 | Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge |  |
123
GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET.
“One to the fields, the other to the hearth.”
Leigh Hunt.
Leigh Hunt.
125
THE GRASS-WORLD.
Oh, life is rife in the heart of the year,
When midsummer suns sail high;
And under the shadow of spike and spear,
In the depth of the daisy sky,
There 's a life unknown to the careless glance;
And under the stillness an airy prance,
And slender, jointed things astir,
And gossamer wings in a sunny whir,—
And a world of work and dance.
When midsummer suns sail high;
And under the shadow of spike and spear,
In the depth of the daisy sky,
There 's a life unknown to the careless glance;
And under the stillness an airy prance,
And slender, jointed things astir,
And gossamer wings in a sunny whir,—
And a world of work and dance.
Soft in its throbbing, the conscious green
Demurely answers the breeze;
While down in its tangle, in riotous sheen,
The hoppers are bending their knees;
And only a beetle, or lumbering ant,
As he pushes a feathery spray aslant,—
Or the sudden dip of a foraging bird,
With its vibrant trail of the clover stirred,
Discovers the secret haunt.
Demurely answers the breeze;
While down in its tangle, in riotous sheen,
The hoppers are bending their knees;
126
As he pushes a feathery spray aslant,—
Or the sudden dip of a foraging bird,
With its vibrant trail of the clover stirred,
Discovers the secret haunt.
Ah, the grass-world dies in the autumn days,
When, studded with sheaf and stack,
The fields lie browning in sullen haze,
And creak in the farmer's track.
Hushed is the tumult the daisies knew,
The hidden sport of the supple crew;
And lonely and dazed in the glare of day,
The stiff-kneed hoppers refuse to play
In the stubble that mocks the blue.
For all things feel that the time is drear
When life runs low in the heart of the year.
When, studded with sheaf and stack,
The fields lie browning in sullen haze,
And creak in the farmer's track.
Hushed is the tumult the daisies knew,
The hidden sport of the supple crew;
And lonely and dazed in the glare of day,
The stiff-kneed hoppers refuse to play
In the stubble that mocks the blue.
For all things feel that the time is drear
When life runs low in the heart of the year.
127
CONFIDENCES.
I watched a butterfly on the wing;
I saw him alight on a sunny spray.
His pinions quivered;
The blossom shivered;
I know he whispered some startling thing.
But why so bold,
Or what he told,
While poising there on the sunny spray,
I never have learned to this blessèd day.
I saw him alight on a sunny spray.
His pinions quivered;
The blossom shivered;
I know he whispered some startling thing.
But why so bold,
Or what he told,
While poising there on the sunny spray,
I never have learned to this blessèd day.
I watched a brave young cavalier;
I saw him steal to a maiden gay.
Swift words he muttered;
The maiden fluttered;
I know his whisper she flushed to hear.
But why so bold,
Or what he told,
While bending there by the maiden gay,
She never has owned to this blessèd day.
I saw him steal to a maiden gay.
Swift words he muttered;
The maiden fluttered;
I know his whisper she flushed to hear.
But why so bold,
Or what he told,
While bending there by the maiden gay,
She never has owned to this blessèd day.
128
HUBER.
A blind man under the linden trees,
Listening hour by hour.
The tall, white clover is tapping his knees—
Impatient, eager flower!
“See! See!
He comes. My bee!
Good friend, you know who is come to me!”—
And now the blind man sees.
Listening hour by hour.
The tall, white clover is tapping his knees—
Impatient, eager flower!
“See! See!
He comes. My bee!
Good friend, you know who is come to me!”—
And now the blind man sees.
He sees!
Oh, wonderful eyes of the sense and soul,
Eyes that, seeing the least so well,
Must see the whole!
And, bees,—
With your booms and buzzings that daze the air,
Your droning cadence with mystic swell,
Your pilot flights and reckonings rare,
And the hoards you drew
From bloom and dew,—
Do you know of the hoard you have stored for him
Who works and waits in the darkness dim?
From fields where our easy vision fails
In the light where our sunniest sunlight pales,
You carry your store
Of Nature's lore.
Your lives and secrets his soul doth scan,
Giving him glimpse of the Infinite Plan.
Wonderful, wonderful bees,—
For Huber sees!
Oh, wonderful eyes of the sense and soul,
Eyes that, seeing the least so well,
Must see the whole!
And, bees,—
With your booms and buzzings that daze the air,
Your droning cadence with mystic swell,
Your pilot flights and reckonings rare,
And the hoards you drew
From bloom and dew,—
129
Who works and waits in the darkness dim?
From fields where our easy vision fails
In the light where our sunniest sunlight pales,
You carry your store
Of Nature's lore.
Your lives and secrets his soul doth scan,
Giving him glimpse of the Infinite Plan.
Wonderful, wonderful bees,—
For Huber sees!
130
FIRE-FLIES.
See the air filling near by and afar,—
A shadowy host—how brilliant they are!
A shadowy host—how brilliant they are!
Silently flitting, spark upon spark,
Gemming the willows out in the dark;
Gemming the willows out in the dark;
Waking the night in a twinkling surprise,
Making the star-light pale where they rise;
Making the star-light pale where they rise;
Snowing soft fire-flakes into the grass,
Lighting the face of each daisy they pass;
Lighting the face of each daisy they pass;
Startling the darkness, over and over,
Where the sly pimpernel kisses the clover;
Where the sly pimpernel kisses the clover;
Piercing the duskiest heights of the pines;
Drowsily poised on the low-swinging vines;
Drowsily poised on the low-swinging vines;
131
Suddenly shifting their tapers around,
Now on the fences, and now on the ground,
Now on the fences, and now on the ground,
Now in the bushes and tree-tops, and then
Pitching them far into darkness again;
Pitching them far into darkness again;
There like a shooting-star, slowly on wing,
Here like the flash of a dowager's ring;
Here like the flash of a dowager's ring;
Setting the dark, croaking hollows a-gleam,
Spangling the gloom of the ghoul-haunted stream;
Spangling the gloom of the ghoul-haunted stream;
They pulse and they sparkle in shadowy play,
Like a night fallen down with its stars all astray;
Like a night fallen down with its stars all astray;
They pulse and they flicker, they kindle afar,
A vanishing host,—but how brilliant they are!
A vanishing host,—but how brilliant they are!
132
THE UMPIRES.
I.
We chose our blossoms, sitting on the grass;
His, Marguerites, with sunny, winsome faces,
Mine the bright clover, with its statelier graces.
“Let these decide the argument, my lass;
We'll watch,” said he, “the light-winged breezes pass
And note which first the earliest whiff displaces;
If it be daisy, yours the sore disgrace is,
And be it clover, then I yield, alas!”
His, Marguerites, with sunny, winsome faces,
Mine the bright clover, with its statelier graces.
“Let these decide the argument, my lass;
We'll watch,” said he, “the light-winged breezes pass
And note which first the earliest whiff displaces;
If it be daisy, yours the sore disgrace is,
And be it clover, then I yield, alas!”
The lightsome quarrel was but half in jest;
I would go homeward; he would sit and rest—
The foolish cousin whom I would not wed.
Smiling we waited; not a word we said.
