!”
“How you play at fast and loose!”
“Yes,” said Danny, still more proudly,
“When I'm playing with a goose!”
In between them came the mother:
“What is all this fuss about?”
Then the sister and the brother
Told the story, out and out.
“What is all this fuss about?”
Then the sister and the brother
Told the story, out and out.
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And she answered, “I must label
Each of you a little dunce,
Since to look into the stable
Would have settled it at once!”
Each of you a little dunce,
Since to look into the stable
Would have settled it at once!”
Forth ran Dan with Dimple after,
And full soon came hurrying back
Shouting, all aglee with laughter,
That the horse's tail was black!
And full soon came hurrying back
Shouting, all aglee with laughter,
That the horse's tail was black!
So they both agreed to profit
By the lesson they had learned,
And to tell each other of it
Often as the fit returned.
By the lesson they had learned,
And to tell each other of it
Often as the fit returned.
TO A HONEY-BEE.
“Busy-body, busy-body,
Always on the wing.
Wait a bit, where you have lit,
And tell me why you sing.”
Always on the wing.
Wait a bit, where you have lit,
And tell me why you sing.”
Up, and in the air again,
Flap, flap, flap!
And now she stops, and now she drops
Into the rose's lap.
Flap, flap, flap!
And now she stops, and now she drops
Into the rose's lap.
“Come, just a minute come,
From your rose so red.”
Hum, hum, hum, hum—
That was all she said.
From your rose so red.”
Hum, hum, hum, hum—
That was all she said.
Busy-body, busy-body,
Always light and gay,
It seems to me, for all I see,
Your work is only play.
Always light and gay,
It seems to me, for all I see,
Your work is only play.
And now the day is sinking to
The goldenest of eves,
And she doth creep for quiet sleep
Among the lily-leaves.
The goldenest of eves,
And she doth creep for quiet sleep
Among the lily-leaves.
“Come, just a moment come,
From your snowy bed.”
Hum, hum, hum, hum—
That was all she said.
From your snowy bed.”
Hum, hum, hum, hum—
That was all she said.
But, the while I mused, I learned
The secret of her way:
Do my part with cheerful heart,
And turn my work to play.
The secret of her way:
Do my part with cheerful heart,
And turn my work to play.
AT THE TAVERN.
“What'll you have, John?
Cider or gin?
Or something stronger?
Walk right in.
Hurry up, landlord,
With main and might,
And don't make a thirsty man
Wait all night!
Cider or gin?
Or something stronger?
Walk right in.
Hurry up, landlord,
With main and might,
And don't make a thirsty man
Wait all night!
“Not any cider?
And ale won't do.
A brandy-smasher, then,
Glasses for two!
And mind you, landlord,
Mix it strong,
And don't keep us waiting here
All night long!
And ale won't do.
A brandy-smasher, then,
Glasses for two!
And mind you, landlord,
Mix it strong,
And don't keep us waiting here
All night long!
“Not any brandy?
Landlord, drum
Something or other up.
Got any rum?
Step about lively!
Hot and strong,
And don't keep us waiting here
All night long!
Landlord, drum
Something or other up.
Got any rum?
Step about lively!
Hot and strong,
And don't keep us waiting here
All night long!
“Not any toddy?
Not the least little bit?
Whiskey and water, then,
That must be it!
Step about, landlord,
We 're all right,
And don't make a thirsty man
Wait all night!”
Not the least little bit?
Whiskey and water, then,
That must be it!
Step about, landlord,
We 're all right,
And don't make a thirsty man
Wait all night!”
“What 's wrong now, John?
Come, sit down.
Don't you like white sugar?
Then have brown.
And, landlord, hark ye,
Cigars and a light,
And don't keep us waiting here
Quite all night!”
Come, sit down.
Don't you like white sugar?
Then have brown.
And, landlord, hark ye,
Cigars and a light,
And don't keep us waiting here
Quite all night!”
“What'll I have, man?
The right, to be sure,
To keep all the sense that
God gave me secure!
The right to myself, man,
And, in the next place,
The right to look all
Honest men in the face!
The right, to be sure,
To keep all the sense that
God gave me secure!
The right to myself, man,
And, in the next place,
The right to look all
Honest men in the face!
“So, waiter, you need not
Be off on the run
Till I've countermanded
All orders but one:
No liquor, no sugar,
Nor brown, nor yet white,
And don't fetch cigars in,
And don't fetch a light!
