 | The golden vase ; a gift for the young |  |
INTRODUCTION.
Before you all, my dear young friends, I placeMy new-formed offering of a Golden Vase
Filled with fresh flowers, which I from far and near
Sought out and plucked; then culled, to set them here.
They have, at least, the worth of being rare;
And may you find them fragrant, bright and fair.
They come from meadow, hill, and woody wild;
But on them, when you each with joy have smiled,
That will be sunshine, fresher bloom to give,
Wherewith perennial they thrive and live.
Among them, from my own small garden-spot,
I place one little, sweet Forget-me-not.
H. F. G.
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JENNIE LEE.
How blest is little Jennie Lee,
In summer's balmy hours,
Beneath the broad old shady tree,
Among the buds and flowers!
In summer's balmy hours,
Beneath the broad old shady tree,
Among the buds and flowers!
And not a floweret blooming there,
Or budding forth to sight,
Than Jennie is more sweet and fair,
Or has a heart more light.
Or budding forth to sight,
Than Jennie is more sweet and fair,
Or has a heart more light.
Her cheek is fresh with rosy hue,
Her forehead lily-white—
Her eyes like dewy hare-bells blue—
Her brown hair sunny bright.
Her forehead lily-white—
Her eyes like dewy hare-bells blue—
Her brown hair sunny bright.
As smiles come round her cherry lip,
Her dimple's play is such,
It seems some angel's finger-tip
Gave here and there a touch.
Her dimple's play is such,
It seems some angel's finger-tip
Gave here and there a touch.
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There in her cast-off, light straw hat,
Lie rose and purple bell,
Which she has dropped, to turn, and pat,
And praise her kind Fidel.
Lie rose and purple bell,
Which she has dropped, to turn, and pat,
And praise her kind Fidel.
For he, good dog, her faithful friend,
When she runs out to play,
Will ever her light steps attend,
And guard her by the way.
When she runs out to play,
Will ever her light steps attend,
And guard her by the way.
And her pure heart is always glad,
When gladness is with him;
But if he 's blamed, or sick, or sad,
Her eye in tears will swim.
When gladness is with him;
But if he 's blamed, or sick, or sad,
Her eye in tears will swim.
She thinks her pet can understand
And make her words a law;
And when she bids him give a hand,
He forward puts a paw.
And make her words a law;
And when she bids him give a hand,
He forward puts a paw.
She tells him not to scare the birds,
Nor bark, to tease the geese,
When, quick he takes her sign or words—
Comes back, and keeps the peace.
Nor bark, to tease the geese,
When, quick he takes her sign or words—
Comes back, and keeps the peace.
Then down beside her close he lies,
Her fond caress to seek,
And looks at her with wishful eyes,
As if he next would speak.
Her fond caress to seek,
And looks at her with wishful eyes,
As if he next would speak.
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And O! you must rejoice to see,
Or hear another tell
How happy with sweet Jennie Lee
Is her good friend, Fidel.
Or hear another tell
How happy with sweet Jennie Lee
Is her good friend, Fidel.
While thus her dog loves her so well,
'T is very sweet to see
How rich with her own dear Fidel
Is little Jennie Lee.
'T is very sweet to see
How rich with her own dear Fidel
Is little Jennie Lee.
THE FAIR.
We learn from a Teacher, who taught long ago,
What still, for his sake, to our neighbor we owe.
We read what he spake in behalf of the poor,
Whose precept is perfect—his word ever sure:
We know 't is of these that his saying will be,
“What ye did unto them, ye have done unto me.”
Then come, and your mite, or your bounty prepare,
As he giveth you, for his cause at the Fair.
What still, for his sake, to our neighbor we owe.
We read what he spake in behalf of the poor,
Whose precept is perfect—his word ever sure:
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“What ye did unto them, ye have done unto me.”
Then come, and your mite, or your bounty prepare,
As he giveth you, for his cause at the Fair.
A band of young maidens combined in his name,
Who pitied the needy, the sick and the lame,
As bees we 've been busy, with labor and skill,
Some honey-drop pure from each flower to distil,
To sweeten the cup of affliction, and chase
The pale cast of sadness by smiles from her face.
O come! our good work and its blessing to share,
And hold up our hands and our hearts at the Fair.
Who pitied the needy, the sick and the lame,
As bees we 've been busy, with labor and skill,
Some honey-drop pure from each flower to distil,
To sweeten the cup of affliction, and chase
The pale cast of sadness by smiles from her face.
O come! our good work and its blessing to share,
And hold up our hands and our hearts at the Fair.
We ask not your gold or your silver for naught,
But proffer for these what our fingers have wrought;
And would that your gift may return seven-fold,
In riches more precious than silver or gold.
Since bread we abroad on the waters have cast
Returns to us, when many days may have past,
If good or if not, with increase; let 's beware,
And not our pure off'ring withhold at the Fair.
But proffer for these what our fingers have wrought;
And would that your gift may return seven-fold,
In riches more precious than silver or gold.
Since bread we abroad on the waters have cast
Returns to us, when many days may have past,
If good or if not, with increase; let 's beware,
And not our pure off'ring withhold at the Fair.