In earnest he, and I quite debonair—
But oh, the stillness of that summer air!
I would go homeward; he would sit and rest—
The foolish cousin whom I would not wed.
Smiling we waited; not a word we said.
In earnest he, and I quite debonair—
But oh, the stillness of that summer air!
133
II.
So still it was—so still with quiet heat,
The blossom lately from the brooklet quaffing
Ceased its brisk dipping and sly telegraphing,
And scorned the blossom opposite to greet.
The very grass stood breathless at our feet;
When, suddenly, our weighty silence chaffing,
The leaves around broke out in muffled laughing,
And something stirred the fickle Marguerite!
The blossom lately from the brooklet quaffing
Ceased its brisk dipping and sly telegraphing,
And scorned the blossom opposite to greet.
The very grass stood breathless at our feet;
When, suddenly, our weighty silence chaffing,
The leaves around broke out in muffled laughing,
And something stirred the fickle Marguerite!
“Your flower!” I cried.—“Ah, now it bends quite over!”
“Oho!” he answered—“see your nodding clover!”
In truth, those silly blossoms fluttered so,
I really knew not if to stay or go.—
And so it happened that the twilight found me
Still resting there,—and Charlie's arm around me.
“Oho!” he answered—“see your nodding clover!”
In truth, those silly blossoms fluttered so,
I really knew not if to stay or go.—
And so it happened that the twilight found me
Still resting there,—and Charlie's arm around me.
134
CARNIVOROUS PLANTS.
What's this I hear,
My Molly dear,
About the new carnivora?
Can little plants
Eat bugs and ants
And gnats and flies?—
Why, bless my eyes!
Who is the great diskiverer?
My Molly dear,
About the new carnivora?
Can little plants
Eat bugs and ants
And gnats and flies?—
Why, bless my eyes!
Who is the great diskiverer?
Not Darwin, love,
For that would prove
Unmeet for his parading;
Surely the fare
Of flowers is air,
Or sunshine sweet;—
They should n't eat
Or do aught so degrading.
For that would prove
Unmeet for his parading;
Surely the fare
Of flowers is air,
Or sunshine sweet;—
They should n't eat
Or do aught so degrading.
135
If it, alas!
Should come to pass
That Fido here should die,—oh, let
It not be said:
“The dog is dead,
Because one day
In thoughtless play
He went too near a violet.”
Should come to pass
That Fido here should die,—oh, let
It not be said:
“The dog is dead,
Because one day
In thoughtless play
He went too near a violet.”
Oh, horror! What
If, heeding not,
Some cruel plant carnivorous
We ventured near—
Yes, we, my dear—
And slaughtered were,
With no one there
To succor or deliver us!
If, heeding not,
Some cruel plant carnivorous
We ventured near—
Yes, we, my dear—
And slaughtered were,
With no one there
To succor or deliver us!
And yet, to die
By blossoms, I
Would call a doom ecstatic.
For one might wait
A harder fate
Than have a rose
End all his woes
In pain so aromatic!
By blossoms, I
Would call a doom ecstatic.
For one might wait
136
Than have a rose
End all his woes
In pain so aromatic!
Let Science blame
Each flower by name,
And all its wicked habits.
'T is not for us
To make a fuss;
For aught we know,
The lilies grow
From dining on “Welsh rabbits”!
Each flower by name,
And all its wicked habits.
'T is not for us
To make a fuss;
For aught we know,
The lilies grow
From dining on “Welsh rabbits”!
But this I'll say:
If you, one day,
Should have some fierce bud growing,
For my sake, dear,
Let placards near
Say, by your bower:
“Beware the flower!”
Lest I should come, unknowing.
If you, one day,
Should have some fierce bud growing,
For my sake, dear,
Let placards near
Say, by your bower:
“Beware the flower!”
Lest I should come, unknowing.
137
WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS.
Two little sorrel blossoms, pale and slender,Lean to each other in the cool, tall grass;
The crowding spears with gallant air and tender,
Shield them completely from the sun's fierce splendor,
Till harmlessly an angry wind might pass.
And I stand smiling with a sudden whim:
“The little innocents! Now am I sure
They think them in a forest grand and dim,
The mighty grass coeval with their birth,—
Shut from the world, from every ill secure,
And where their thicket ends, there ends the earth!”
138
A TALE OF THANKS.
Dear rose! that tinted my baby's cheek,I praise thee more than words can speak;
And gentian! darling of autumn skies,
I thank thee for her soft blue eyes;
Oh, summer brook! from thy ripples bright
Her smiles do borrow their dancing light;
And satin cell of the chestnut burr,
What lustre of hair thou hast lent to her!
Oh, lithe young sapling, growing apace,
Honor to thee for her supple grace;
And living sunshine, well I know
Thou gavest her warm young heart its glow.
In truth, not a charm of earth or sky
But comes for my girl to pattern by;
And truly I thank you, every one,
For the sweetest lassie the sun shines on!
139
READING.
One day in the bloom of a violet
I found a simple word;
And my heart went softly humming it,
Till the violet must have heard.
I found a simple word;
And my heart went softly humming it,
Till the violet must have heard.
And deep in the depth of a crimson rose
A writing showed so plain,
I scanned it over in veriest joy
To the patter of summer rain.
A writing showed so plain,
I scanned it over in veriest joy
To the patter of summer rain.
And then from the grateful mignonette
I read—ah, such a thing!
That the glad tears fell on it like dew,
And my soul was ready to sing.
I read—ah, such a thing!
That the glad tears fell on it like dew,
And my soul was ready to sing.
A few little words! Before that day
I never had taken heed;
But, oh, how I blessed the love that came—
The love that taught me to read!
I never had taken heed;
But, oh, how I blessed the love that came—
The love that taught me to read!
140
“NOW THE NOISY WINDS ARE STILL.”
Now the noisy winds are still;April 's coming up the hill!
All the spring is in her train,
Led by shining ranks of rain;
Pit, pat, patter, clatter,
Sudden sun, and clatter, patter!—
First the blue, and then the shower;
Bursting bud, and smiling flower;
Brooks set free with tinkling ring;
Birds too full of song to sing;
Crisp old leaves astir with pride,
Where the timid violets hide,—
All things ready with a will,—
April 's coming up the hill!
141
FULFILLMENT.
Waking in May, the peach-tree thought:
“Idle and bare and weaving naught!
Here have I slept the winter through—
I with my Master's work to do!”
“Idle and bare and weaving naught!
Here have I slept the winter through—
I with my Master's work to do!”
Started the buds. The blossoms came,
Till all the branches were a-flame.
She rocked the birds, and wove the green,
A busy tree as ever was seen.
Till all the branches were a-flame.
She rocked the birds, and wove the green,
A busy tree as ever was seen.
Busy and blithe, she drank the dew;
She caught the sunbeams gliding through;
She drew her wealth from sky and soil,
And rustled gayly in her toil.
She caught the sunbeams gliding through;
She drew her wealth from sky and soil,
And rustled gayly in her toil.
Now see the peach-tree's drooping head,
With all her fruit a-blushing red!
Knowing her Master's work is done,
She meekly resteth in the sun.