Be off on the run
Till I've countermanded
All orders but one:
No liquor, no sugar,
Nor brown, nor yet white,
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And don't fetch a light!
“We 're on our way home
To our children and wives,
And would n't stay plaguing them
Not for our lives;
Fetch only the water,
The rest is all wrong,
We can't take the chances
Of staying too long.”
To our children and wives,
And would n't stay plaguing them
Not for our lives;
Fetch only the water,
The rest is all wrong,
We can't take the chances
Of staying too long.”
WHAT A BIRD TAUGHT.
“Why do you come to my apple-tree,
Little bird so gray?”
Twit-twit, twit-twit, twit-twit-twee!
That was all he would say.
Little bird so gray?”
Twit-twit, twit-twit, twit-twit-twee!
That was all he would say.
“Why do you lock your rosy feet
So closely round the spray?”
Twit-twit, twit-twit, twit-tweet!
That was all he would say.
So closely round the spray?”
Twit-twit, twit-twit, twit-tweet!
That was all he would say.
“Why on the topmost bough do you get,
Little bird so gray?”
Twit-twit-twee! twit-twit-twit!
That was all he would say.
Little bird so gray?”
Twit-twit-twee! twit-twit-twit!
That was all he would say.
“Where is your mate? come answer me,
Little bird so gray?”
Twit-twit-twit! twit-twit-twee!
That was all he would say.
Little bird so gray?”
Twit-twit-twit! twit-twit-twee!
That was all he would say.
“And has she little rosy feet?
And is her body gray?”
Twit-twit-twee! twit-twit-twit!
That was all he would say.
And is her body gray?”
Twit-twit-twee! twit-twit-twit!
That was all he would say.
“And will she come with you and sit
In my apple-tree some day?”
Twit-twit-twee! twit-twit-twit!
He said as he flew away.
In my apple-tree some day?”
Twit-twit-twee! twit-twit-twit!
He said as he flew away.
“Twit-twit! twit-twit! twit! tweet!”
Why, what in that should be
To make it seem so very sweet?
And then it came to me.
Why, what in that should be
To make it seem so very sweet?
And then it came to me.
This little wilding of the wood,
With wing so gray and fleet,
Did just the best for you he could,
And that is why 't was sweet.
With wing so gray and fleet,
Did just the best for you he could,
And that is why 't was sweet.
OLD MAXIMS.
I think there are some maxims
Under the sun,
Scarce worth preservation;
But here, boys, is one
So sound and so simple
'T is worth while to know;
And all in the single line,
“Hoe your own row!”
Under the sun,
Scarce worth preservation;
But here, boys, is one
So sound and so simple
'T is worth while to know;
And all in the single line,
“Hoe your own row!”
If you want to have riches,
And want to have friends,
Don't trample the means down
And look for the ends;
But always remember
Wherever you go,
The wisdom of practicing,
“Hoe your own row!”
And want to have friends,
Don't trample the means down
And look for the ends;
But always remember
Wherever you go,
The wisdom of practicing,
“Hoe your own row!”
Don't just sit and pray
For increase of your store,
But work; who will help himself,
Heaven helps more.
The weeds while you 're sleeping,
Will come up and grow,
But if you would have the
Full ear, you must hoe!
For increase of your store,
But work; who will help himself,
Heaven helps more.
The weeds while you 're sleeping,
Will come up and grow,
But if you would have the
Full ear, you must hoe!
Nor will it do only
To hoe out the weeds,
You must make your ground mellow
And put in the seeds;
And when the young blade
Pushes through, you must know
There is nothing will strengthen
Its growth like the hoe!
To hoe out the weeds,
You must make your ground mellow
And put in the seeds;
And when the young blade
Pushes through, you must know
There is nothing will strengthen
Its growth like the hoe!
There 's no use of saying
What will be, will be;
Once try it, my lack-brain,
And see what you'll see!
Why, just small potatoes,
And few in a row:
You 'd better take hold then,
And honestly hoe!
What will be, will be;
Once try it, my lack-brain,
And see what you'll see!
Why, just small potatoes,
And few in a row:
You 'd better take hold then,
And honestly hoe!
A good many workers
I 've known in my time—
Some builders of houses,
Some builders of rhyme;
And they that were prospered,
Were prospered, I know,
By the intent and meaning of
“Hoe your own row!”
I 've known in my time—
Some builders of houses,
Some builders of rhyme;
And they that were prospered,
Were prospered, I know,
By the intent and meaning of
“Hoe your own row!”
274
I 've known, too, a good many
Idlers, who said,
“I 've right to my living,
The world owes me bread!”