Now pity, we know, offered dry and alone,
Were giving a child, that asked bread, but a stone.
For what shall kind words without charity pass?
As tinkling of cymbals, and sounding of brass!
Without it, of prophecy worthless the gift,
And faith from their places the mountains to lift!
If such were the truths that a Paul could declare,
Let us do something worthy a Paul at the Fair.
Were giving a child, that asked bread, but a stone.
For what shall kind words without charity pass?
As tinkling of cymbals, and sounding of brass!
Without it, of prophecy worthless the gift,
And faith from their places the mountains to lift!
If such were the truths that a Paul could declare,
Let us do something worthy a Paul at the Fair.
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Come, angel of charity, clothed in thy power,
And o'er us preside, for to thee is the hour.
O, melt every heart with thy beautiful eye,
Whose soft-beaming light, from thy birthplace on high,
With lustre so holy has brightened the tear
It sheds for the woes thou art witnessing here!
Then send thy sweet herald rejoicing to bear
Glad tidings above of thy friends at the Fair.
And o'er us preside, for to thee is the hour.
O, melt every heart with thy beautiful eye,
Whose soft-beaming light, from thy birthplace on high,
With lustre so holy has brightened the tear
It sheds for the woes thou art witnessing here!
Then send thy sweet herald rejoicing to bear
Glad tidings above of thy friends at the Fair.
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GARAFILIA.
Garafilia was a little Greek girl of uncommon beauty and loveliness, a native of the island of Ipsara, in the Mediterranean Sea.
Ipsara, or Psara, as it is sometimes spelt, is a small heart-shaped island of the Grecian Archipelago, about five miles and a half long, as many broad, and lying seven miles northwest of Scio.
The haughty Turks, who had made themselves lords of Greece, ruled with such cruel despotism, that, to escape their tyranny, and the galling yoke of Mohammedan bondage, a company of Greeks, about a hundred years ago, fled to this island, and colonized it.
At the time of the late desperate, but successful struggle of Greece for freedom from Mussulman sway, the history of which is, or may easily be, well-known to every American reader, Ipsara had upwards of six thousand inhabitants.
The valiant hero, Canaris, so distinguished for patriotism and bravery in the Greek revolu-
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Her portrait was taken, I think in each costume, the American and the Turkish. After her decease an engraving from one of them was sent to me, with a request that I would write a poem to accompany it. I wrote the following, supposed to be the words of the speaking Picture:
GARAFILIA'S PICTURE.
To you, whose tears could freely flow
At Garafilia's tale of wo,
I come her living looks to show,
And to your hearts to speak.
When called from earth, she left behind
Her semblance, that it might remind
Her friends so generous, good and kind,
Of the poor orphan Greek.
At Garafilia's tale of wo,
I come her living looks to show,
And to your hearts to speak.
When called from earth, she left behind
Her semblance, that it might remind
Her friends so generous, good and kind,
Of the poor orphan Greek.
In me behold the eyes that saw
The cruel Turk his sabre draw;
When wrung with grief, and chilled with awe,
Poor Garafilia stood,
Where he, with aspect fierce and dread,
In pride held high his turbaned head;
And rushed with savage haste to shed
Her father's vital blood.
The cruel Turk his sabre draw;
When wrung with grief, and chilled with awe,
Poor Garafilia stood,
Where he, with aspect fierce and dread,
In pride held high his turbaned head;
And rushed with savage haste to shed
Her father's vital blood.
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This ear has heard the dying groan,
The widow's shriek—her helpless moan;
And cries of orphans left alone,
Mid ruthless foes; who came
With barbarous looks in hostile bands,
With gleaming blades in blood-stained hands,
Their parents slew, o'erran the lands
And drove them from their home.
The widow's shriek—her helpless moan;
And cries of orphans left alone,
Mid ruthless foes; who came
With barbarous looks in hostile bands,
With gleaming blades in blood-stained hands,
Their parents slew, o'erran the lands
And drove them from their home.
This youthful cheek has blanched with fear,
And, marble-like, scarce felt the tear
Roll down it, as the Turk came near
To seize his helpless prey;
And from the widow's aching heart,
Her dear and only child to part;
Then bore them off to Smyrna's mart,
To wait the market-day.
And, marble-like, scarce felt the tear
Roll down it, as the Turk came near
To seize his helpless prey;
And from the widow's aching heart,
Her dear and only child to part;
Then bore them off to Smyrna's mart,
To wait the market-day.
This little head has ached, and found
No rest but on the chilling ground,
While the sad mother, pale and bound,
A hapless slave was sold.
These lips, with thirst and hunger dried,
One parting kiss were then denied,
As she forever turned aside,
Forced from her child for gold.
No rest but on the chilling ground,
While the sad mother, pale and bound,
A hapless slave was sold.
These lips, with thirst and hunger dried,
One parting kiss were then denied,
As she forever turned aside,
Forced from her child for gold.
But when the good American
Had bargained with the Mussulman
For Garafilia, then began
To dawn a brighter day;
He made the purchase but to be
Her friend, her guardian, and to see
The little sufferer, blest and free,
Wipe all her tears away.