With all her fruit a-blushing red!
Knowing her Master's work is done,
She meekly resteth in the sun.
142
TWO SUMMER DAYS.
[_]
“June 17th.
“It was only a little bunch of clover-blossoms gathered for her, near a way-side station, soon after our parties were introduced on the East-bound train. But how much it meant! That was just one year ago to-day,—and now we are going back together!”—
From his Letter.
A year ago this day, my girl,
The clover told a thing to you,
Amid the stir and noisy whirl
Of wheels, as toward his home we flew;
And now you know how fond and true
The thing the clover said to you.
The clover told a thing to you,
Amid the stir and noisy whirl
Of wheels, as toward his home we flew;
And now you know how fond and true
The thing the clover said to you.
With modest mirth and girlish grace,
You took the gift and lightly smiled;
You pressed it softly to your face,
(What wonder that the flower grew wild!)
And now, in thought, again we trace,
The clover bloom, the girlish grace.
You took the gift and lightly smiled;
You pressed it softly to your face,
(What wonder that the flower grew wild!)
And now, in thought, again we trace,
The clover bloom, the girlish grace.
143
Over the self-same road again
You journey,—yours the homeward way;
And bright upon that Western plain
The nodding clover smiles to-day;
And still, though not in lightsome play,
It has a blessed thing to say.
You journey,—yours the homeward way;
And bright upon that Western plain
The nodding clover smiles to-day;
And still, though not in lightsome play,
It has a blessed thing to say.
Still waves the clover in the sun,
And whispers near the whirring track:
“Two lives are floating into one,
Two travellers are speeding back.
God bless them both till Heaven is won,
And bless the love in bloom begun!”
And whispers near the whirring track:
“Two lives are floating into one,
Two travellers are speeding back.
God bless them both till Heaven is won,
And bless the love in bloom begun!”
144
A GROUP OF BIRTHDAY VERSES
WRITTEN ON THE ROAD.
Out in the sunshine fair and free,
Flecked by the blossoming, re-born tree,
Bathed in the pale, pure light of Spring,
While men look up, and the glad birds sing,—
There, dear friend, let thy reck'ning be,
So let thy birthdays come to thee!
Flecked by the blossoming, re-born tree,
Bathed in the pale, pure light of Spring,
While men look up, and the glad birds sing,—
There, dear friend, let thy reck'ning be,
So let thy birthdays come to thee!
Firm as the tall, brave trunks around;
Full of life as the flower-full ground;
Free as the boughs that sweep the blue;
Bright as the violet's sudden hue;—
So let thy life-long reck'ning be,
So let thy birthdays come to thee!
Full of life as the flower-full ground;
Free as the boughs that sweep the blue;
Bright as the violet's sudden hue;—
So let thy life-long reck'ning be,
So let thy birthdays come to thee!
It was cool and gray in the twilight morn—
A prophecy sweetest—when thou wast born;
And if daylight gathered a cloud or two
That floated beside thee when life was new,
Thy noon will be sunny and clear, I know,
And holy and peaceful thine evening glow:
For good and true shall thy reck'ning be
Till all thy birthdays are come to thee.
A prophecy sweetest—when thou wast born;
And if daylight gathered a cloud or two
That floated beside thee when life was new,
145
And holy and peaceful thine evening glow:
For good and true shall thy reck'ning be
Till all thy birthdays are come to thee.
MILE-STONES.
Mile-stones fair on the road of life,Thy birthdays bright appear—
One by one, erect and clear,
Triumphant, and with meaning rife.
Lead on, O birthdays of my friend,
With joy and peace between!
And be ye guides and monuments
Of all that he hath been,
And all he is, and yet shall be
Through time and blest eternity!
146
“EVERY DAY A BIRTHDAY IS.”
Every day a birthday is,
Into an unknown world:
Into an unknown world:
Life, with its changes infinite,
Keepeth its counsel well;
The gain, the good, the sin in it
Only each day may tell.
Between the dawns comes man's first breath;
Between the dawns, man's hour of death.
Keepeth its counsel well;
The gain, the good, the sin in it
Only each day may tell.
Between the dawns comes man's first breath;
Between the dawns, man's hour of death.
Yet, by the twelvemonth do we keep
The record of our stay:
The record of our stay:
So, when, no longer desolate,
Forests grow green and sweet,
And nature in her fair estate
Flings blossoms at thy feet,
We hail thee, richer by a year,—
We hail thee, comrade tried and dear!
Forests grow green and sweet,
And nature in her fair estate
Flings blossoms at thy feet,
We hail thee, richer by a year,—
We hail thee, comrade tried and dear!
147
Wishing is giving—soul to soul.
What shall I wish this day?
What shall I wish this day?
I wish thee peace and happiness,
And work and honored meed;
I wish thy sorrows tardiness,
And every joy God-speed!
I wish thee all I may, dear friend;
God's grace; and manhood to the end!
And work and honored meed;
I wish thy sorrows tardiness,
And every joy God-speed!
I wish thee all I may, dear friend;
God's grace; and manhood to the end!
ONE DAY IN MAY.
It passed us by—I know not why—
Without a sign or token;
Another year in gliding by
No parting word had spoken!
Without a sign or token;
Another year in gliding by
No parting word had spoken!
It went its way one day in May
When Time was softly speeding:
A brave, fresh year before thee lay,
And there I sat, unheeding!
When Time was softly speeding:
148
And there I sat, unheeding!
Then she, the good, in tender mood
Spoke of the years' swift gliding,
And I—the laggard!—understood
The thing thou hadst been hiding.
Spoke of the years' swift gliding,
And I—the laggard!—understood
The thing thou hadst been hiding.
By twilight's glow, sweet flowers we brought
And gave thee happy greeting;
In cheery, home-lit ways we sought
To mark the day's completing.
And gave thee happy greeting;
In cheery, home-lit ways we sought
To mark the day's completing.
Thus, one by one, they westward run—
Thy years; and so we find them
A proud surprise, at set of sun,—
A trail of flowers behind them.
Thy years; and so we find them
A proud surprise, at set of sun,—
A trail of flowers behind them.
149
TO A YOUNG GIRL.
WITH A SPRAY OF AUTUMN LEAVES.
Though Autumn winds be sighing in your future, Molly dear,Their music may be sweeter than the early Spring-time cheer;
As the fleeting moments ripen in the fullness of your prime,
There'll be tints and shadows richer far than those of Summer-time;
And so, these leaves prophetic made me dream, my girl, of you,
As they trembled in their gladness, with the sunlight shining through.
152
SECRETS.
I'd like to be a daisy
In the clover,
That I might look up bravely
At my lover.
In the clover,
That I might look up bravely
At my lover.
I 'd bid the willing breezes
Bend me sweet,
That I might, as he passed me,
Touch his feet;
Bend me sweet,
That I might, as he passed me,
Touch his feet;
I 'd let the dew so quickly
Start and glisten,
That, thinking I had called him,
He would listen.
Start and glisten,
That, thinking I had called him,
He would listen.
Yet would he listen vainly—
Happy me!
No bee could find my secret;
How could he?
Happy me!
No bee could find my secret;
How could he?