A right! lazy lubber!
A thousand times No!
'T is his, and his only
Who hoes his own row.
Idlers, who said,
“I 've right to my living,
The world owes me bread!”
A right! lazy lubber!
A thousand times No!
'T is his, and his only
Who hoes his own row.
PETER GREY.
Honest little Peter Grey
Keeps at work the livelong day,
For his mother is as poor as a mouse;
Now running up and down
Doing errands in the town,
And now doing chores about the house.
Keeps at work the livelong day,
For his mother is as poor as a mouse;
Now running up and down
Doing errands in the town,
And now doing chores about the house.
The boys along the street
Often call him Hungry Pete,
Because that his face is so pale;
And ask, by way of jest,
If his ragged coat and vest
And his old-fashioned hat are for sale.
Often call him Hungry Pete,
Because that his face is so pale;
And ask, by way of jest,
If his ragged coat and vest
And his old-fashioned hat are for sale.
But little Peter Grey
Never any shape nor way
Doth evil for evil return;
He is finer than his clothes,
And no matter where he goes
There is some one the fact to discern.
Never any shape nor way
Doth evil for evil return;
He is finer than his clothes,
And no matter where he goes
There is some one the fact to discern.
You might think a sneer, mayhap,
Just a feather in your cap,
If you saw him being pushed to the wall;
But my proudly-foolish friend,
You might find out in the end
You had sneered at your betters, after all.
Just a feather in your cap,
If you saw him being pushed to the wall;
But my proudly-foolish friend,
You might find out in the end
You had sneered at your betters, after all.
He is climbing up his way
On life's ladder day by day;
And you who, to laugh at him, stop
On the lower rounds, will wake,
If I do not much mistake,
To find him sitting snug at the top.
On life's ladder day by day;
And you who, to laugh at him, stop
On the lower rounds, will wake,
If I do not much mistake,
To find him sitting snug at the top.
A SERMON
FOR YOUNG FOLKS.
Don't ever go hunting for pleasures—
They cannot be found thus I know;
Nor yet fall a-digging for treasures,
Unless with the spade and the hoe!
They cannot be found thus I know;
Nor yet fall a-digging for treasures,
Unless with the spade and the hoe!
The bee has to work for the honey,
The drone has no right to the food,
And he who has not earned his money
Will get out of his money no good.
The drone has no right to the food,
And he who has not earned his money
Will get out of his money no good.
The ant builds her house with her labor,
The squirrel looks out for his mast,
And he who depends on his neighbor
Will never have friends, first or last.
The squirrel looks out for his mast,
And he who depends on his neighbor
Will never have friends, first or last.
In short, 't is no better than thieving.
Though thief is a harsh name to call;
Good things to be always receiving,
And never to give back at all.
Though thief is a harsh name to call;
Good things to be always receiving,
And never to give back at all.
And do not put off till to-morrow
The thing that you ought to do now,
But first set the share in the furrow,
And then set your hand to the plough.
The thing that you ought to do now,
But first set the share in the furrow,
And then set your hand to the plough.
The time is too short to be waiting,
The day maketh haste to the night,
And it's just as hard work to be hating
Your work as to do it outright.
The day maketh haste to the night,
And it's just as hard work to be hating
Your work as to do it outright.
Know this, too, before you are older,
And all the fresh morning is gone,
Who puts to the world's wheel a shoulder
Is he that will move the world on!
And all the fresh morning is gone,
Who puts to the world's wheel a shoulder
Is he that will move the world on!
Don't weary out will with delaying,
And when you are crowded, don't stop;
Believe me there 's truth in the saying:
“There always is room at the top.”
And when you are crowded, don't stop;
Believe me there 's truth in the saying:
“There always is room at the top.”
To conscience be true, and to man true,
Keep faith, hope, and love, in your breast,
And when you have done all you can do,
Why, then you may trust for the rest.
Keep faith, hope, and love, in your breast,
And when you have done all you can do,
Why, then you may trust for the rest.
TELLING FORTUNES.
“Be not among wine-bibbers; among riotous eaters of flesh; for the drunkard and the glutton shall come to poverty; and drowsiness shall clothe a man with rags.”—
Prov. xxiii. 20, 21.
I'll tell you two fortunes, my fine little lad,
For you to accept or refuse.
The one of them good, and the other one bad;
Now hear them, and say which you choose!
For you to accept or refuse.
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Now hear them, and say which you choose!