Had bargained with the Mussulman
For Garafilia, then began
To dawn a brighter day;
He made the purchase but to be
Her friend, her guardian, and to see
The little sufferer, blest and free,
Wipe all her tears away.
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Protected by a careful hand,
He sent her to this happy land,
To let her tender mind expand
Beneath Columbia's sky.
Then on her mild and modest face,
The placid smile resumed its place;
Her goodness, gentleness, and grace
Delighted every eye.
He sent her to this happy land,
To let her tender mind expand
Beneath Columbia's sky.
Then on her mild and modest face,
The placid smile resumed its place;
Her goodness, gentleness, and grace
Delighted every eye.
Then did her little guileless tongue,
To which the foreign accent clung,
With melting sweetness, spoke or sung,
The gratitude make known,
Wherewith her tender heart o'erflowed
Towards Heaven, and to the friends who showed
Such kindness; and to whom she owed
Her path with blessings strewn.
To which the foreign accent clung,
With melting sweetness, spoke or sung,
The gratitude make known,
Wherewith her tender heart o'erflowed
Towards Heaven, and to the friends who showed
Such kindness; and to whom she owed
Her path with blessings strewn.
But still, of Garafilia's heart
The dearest ties were torn apart;
She thought of Smyrna's awful mart,
And of her mother's woes,
When sold and driven, she knew not where!
She thought of native land and air,
Of her dear, dying father's prayer,
And of his cruel foes.
The dearest ties were torn apart;
She thought of Smyrna's awful mart,
And of her mother's woes,
When sold and driven, she knew not where!
She thought of native land and air,
Of her dear, dying father's prayer,
And of his cruel foes.
And, as a flower the storm has torn
Up by the root, when plucked, and borne
Beneath the shelter, to be worn
Upon its owner's breast,
'T was Garafilia's early doom
While yet in freshest morning bloom,
To wither for an early tomb,
Where now she lies at rest.
Up by the root, when plucked, and borne
Beneath the shelter, to be worn
Upon its owner's breast,
'T was Garafilia's early doom
While yet in freshest morning bloom,
To wither for an early tomb,
Where now she lies at rest.
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“Ashes to ashes!” hath been said
With reverence, o'er the meek one's head,
And the last tear has long been shed
From Garafilia's eye.
For the pure angels came to bear
Her spirit from this world of care
To bright and blissful regions, where
She lives, no more to die.
With reverence, o'er the meek one's head,
And the last tear has long been shed
From Garafilia's eye.
For the pure angels came to bear
Her spirit from this world of care
To bright and blissful regions, where
She lives, no more to die.
Thus, while her soul in heaven is blest,
Her form within the grave at rest,
Me has she left as her bequest,
The dearest she could make,
To those whose kindness she had proved,
Till from their tender care removed;
And sure the picture will be loved
For Garafilia's sake.
Her form within the grave at rest,
Me has she left as her bequest,
The dearest she could make,
To those whose kindness she had proved,
Till from their tender care removed;
And sure the picture will be loved
For Garafilia's sake.
This affecting and true history of Garafilia is written for the little girls of America; that they may learn to prize the blessings of their native country, and be grateful to the kind Providence who has given them birth and a home in a land free from the evils that filled the first years of the young and innocent Ipsariot.
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MY LITTLE BOOK'S NEW YEAR'S WISH TO ITS READERS.
Our fleeting days so swiftly fly
That you, my gentle friends, and I,
In this new morning, see appear
The firstling of another year.
That you, my gentle friends, and I,
In this new morning, see appear
The firstling of another year.
Now, as I know you wish me well,
For songs I sing, for tales I tell,
I, too, must wish, and do my best
That you may through this year be blest.
For songs I sing, for tales I tell,
I, too, must wish, and do my best
That you may through this year be blest.
I have no sweetmeats, cakes, or toys,
As gifts for hopeful girls and boys;
But look in me, and you shall find
Both food and playthings for the mind.
As gifts for hopeful girls and boys;
But look in me, and you shall find
Both food and playthings for the mind.
You know the present hour alone
Is all that you can call your own;
That time, forever on the wing,
Is changing every earthly thing.
Is all that you can call your own;
That time, forever on the wing,
Is changing every earthly thing.
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And should His hand who lent you breath,
Seal up your childish lips in death,
I would not think I e'er had given
Aught to unfit the soul for heaven.
Seal up your childish lips in death,
I would not think I e'er had given
Aught to unfit the soul for heaven.
But if your days to age extend,
Regard me as your early friend;
And oft in memory may you look,
With fondness on your little book.
Regard me as your early friend;
And oft in memory may you look,
With fondness on your little book.
I then may be abused and torn,
My words effaced, my covers worn;
But, what I've done to mend the heart
Preserve, as my immortal part.
My words effaced, my covers worn;
But, what I've done to mend the heart
Preserve, as my immortal part.
Resolve, with every rising sun,
That something learnt, or something done
Before he sets, shall gild your way,
Till years are lost in endless day.
That something learnt, or something done
Before he sets, shall gild your way,
Till years are lost in endless day.
| The golden vase ; a gift for the young | |