153
If ever of the clover
Couch he made,
I 'd softly kiss his eyelids
In the shade.
Couch he made,
I 'd softly kiss his eyelids
In the shade.
Then would I breathe sweet incense
All for him,
And fill with perfect bloom
The twilight dim.
All for him,
And fill with perfect bloom
The twilight dim.
What should I do, I wonder,
When he went?
Why, I would—like a daisy—
Be content.
When he went?
Why, I would—like a daisy—
Be content.
Alack! to live so bravely,
Peace o'erladen,
Has ne'er been granted yet
To simple maiden.
Peace o'erladen,
Has ne'er been granted yet
To simple maiden.
156
UNISON
Over us the wild, cool NightSpread her dark tresses heavy with quick gems,
Till in the twinkling blackness, lithe and light,
We felt like wood-flowers swung on hidden stems.
157
A WELCOME.
The great, slow sea and the wide, wide sky,With never a fleck on the blue or the sea;
The quick, glad rush of the wave to the shore—
So may our love and our meetings be.
158
TO A FRIEND.
I roamed with thee the mountain-side,
And, with thee, watched the shadows fall;
The sun went down, but night flung wide
A glory mightier than all.
And, with thee, watched the shadows fall;
The sun went down, but night flung wide
A glory mightier than all.
And we have walked the fields, we twain,
And said: “How fair the distance shows!
How far they blend—the sky and plain!
How holy-bright the twilight glows!”
And said: “How fair the distance shows!
How far they blend—the sky and plain!
How holy-bright the twilight glows!”
And, hill or plain, thy soul was high,—
High as the peaks that lift to God;
And not more true than thee the sky
That shone, as on our way we trod.
High as the peaks that lift to God;
And not more true than thee the sky
That shone, as on our way we trod.
159
THE FLOWERS.
They're coming! they're coming!
'T is writ on the air,
In incense and harmony
Breathed everywhere!
Winds murmur no longer
Their woe to the pines—
But spiders are spinning
Their gossamer lines.
Blue-birds are darting
The branches among,
Wild with a pleasure
Only half sung.
Willows are greening
Down by the brook;
Insects are stirring
In forest and nook;
Sunlight is bringing
Buttercups sweet—
Hear the grass whisper
Under our feet!
Telling of daisies,
Telling of clover,
Telling of beauty
All the world over.
'T is writ on the air,
In incense and harmony
Breathed everywhere!
Winds murmur no longer
Their woe to the pines—
But spiders are spinning
Their gossamer lines.
Blue-birds are darting
The branches among,
Wild with a pleasure
Only half sung.
Willows are greening
Down by the brook;
Insects are stirring
In forest and nook;
160
Buttercups sweet—
Hear the grass whisper
Under our feet!
Telling of daisies,
Telling of clover,
Telling of beauty
All the world over.
They 're coming! They 're coming!
The beautiful throng,
To soothe us and cheer us
The whole summer long.
By brook, and in meadow,
Woodland and glade,
Through moonlight and star-light
Sunshine and shade,
They 're creeping, they 're springing,
They 're climbing the hill,
They 're twining and clinging—
Though underground still;
The blue-birds have called them,—
The roses and all;
They have heard, and already
They answer the call!
The beautiful throng,
To soothe us and cheer us
The whole summer long.
By brook, and in meadow,
Woodland and glade,
Through moonlight and star-light
Sunshine and shade,
They 're creeping, they 're springing,
They 're climbing the hill,
They 're twining and clinging—
Though underground still;
161
The roses and all;
They have heard, and already
They answer the call!
O Snow-white and Purple,
Pink, Yellow and Blue!
Lie close to their hearts
Till the day they come through
O Spirit of Beauty!
Spirit of Grace!
Still bide ye above them
Watching the place.
Fragrance and loveliness
Still hover near,
Soon shall your hosts
In their glory appear.
Surely the Spring-time
Is crowning its hours—
They 're coming! They 're coming—
The beautiful flowers!
Pink, Yellow and Blue!
Lie close to their hearts
Till the day they come through
O Spirit of Beauty!
Spirit of Grace!
Still bide ye above them
Watching the place.
Fragrance and loveliness
Still hover near,
Soon shall your hosts
In their glory appear.
Surely the Spring-time
Is crowning its hours—
They 're coming! They 're coming—
The beautiful flowers!
162
A SONG OF MAY.
My heart is light with May, with May,
My heart is light with May!
The sky is soft; the coming birds
Are silent on their way.
My heart is light with May!
The sky is soft; the coming birds
Are silent on their way.
The miracle of flower and fruit
Not yet the Lord hath wrought;
But never ripened Summer-time
So bright a day hath brought.
Not yet the Lord hath wrought;
But never ripened Summer-time
So bright a day hath brought.
For there is promise in the air,
And murmurous prophecy;
All breathless and with lifted arms,
Stand waiting shrub and tree.
And murmurous prophecy;
All breathless and with lifted arms,
Stand waiting shrub and tree.
To-morrow shall the blossoms glow;
At dawn the birds will sing;
All through the stillness deep I hear
The rushing tide of Spring.
At dawn the birds will sing;
163
The rushing tide of Spring.
My heart is light with May, with May,
My heart is light with May!
And all the more that coming birds
Are silent on their way.
My heart is light with May!
And all the more that coming birds
Are silent on their way.
164
BLOSSOM-SNOW.
March came one morn to the door of May,
And begged the maiden to let him stay.
“I went too soon,” was his whining prayer,
“I knew not the earth could grow so fair.”
So she let him in; and he promised her
He would hardly breathe and never stir.
And begged the maiden to let him stay.
“I went too soon,” was his whining prayer,
“I knew not the earth could grow so fair.”
So she let him in; and he promised her
He would hardly breathe and never stir.
And all day long he kept his word;
Naught from the sly old guest was heard.
Now and then he would breathe a sigh
And startle the blue-birds passing by;
Or hidden violets uncover,
Or try to blow some daisy over;
Yet, for the rest, he kept his word,—
He hardly breathed, and he never stirred,
Till the sweet May murmured: “Now, my dear,
We really do not need you here,
My flowers are frightened—don't you see?
They 'd rather be alone with me.”
High overhead the blossoms hung;
Full gently had the tree-tops swung.
But now he rose in sudden wrath
And whitened all the sunny path.
“Oho!” cried he, “if I must go
I'll turn her blossoms into snow!”
Naught from the sly old guest was heard.
Now and then he would breathe a sigh
And startle the blue-birds passing by;
Or hidden violets uncover,
Or try to blow some daisy over;
Yet, for the rest, he kept his word,—
He hardly breathed, and he never stirred,
Till the sweet May murmured: “Now, my dear,
We really do not need you here,
My flowers are frightened—don't you see?
They 'd rather be alone with me.”
165
Full gently had the tree-tops swung.
But now he rose in sudden wrath
And whitened all the sunny path.
“Oho!” cried he, “if I must go
I'll turn her blossoms into snow!”
Clinging and warm, they felt the spell.
Ah, how they fluttered, floated, fell!
The air was full of eddying bloom,—
A lightsome, flowery dance of doom.
In flurried heaps at last it lay,
Or drifted silently away;
And still he shook, “Good-bye! Good-bye!”