I see by my gift, within reach of your hand,
A fortune right fair to behold;
A house and a hundred good acres of land,
With harvest fields yellow as gold.
A fortune right fair to behold;
A house and a hundred good acres of land,
With harvest fields yellow as gold.
I see a great orchard, the boughs hanging down
With apples of russet and red;
I see droves of cattle, some white and brown,
But all of them sleek and well-fed.
With apples of russet and red;
I see droves of cattle, some white and brown,
But all of them sleek and well-fed.
I see doves and swallows about the barn doors,
See the fanning-mill whirling so fast,
See men that are threshing the wheat on the floors;
And now the bright picture is past!
See the fanning-mill whirling so fast,
See men that are threshing the wheat on the floors;
And now the bright picture is past!
And I see, rising dismally up in the place
Of the beautiful house and the land,
A man with a fire-red nose on his face,
And a little brown jug in his hand!
Of the beautiful house and the land,
A man with a fire-red nose on his face,
And a little brown jug in his hand!
Oh! if you beheld him, my lad, you would wish
That he were less wretched to see;
For his boot-toes, they gape like the mouth of a fish,
And his trousers are out at the knee!
That he were less wretched to see;
For his boot-toes, they gape like the mouth of a fish,
And his trousers are out at the knee!
In walking he staggers, now this way, now that,
And his eyes they stand out like a bug's,
And he wears an old coat and a battered-in hat,
And I think that the fault is the jug's!
And his eyes they stand out like a bug's,
And he wears an old coat and a battered-in hat,
And I think that the fault is the jug's!
For our text says the drunkard shall come to be poor.
And drowsiness clothes men with rags;
And he does n't look much like a man, I am sure,
Who has honest hard cash in his bags.
And drowsiness clothes men with rags;
And he does n't look much like a man, I am sure,
Who has honest hard cash in his bags.
Now which will you choose? to be thrifty and snug,
And to be right side up with your dish;
Or to go with your eyes like the eyes of a bug,
And your shoes like the mouth of a fish!
And to be right side up with your dish;
Or to go with your eyes like the eyes of a bug,
And your shoes like the mouth of a fish!
THE WISE FAIRY.
Once, in a rough, wild country,
On the other side of the sea,
There lived a dear little fairy,
And her home was in a tree.
A dear little, queer little fairy,
And as rich as she could be.
On the other side of the sea,
There lived a dear little fairy,
And her home was in a tree.
A dear little, queer little fairy,
And as rich as she could be.
To northward and to southward,
She could overlook the land,
And that was why she had her house
In a tree, you understand.
For she was the friend of the friendless,
And her heart was in her hand.
She could overlook the land,
And that was why she had her house
In a tree, you understand.
For she was the friend of the friendless,
And her heart was in her hand.
And when she saw poor women
Patiently, day by day,
Spinning, spinning, and spinning
Their lonesome lives away,
She would hide in the flax of their distaffs
A lump of gold, they say.
Patiently, day by day,
Spinning, spinning, and spinning
Their lonesome lives away,
She would hide in the flax of their distaffs
A lump of gold, they say.
And when she saw poor ditchers,
Knee-deep in some wet dyke,
Digging, digging, and digging,
To their very graves, belike,
She would hide a shining lump of gold
Where their spades would be sure to strike.
Knee-deep in some wet dyke,
Digging, digging, and digging,
To their very graves, belike,
She would hide a shining lump of gold
Where their spades would be sure to strike.
And when she saw poor children
Their goats from the pastures take,
Or saw them milking and milking,
Till their arms were ready to break,
What a plashing in their milking-pails
Her gifts of gold would make!
Their goats from the pastures take,
Or saw them milking and milking,
Till their arms were ready to break,
What a plashing in their milking-pails
Her gifts of gold would make!
Sometimes in the night, a fisher
Would hear her sweet low call,
And all at once a salmon of gold
Right out of his net would fall;
But what I have to tell you
Is the strangest thing of all.
Would hear her sweet low call,
And all at once a salmon of gold
Right out of his net would fall;
But what I have to tell you
Is the strangest thing of all.
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If any ditcher, or fisher.
Or child, or spinner old,
Bought shoes for his feet, or bread to eat,
Or a coat to keep from the cold,
The gift of the good old fairy
Was always trusty gold.
Or child, or spinner old,
Bought shoes for his feet, or bread to eat,
Or a coat to keep from the cold,
The gift of the good old fairy
Was always trusty gold.