Then vanished in the trackless sky.
Ah, how they fluttered, floated, fell!
The air was full of eddying bloom,—
A lightsome, flowery dance of doom.
In flurried heaps at last it lay,
Or drifted silently away;
And still he shook, “Good-bye! Good-bye!”
Then vanished in the trackless sky.
The branches whispered: “Now for fruit!”
And thrilled with joy from tip to root.
May, kneeling, kissed the fragrant ground;
The air was filled with peace profound;
For all things smiled, and seemed to know
The promise of the blossom-snow.
And thrilled with joy from tip to root.
May, kneeling, kissed the fragrant ground;
The air was filled with peace profound;
For all things smiled, and seemed to know
The promise of the blossom-snow.
166
GREETINGS.
“Good day!” cried one who drove to West,“Good day!” the other, Eastward bound;—
Strong, hearty voices both, that rang
Above their wagons' rattling sound.
And I, within my snug home nest,
“Good day! good day!” still softly sang.
I saw them not, yet well I knew
How much a cheery word can do,
How braced those hearts that on their way
Speed, each to each, a brave “Good day!”
168
THE CONCERT.
Such a concert, dear, as I've had to-night!
Full of sweet sound and deep delight;
And yet “the house” was poor;
Poor, if you count by crowded seats;
But judging only by glad heart-beats,
'T was a splendid house, I'm sure.
Full of sweet sound and deep delight;
And yet “the house” was poor;
Poor, if you count by crowded seats;
But judging only by glad heart-beats,
'T was a splendid house, I'm sure.
First, Baby sang as well as she could
Some sweet little notes that I understood;
And wee Kate's chirp of a laugh broke out
As Willy ran in with a merry shout;
The pussy purred on the rug in state,
And the good clock ticked: “It 's late! it 's late!”
While faint in the shadows the cricket sang,
And the kettle hummed with a plaintive twang.
Some sweet little notes that I understood;
And wee Kate's chirp of a laugh broke out
As Willy ran in with a merry shout;
The pussy purred on the rug in state,
And the good clock ticked: “It 's late! it 's late!”
While faint in the shadows the cricket sang,
And the kettle hummed with a plaintive twang.
That was Part First, you must know, my dear,
When only we five were there to hear;
The fagots crackled applause;
The baby's soft little pat-a-cake
Made reckless encores for the music's sake,
And “lullaby” brought us the pause.
When only we five were there to hear;
The fagots crackled applause;
169
Made reckless encores for the music's sake,
And “lullaby” brought us the pause.
Well, the Second Part? Ah that was fine—
Fine to the heart's core, lover mine!
For over the kettle's winsome plaint,
And the baby's breathing, sweet and faint,
And over the prattle of Will and Kate,
And the clock's impatient “Late! it 's late!”
I heard the blessedest sound of all—
A click of the latch, a step in the hall!
And “Home, sweet home” pulsed all the air
As you came calling up the stair.
Fine to the heart's core, lover mine!
For over the kettle's winsome plaint,
And the baby's breathing, sweet and faint,
And over the prattle of Will and Kate,
And the clock's impatient “Late! it 's late!”
I heard the blessedest sound of all—
A click of the latch, a step in the hall!
And “Home, sweet home” pulsed all the air
As you came calling up the stair.
170
ANOTHER YEAR.
Old man with the hour-glass, halt! halt! I pray—
Don't you see you are taking my children away?
My own little babies who came long ago,
You stole them, old man with the beard white as snow!
Don't you see you are taking my children away?
My own little babies who came long ago,
You stole them, old man with the beard white as snow!
My beautiful babies, so bonny and bright!
Where have you carried them, far out of sight?
Oh, dimpled their cheeks were, and sunny their hair!
But I cannot find them; I 've searched everywhere.
Where have you carried them, far out of sight?
Oh, dimpled their cheeks were, and sunny their hair!
But I cannot find them; I 've searched everywhere.
My three-year-old toddlers, they shouted in glee;
They sported about me; they sat on my knee.
Oh, their prattle and laughter were silvery rain!
Old man, must I list for their voices in vain?
They sported about me; they sat on my knee.
Oh, their prattle and laughter were silvery rain!
Old man, must I list for their voices in vain?
They were here; they were gone while their kisses were warm.
I scarce knew the hour when they slipped from my arm—
Oh! where was I looking when, peerless and sweet,
They followed the track of your echoless feet?
I scarce knew the hour when they slipped from my arm—
171
They followed the track of your echoless feet?
My brave little school-boys who ran in and out,
And lifted the air with their song and their shout:
My boys on the coldest days ever a-glow,
My dear, romping school-boys who bothered me so!
And lifted the air with their song and their shout:
My boys on the coldest days ever a-glow,
My dear, romping school-boys who bothered me so!
There were two of them then; and one of the two—
Ah! I never was watchful enough—followed you.
My chubby-faced darling, my kite-flying pet—
Alack! all his playthings are lying here yet.
Ah! I never was watchful enough—followed you.
My chubby-faced darling, my kite-flying pet—
Alack! all his playthings are lying here yet.
And the other. O Time! do not take him away!
For a few precious years, I implore, let him stay.
I love him—I need him—my blessing and joy!
You have had all the rest; leave me one little boy!
For a few precious years, I implore, let him stay.
I love him—I need him—my blessing and joy!
You have had all the rest; leave me one little boy!
He halts! He will stop! No; the fall of the sand
In the hour-glass deceived me. It seemed at a stand.
But whom have we here? Jamie! Harry! how? why,
Just as many as ever—and Time passing by?
In the hour-glass deceived me. It seemed at a stand.
But whom have we here? Jamie! Harry! how? why,
Just as many as ever—and Time passing by?
172
Jamie, my bouncer, my man-boy, my pride!
Harry, my sunbeam, whatever betide—
I can hardly believe it. But surely it 's clear
My babies, my toddlers, my school-boys are here!
Harry, my sunbeam, whatever betide—
I can hardly believe it. But surely it 's clear
My babies, my toddlers, my school-boys are here!
Move on then, O Time! I have nothing to say,
You have left me far more than you 've taken away,
And yet I would whisper a word ere you go;
You 've a year of my Harry's—the last one, you know—
You have left me far more than you 've taken away,
And yet I would whisper a word ere you go;
You 've a year of my Harry's—the last one, you know—
How does it rank among those that have flown?
Was it worthily used when he called it his own?
God filled it with happiness, comfort and health—
Did my darling spend rightly its Love-given wealth?
Was it worthily used when he called it his own?
God filled it with happiness, comfort and health—
Did my darling spend rightly its Love-given wealth?
No answer in words. Yet it really did seem
That the sand sparkled lightly—the scythe sent a gleam.
Is it answer and promise? God grant it be so,
From that silent old man with the beard white as snow.
That the sand sparkled lightly—the scythe sent a gleam.
Is it answer and promise? God grant it be so,
From that silent old man with the beard white as snow.
173
MOTHERLESS.
“I wish she had not died,” she said;
The words were soft and low;
“Most little girls like me, papa,
Have dear mammas, you know.
The words were soft and low;
“Most little girls like me, papa,
Have dear mammas, you know.
“There 's Lulu Hart next door. Oh, dear!
I think it is so sweet
To have your mother nod to you
Across the window-seat.
I think it is so sweet
To have your mother nod to you
Across the window-seat.
“And often when we 're playing games,
Lu throws a kiss up there;
And when she rolls her hoople well,
She knows some one will care.
Lu throws a kiss up there;
And when she rolls her hoople well,
She knows some one will care.
“Do you think God was good to take
My own mamma away?
For I was just a baby then—
Papa, why don't you say?”
My own mamma away?
For I was just a baby then—
Papa, why don't you say?”
174
“Yes, yes, my child,” he sobbed. “Mamma
Is very happy, dear.”
His little girl sprang up, nor cared
Another word to hear.
Is very happy, dear.”
His little girl sprang up, nor cared
Another word to hear.
“Why, papa, crying! Please don't cry.
Do you feel sorry, too?
Now, papa, see. I never meant
I did n't care for you.
Do you feel sorry, too?
Now, papa, see. I never meant
I did n't care for you.
“Poor eyes! all wet. I 'll kiss them dry.
What 's in your pocket? See.
Oh, where 's your watch? Now, wont you please
Just make it tick for me?
What 's in your pocket? See.
Oh, where 's your watch? Now, wont you please
Just make it tick for me?
“It 's nice to have a dear papa;—
How big it is, and bright!
I hear it ticky, ticky, tick!
It 's very loud to-night.
How big it is, and bright!
I hear it ticky, ticky, tick!
It 's very loud to-night.
“Ride me to Banbury Cross, papa!
Now don't you let me fall.
When I was littler, how I slipped!
I could n't keep on at all.
Now don't you let me fall.
175
I could n't keep on at all.
“Oh, there 's the tea-bell! Now you 've tossed
My hair like everything!
I 'll toss yours, too. Oho! oho!
You look just like a king—
My hair like everything!
I 'll toss yours, too. Oho! oho!
You look just like a king—
“For kings have crowns, you know, papa,
And your hair 's standing straight.
I knew you 'd laugh. There, now, you 're good—
Come, quick, and show Aunt Kate.”
And your hair 's standing straight.
I knew you 'd laugh. There, now, you 're good—
Come, quick, and show Aunt Kate.”
Aunt, at the table, glanced at one,
Then, slyly, at the other;
She could not think what hidden thing
Had happened to her brother.
His shining hair stood like a crown,
His smile was warm and bright,—
“Why, John,” she said, “you really seem
Like your old self to-night.”
Then, slyly, at the other;
She could not think what hidden thing
Had happened to her brother.
His shining hair stood like a crown,
His smile was warm and bright,—
“Why, John,” she said, “you really seem
Like your old self to-night.”
176
THE FOOT-PRINT IN THE SNOW.
Heavy and white the cold snow lay,
As, nearing my cottage one winter day,
I saw by the porch a foot-print small,
A bare little foot-print, toes and all,
Pressed—ah, so wearily!—into the snow,
As if the wee step had been jaded and slow.
“Poor little homeless waif!” I thought;
But the fleeting sympathy came to naught—
For pity may fall from a heart that 's gay
As lightly as snow-flakes melting away;
And soon would be greeting me, strong in their charms,
Bright little faces and warm little arms.
As, nearing my cottage one winter day,
I saw by the porch a foot-print small,
A bare little foot-print, toes and all,
Pressed—ah, so wearily!—into the snow,
As if the wee step had been jaded and slow.
“Poor little homeless waif!” I thought;
But the fleeting sympathy came to naught—
For pity may fall from a heart that 's gay
As lightly as snow-flakes melting away;
And soon would be greeting me, strong in their charms,
Bright little faces and warm little arms.
Closing the door, in a joyous glow,
I chided the children for crowding me so—
The glad little witches! as sunny and blessed
As ever a home-coming mother caressed.
Then I caught up the youngest, unnoticed before,
My sweet little Mabel, who sat on the floor.
“Why, my darling! What is it?” I cried, in surprise;
“Barefooted!” The little one lifted her eyes;
They were brimming with tears, and her cheek, too, was wet—
“Oh, my feet hurt me so!” “What has harmed them, my pet?”
“Why, just to see how it felt, you know,
I stood with my shoes off out there in the snow.”
I chided the children for crowding me so—
The glad little witches! as sunny and blessed
As ever a home-coming mother caressed.
Then I caught up the youngest, unnoticed before,
My sweet little Mabel, who sat on the floor.
177
“Barefooted!” The little one lifted her eyes;
They were brimming with tears, and her cheek, too, was wet—
“Oh, my feet hurt me so!” “What has harmed them, my pet?”
“Why, just to see how it felt, you know,
I stood with my shoes off out there in the snow.”
That was all. But while fondling and making them warm—
The dear little feet that had tempted the storm—
And putting on soft little stocking and shoe,
A feeling of sudden remorse pierced me through.
That lingering foot-print! How soon I forgot
When I thought 't was a beggar-child passed by my cot!
O pale-blossomed pity that never bore fruit!—
I will pluck it away from my heart, branch and root.
Love teaches at last. Now their meaning I know—
The bare little foot-prints we see in the snow.
The dear little feet that had tempted the storm—
And putting on soft little stocking and shoe,
A feeling of sudden remorse pierced me through.
That lingering foot-print! How soon I forgot
When I thought 't was a beggar-child passed by my cot!
O pale-blossomed pity that never bore fruit!—
I will pluck it away from my heart, branch and root.
Love teaches at last. Now their meaning I know—
The bare little foot-prints we see in the snow.
178
MOTHER GOOSE FOR BIG FOLKS.
Not only the little toddlers,
Perched high on papa's toe,
Bound for a ride to London town,
On childish journeys go—
For we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, round, round-y.
Perched high on papa's toe,
Bound for a ride to London town,
On childish journeys go—
For we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, round, round-y.
Still do we reach for sunbeams,
And learn the rattle's trick.
The great big watch of Father Time—
We love to hear it tick!
To pat a cake for our Tommy,
And pat a cake for one's self—
For that alone we labor and strive,
And hoard up our golden pelf.
And learn the rattle's trick.
The great big watch of Father Time—
We love to hear it tick!
To pat a cake for our Tommy,
And pat a cake for one's self—
For that alone we labor and strive,
And hoard up our golden pelf.
179
This little pig goes to market;
This little pig stays at home;
And we all cry “Wee!” for our mammy,
Wherever we chance to roam.
We seek our bed with Sleepyhead;
We stay awhile with Slow;
And fill the pot with Greedy, glad
To sup before we go.
This little pig stays at home;
And we all cry “Wee!” for our mammy,
Wherever we chance to roam.
We seek our bed with Sleepyhead;
We stay awhile with Slow;
And fill the pot with Greedy, glad
To sup before we go.
When Jack and Jill go up the hill
To fetch their pail o' water,
As sure as Jack comes tumbling down
Poor Jill comes tumbling arter.
Mistress Marys are still contrary;
Marjorie Daws still sell;
And Mother Hubbards ransack their cupboards
For bones for the ne'er-do-well.