But if a ditcher, or fisher,
Or spinner, or child so gay,
Bought jewels, or wine, or silks so fine,
Or staked his pleasure at play,
The fairy's gold in his very hold
Would turn to a lump of clay.
Or spinner, or child so gay,
Bought jewels, or wine, or silks so fine,
Or staked his pleasure at play,
The fairy's gold in his very hold
Would turn to a lump of clay.
So, by and by the people
Got open their stupid eyes:
“We must learn to spend to some good end,”
They said, “if we are wise;
'T is not in the gold we waste or hold,
That a golden blessing lies.”
Got open their stupid eyes:
“We must learn to spend to some good end,”
They said, “if we are wise;
'T is not in the gold we waste or hold,
That a golden blessing lies.”
A CHILD'S WISDOM.
When the cares of day are ended,
And I take my evening rest,
Of the windows of my chamber
This is that I love the best;
This one facing to the hill-tops
And the orchards of the west.
And I take my evening rest,
Of the windows of my chamber
This is that I love the best;
This one facing to the hill-tops
And the orchards of the west.
All the woodlands, dim and dusky,
All the fields of waving grain,
All the valleys sprinkled over
With the drops of sunlit rain,
I can see them through the twilight,
Sitting here beside my pane.
All the fields of waving grain,
All the valleys sprinkled over
With the drops of sunlit rain,
I can see them through the twilight,
Sitting here beside my pane.
I can see the hilly places,
With the sheep-paths trod across;
See the fountains by the waysides,
Each one in her house of moss,
Holding up the mist above her
Like a skein of silken floss.
With the sheep-paths trod across;
See the fountains by the waysides,
Each one in her house of moss,
Holding up the mist above her
Like a skein of silken floss.
Garden corners bright with roses,
Garden borders set with mint,
Garden beds, wherein the maidens
Sow their seeds, as love doth hint,
To some rhyme of mystic charming
That shall come back all in print.
Garden borders set with mint,
Garden beds, wherein the maidens
Sow their seeds, as love doth hint,
To some rhyme of mystic charming
That shall come back all in print.
Ah! with what a world of blushes
Then they read it through and through,
Weeding out the tangled sentence
From the commas of the dew:
Little ladies, choose ye wisely,
Lest some day the choice ye rue.
Then they read it through and through,
Weeding out the tangled sentence
From the commas of the dew:
Little ladies, choose ye wisely,
Lest some day the choice ye rue.
I can see a troop of children,
Merry-hearted boys and girls,
Eyes of light and eyes of darkness,
Feet of coral, legs of pearls,
Racing toward the morning school-house
Half a head before their curls.
Merry-hearted boys and girls,
Eyes of light and eyes of darkness,
Feet of coral, legs of pearls,
Racing toward the morning school-house
Half a head before their curls.
One from all the rest I single,
Not for brighter mouth or eyes,
Not for being sweet and simple,
Not for being sage and wise:
With my whole full heart I loved him,
And therein my secret lies.
Not for brighter mouth or eyes,
Not for being sweet and simple,
Not for being sage and wise:
With my whole full heart I loved him,
And therein my secret lies.
Cheeks as brown as sun could kiss them,
All in careless homespun dressed,
Eager for the romp or wrestle,
Just a rustic with the rest:
Who shall say what love is made of?
'T is enough I loved him best.
All in careless homespun dressed,
Eager for the romp or wrestle,
Just a rustic with the rest:
Who shall say what love is made of?
'T is enough I loved him best.
Haply, Effie loved me better—
She with arms so lily fair,
In her sadness, in her gladness,
Stealing round me unaware;
Dusky shadows of the cairngorms
All among her golden hair.
She with arms so lily fair,
In her sadness, in her gladness,
Stealing round me unaware;
Dusky shadows of the cairngorms
All among her golden hair.
Haply, so did willful Annie,
With the tender eyes and mouth,
And the languors and the angers
Of her birth-land of the South:
Still my darling was my darling—
“I can love,” I said, “for both.”
With the tender eyes and mouth,
And the languors and the angers
Of her birth-land of the South:
Still my darling was my darling—
“I can love,” I said, “for both.”
So I left the pleasure-places,
Gayest, gladdest, best of all—
Hedge-row mazes, lanes of daisies,
Bluebirds' twitter, blackbirds' call—
For the robbing of the crow's nest,
For the games of race and ball.
Gayest, gladdest, best of all—
Hedge-row mazes, lanes of daisies,
Bluebirds' twitter, blackbirds' call—
For the robbing of the crow's nest,
For the games of race and ball.