To fetch their pail o' water,
As sure as Jack comes tumbling down
Poor Jill comes tumbling arter.
Mistress Marys are still contrary;
Marjorie Daws still sell;
And Mother Hubbards ransack their cupboards
For bones for the ne'er-do-well.
Jack Horners in their corners still
Do ply the busy thumb,
And “What a big boy!” we always cry
Whenever we see the plum.
Our wise men into brambles yet
Do jump with might and main;
And those who go to sea in bowls
Rarely come back again.
Do ply the busy thumb,
And “What a big boy!” we always cry
Whenever we see the plum.
180
Do jump with might and main;
And those who go to sea in bowls
Rarely come back again.
“What do you want?” “A pot o' beer.”
Alack, the bitter wrong!
That grenadier an army hath
How many million strong!
And don't some hearts, deploring
The things that gnaw and harrow,
Let fall the wheelbarrow, wife and all,
When lanes are rough and narrow?
Alack, the bitter wrong!
That grenadier an army hath
How many million strong!
And don't some hearts, deploring
The things that gnaw and harrow,
Let fall the wheelbarrow, wife and all,
When lanes are rough and narrow?
Ah, yes! the old rhymes suit us
As well as ever they did;
For the gist of our lives, from first to last,
Is under their jingle hid—
As we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, roundy, round-y.
As well as ever they did;
For the gist of our lives, from first to last,
Is under their jingle hid—
As we all go up, up, up,
And all go down, down, down-y,
And all go backward and forward,
And all go round, roundy, round-y.
184
HOME AND MOTHER.
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
There, baby. (Oh, how the wild winds wail!)
Hush, baby. (Turning to sleet and hail;
Ah, how the pine-tree moans and mutters!—
I wonder if Ellen will think of the shutters?)
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
There, baby. (Oh, how the wild winds wail!)
Hush, baby. (Turning to sleet and hail;
Ah, how the pine-tree moans and mutters!—
I wonder if Ellen will think of the shutters?)
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
Rest thee. (She could n't have left the blower
Down in the parlor? There 's so much to show her!)
By-by, my sweetest. (Now the rain 's pouring!
Is it wind or the dining-room fire that 's roaring?)
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
Rest thee. (She could n't have left the blower
Down in the parlor? There 's so much to show her!)
By-by, my sweetest. (Now the rain 's pouring!
Is it wind or the dining-room fire that 's roaring?)
185
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
How lovely his forehead!—my own blessed pet!
He 's nearly asleep. (Now I must n't forget
That pork in the brine, and the stair-rods to-morrow.)
Heaven shield him forever from trouble and sorrow!
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
How lovely his forehead!—my own blessed pet!
He 's nearly asleep. (Now I must n't forget
That pork in the brine, and the stair-rods to-morrow.)
Heaven shield him forever from trouble and sorrow!
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
Those dear little ringlets, so silky and bright!
(I do hope the muffins will be nice and light.)
How lovely he is! (Yes, she said she could fry.)
Oh, what would I do if my baby should die!
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
Those dear little ringlets, so silky and bright!
(I do hope the muffins will be nice and light.)
How lovely he is! (Yes, she said she could fry.)
Oh, what would I do if my baby should die!
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
That sweet little hand, and the soft, dimpled cheek!
Sleep, darling. (I'll have his clothes shortened this week.
How tightly he 's holding my dress! I'm afraid
He'll wake when I move. There! his bed is n't made!
By, baby, by;
Mother is with thee,
By, baby, by.
186
Sleep, darling. (I'll have his clothes shortened this week.
How tightly he 's holding my dress! I'm afraid
He'll wake when I move. There! his bed is n't made!
Sleep, my own darling,
By, baby, by;
In thy soft cradle
Peacefully lie.
(He 's settled at last. But I can't leave him so,
Though I ought to be going this instant, I know.
There 's everything standing and waiting down-stairs.
Ah me, but a mother is cumbered with cares!)
By, baby, by;
In thy soft cradle
Peacefully lie.
(He 's settled at last. But I can't leave him so,
Though I ought to be going this instant, I know.
There 's everything standing and waiting down-stairs.
Ah me, but a mother is cumbered with cares!)
187
A MONDAY ROMANCE.
Biddy was at the wash-tubs,
Her arms in the lather white;
At the scullery door, with a basket,
The baker, her own true knight.
Her arms in the lather white;
At the scullery door, with a basket,
The baker, her own true knight.
“Set down the loaves,” said Biddy,
In a voice of careless scorn.
“Don't ye mind I am busy a-wringin'?
Bring rolls on the morra morn.”
In a voice of careless scorn.
“Don't ye mind I am busy a-wringin'?
Bring rolls on the morra morn.”
“Ah, Biddy, Biddy, Biddy,
It 's always wringin' ye be!”
Sighed Lanty, moving streetward,
“And the thing ye wring is me.”
It 's always wringin' ye be!”
Sighed Lanty, moving streetward,
“And the thing ye wring is me.”
Then, quick, a thought came o'er him,
And back he stepped to say:
“Is it muffins ye'll be a-wantin',
Or buns, for the missus' tay?”
And back he stepped to say:
188
Or buns, for the missus' tay?”
Now stands she by the boiler,
Laden with clean wet “clo'es”;
Her eyes are bright as the morning,
Her cheeks as red as a rose.
Laden with clean wet “clo'es”;
Her eyes are bright as the morning,
Her cheeks as red as a rose.
“Och! go yer ways. We'll be sendin';
I have n't the time to say;
I must mind me bleachin' an' bluin'
Awhile I 've the best o' the day.”
I have n't the time to say;
I must mind me bleachin' an' bluin'
Awhile I 've the best o' the day.”
She ran to the garden grass-plot,
While he went out to the street:
“It 's me ye are bleachin' an' bluin',
Oh, Biddy, so pretty and sweet!”
While he went out to the street:
“It 's me ye are bleachin' an' bluin',
Oh, Biddy, so pretty and sweet!”
At noon, in ending his circuit,
He “stopped to see Biddy a minute”;
The kitchen was open and sunny,
But “sorra a Biddy was in it.”
He “stopped to see Biddy a minute”;
The kitchen was open and sunny,
But “sorra a Biddy was in it.”
189
Soon, eagerly, through the window
Her lithe little form he was spying.
He called. But she answered him coldly:
“It 's hangin' I am, while there 's drying.”
Her lithe little form he was spying.
He called. But she answered him coldly:
“It 's hangin' I am, while there 's drying.”
“It 's hangin' I'll be, cruel Biddy!”
He said to himself at the hint.
“For the matter o' that, I am thinkin',
My hangin' would make her contint.”
He said to himself at the hint.
“For the matter o' that, I am thinkin',
My hangin' would make her contint.”
Once more, in the top of the evening,
When supper was well cleared away,
Bold Lanty, in holiday raiment,
Dropped in, and had courage to stay.
When supper was well cleared away,
Bold Lanty, in holiday raiment,
Dropped in, and had courage to stay.
On the clothes-line that criss-crossed the kitchen
Hung snowy-white things, chill and damp;
But the coals in the range crackled brightly,
And Biddy had lighted her lamp.