So I left my book of poems
Lying in the hawthorn's shade,
Milky flowers sometimes for hours
Drifting down the page unread.
“He was found a better poet;
I will read with him,” I said.
Lying in the hawthorn's shade,
Milky flowers sometimes for hours
Drifting down the page unread.
“He was found a better poet;
I will read with him,” I said.
Thus he led me, hither, thither,
To his young heart's wild content,
Where so surly and so curly,
With his black horns round him bent,
Fed the ram that ruled the meadow—
For where'er he called I went:
To his young heart's wild content,
277
With his black horns round him bent,
Fed the ram that ruled the meadow—
For where'er he called I went:
Where the old oak, black and blasted,
Trembled on his knotty knees,
Where the nettle teased the cattle,
Where the wild crab-apple trees
Blushed with bitter fruit to mock us;
'T was not I that was to please:
Trembled on his knotty knees,
Where the nettle teased the cattle,
Where the wild crab-apple trees
Blushed with bitter fruit to mock us;
'T was not I that was to please:
Where the ox, with horn for pushing,
Chafed within his prison stall;
Where the long-leaved poison-ivy
Clambered up the broken wall:
Ah! no matter, still I loved him
First and last and best of all.
Chafed within his prison stall;
Where the long-leaved poison-ivy
Clambered up the broken wall:
Ah! no matter, still I loved him
First and last and best of all.
When before the frowning master
Late and lagging in we came,
I would stand up straight before him,
And would take my even blame:
Ah! my darling was my darling;
Good or bad 't was all the same.
Late and lagging in we came,
I would stand up straight before him,
And would take my even blame:
Ah! my darling was my darling;
Good or bad 't was all the same.
One day, when the lowering storm-cloud
South and east began to frown,
Flat along the waves of grasses,
Like a swimmer, he lay down,
With his head propped up and resting
On his two arms strong and brown.
South and east began to frown,
Flat along the waves of grasses,
Like a swimmer, he lay down,
With his head propped up and resting
On his two arms strong and brown.
On the sloping ridge behind us
Shone the yet ungarnered sheaves;
Round about us ran the shadows
Of the overhanging leaves,
Rustling in the wind as softly
As a lady's silken sleeves.
Shone the yet ungarnered sheaves;
Round about us ran the shadows
Of the overhanging leaves,
Rustling in the wind as softly
As a lady's silken sleeves.
Where a sudden notch before us
Made a gateway in the hill,
And a sense of desolation
Seemed the very air to fill,
There beneath the weeping willows
Lay the grave-yard, hushed and still.
Made a gateway in the hill,
And a sense of desolation
Seemed the very air to fill,
There beneath the weeping willows
Lay the grave-yard, hushed and still.
Pointing over to the shoulders
Of the head-stones, white and high,
Said I, in his bright face looking,
“Think you you shall ever lie
In among those weeping willows?”
“No!” he said, “I cannot die!”
Of the head-stones, white and high,
Said I, in his bright face looking,
“Think you you shall ever lie
In among those weeping willows?”
“No!” he said, “I cannot die!”
“Cannot die? my little darling,
'T is the way we all must go!”
Then the bold bright spirit in him
Setting all his cheek aglow,
He repeated still the answer,
“I shall never die, I know!”
'T is the way we all must go!”
Then the bold bright spirit in him
Setting all his cheek aglow,
He repeated still the answer,
“I shall never die, I know!”
“Wait and think. On yonder hillside
There are graves as short as you.
Death is strong.”—“But He who made Death
Is as strong, and stronger too.
Death may take me, God will wake me,
And will make me live anew.”
There are graves as short as you.
Death is strong.”—“But He who made Death
Is as strong, and stronger too.
Death may take me, God will wake me,
And will make me live anew.”
Since we sat within the elm shade
Talking as the storm came on,
Many a blessed hope has vanished,
Many a year has come and gone;
But that simple, sweet believing
Is the staff I lean upon.
Talking as the storm came on,
Many a blessed hope has vanished,
Many a year has come and gone;
But that simple, sweet believing
Is the staff I lean upon.
From my arms, so closely clasping,
Long ago my darling fled;
Morning brightness makes no lightness
In the darkness where I tread:
He is lost, and I am lonely,
But I know he is not dead.
Long ago my darling fled;
Morning brightness makes no lightness
In the darkness where I tread:
He is lost, and I am lonely,
But I know he is not dead.
| [Poems by Cary in] The Poetical Works Of Alice and Phoebe Cary | |