Hung snowy-white things, chill and damp;
But the coals in the range crackled brightly,
And Biddy had lighted her lamp.
Full thickly the garments were hanging—
Grim collars and things nearly dried,
And, largest of all, near the dresser,
A table-cloth snowy and wide.
Grim collars and things nearly dried,
190
A table-cloth snowy and wide.
“The shower wet me wash afther dinner,
An' I hung 'em within so, to dry.
Och hone! but I wish you was married!”
Said Biddy, pretending to sigh.
An' I hung 'em within so, to dry.
Och hone! but I wish you was married!”
Said Biddy, pretending to sigh.
“Is it married ye wish I was, Biddy?
Faix, meself do be wishin' that same;
An', in thruth, that I'm single this minute
It is n't mesel' that 's to blame.”
Faix, meself do be wishin' that same;
An', in thruth, that I'm single this minute
It is n't mesel' that 's to blame.”
“And who, thin?” asked Biddy, akimbo.
“Go and have her, for all I would care!”
Then stepped out of sight, quite forgetting
The lamp with its tale-telling glare.
“Go and have her, for all I would care!”
Then stepped out of sight, quite forgetting
The lamp with its tale-telling glare.
Now up starts the gallant young Lanty,
For dark on the cloth he espies,
As it hangs there, the shadow of Biddy,
Her apron held up to her eyes!
For dark on the cloth he espies,
As it hangs there, the shadow of Biddy,
Her apron held up to her eyes!
191
“Arrah, Biddy, me darlint, what ails ye?
You're kapin' me single—och hone!
It 's yoursel' can be makin' me married—
Say, will you, dear Biddy Malone?”
You're kapin' me single—och hone!
It 's yoursel' can be makin' me married—
Say, will you, dear Biddy Malone?”
Only two empty chairs by the fire,
And two shadow forms on the cloth;
But love is the same the world over,
And Biddy no longer was wroth.
And two shadow forms on the cloth;
But love is the same the world over,
And Biddy no longer was wroth.
192
THE ZEALLESS XYLOGRAPHER.
(Dedicated to the End of the Dictionary.)
A Xylographer started to cross the seaBy means of a Xanthic Xebec;
But, alas! he sighed for the Zuyder Zee,
And feared he was in for a wreck.
He tried to smile, but all in vain,
Because of a Zygomatic pain;
And as for singing, his cheeriest tone
Reminded him of a Xylophone—
Or else, when the pain would sharper grow,
His notes were as keen as a Zuffolo.
And so it is likely he did not find
On board Xenodochy to his mind.
The fare was poor, and he was sure
Xerophagy he could not endure;
Zoophagous surely he was, I aver,
This dainty and starving Xylographer.
Xylophagous truly he could not be—
No sickly vegetarian he!
193
Had Xerophthalmia not come on.
And the end of it was he never again
In a Xanthic Xebec went sailing the main.
THE SAD STORY OF LITTLE JANE.
A CALENDAR OF WOE.
JAN—e, little saint, was hard to nurse,FEB—rifuge she had none;
MAR—malade seemed to make her worse,
APR—icots were all gone.
MAY—be, she thought, on some fair plain,
JUNE—berries sweet may grow;
JULY—'twas late, they searched in vain,
AUG—menting all her woe.
SEPT—imus failed to find a pill—
OCT—oroon slave was he;
NOV—ice, poor thing! at feeling ill,
DEC—eased ere long was she.
194
MY DOG.
I love my dog—a beautiful dog,
Brave and alert for a race;
Ready to frolic with baby or man;
Dignified, too, in his place.
Brave and alert for a race;
Ready to frolic with baby or man;
Dignified, too, in his place.
I like his bark—a resonant bark,
Musical, honest, and deep;
And his swirling tail and his shaggy coat
And his sudden, powerful leap.
Musical, honest, and deep;
And his swirling tail and his shaggy coat
And his sudden, powerful leap.
Never a smug little pug for me,
Nor a spitz with treacherous snap!
Never a trembling, pattering hound,
Nor a poodle to live on my lap!
Nor a spitz with treacherous snap!
Never a trembling, pattering hound,
Nor a poodle to live on my lap!
195
No soft-lined basket for bed has Jack,
Nor bib, nor luxurious plate;
But our open door, that he guards so well,
And the lawn are his royal state.
Nor bib, nor luxurious plate;
But our open door, that he guards so well,
And the lawn are his royal state.
No dainty leading-ribbon of silk
My grand, good dog shall fret;
No golden collar needs he to show
He 's a very expensive pet;
My grand, good dog shall fret;
No golden collar needs he to show
He 's a very expensive pet;
But just my loving voice for a chain,
His bound at my slightest sign,
And the faith when we look in each other's eyes
Proclaim that my dog is mine.
His bound at my slightest sign,
And the faith when we look in each other's eyes
Proclaim that my dog is mine.
He never was carried in arms like a babe,
Nor dragged like a toy, all a-curl;
For he proudly knows he 's a dog, does Jack,—
And I'm not that sort of a girl.
Nor dragged like a toy, all a-curl;
For he proudly knows he 's a dog, does Jack,—
And I'm not that sort of a girl.
196
KATRINKA.
Katrinka, fresh as the morning,
Gazed from her casement low;
Far off, the great-sailed windmills
Stood darkly in a row,
And the sky with the changing splendor
Of dawn was all aglow.
Gazed from her casement low;
Far off, the great-sailed windmills
Stood darkly in a row,
And the sky with the changing splendor
Of dawn was all aglow.
“I wonder,” thought the maiden,
Thrilled with the glorious sight,
“If all the beauty around us,
And all the love and delight,
Come flooding the earth at sunrise
To bide with us, day and night?
Thrilled with the glorious sight,
“If all the beauty around us,
And all the love and delight,
Come flooding the earth at sunrise
To bide with us, day and night?
“I wonder if all the goodness
That makes us steady and true
Glides softly in with the dawning
To gladden us through and through—
To lift our hearts to the Giver,
And help us in all we do?
That makes us steady and true
Glides softly in with the dawning
To gladden us through and through—
To lift our hearts to the Giver,
And help us in all we do?
197
“Yet, whether we lose it or keep it
Depends upon many a thing:
Whether we 're lazy or busy;
Whether we grumble or sing;
Whether our thoughts are noble,
Or whether they grovel and sting.
Depends upon many a thing:
Whether we 're lazy or busy;
Whether we grumble or sing;
Whether our thoughts are noble,
Or whether they grovel and sting.
“Oh, the wonderful sky!” sighed Katrinka,
“How grand!—But the day has begun;
There 's breakfast, and spinning, and mending,
And the kettles to shine—one by one.
Good-by, you dear, beautiful morning!
There 's so much to do; I must run.”
“How grand!—But the day has begun;
There 's breakfast, and spinning, and mending,
And the kettles to shine—one by one.
Good-by, you dear, beautiful morning!
There 's so much to do; I must run.”
Bright little maiden, Katrinka,
In the land of the dike and the sea!
They who live in the glow of the dawning
Are, all the world over, like thee.
Bearers of sunlight and gladness,
Faithful in shadow and sadness—
The path of the day is diviner
Wherever their light may be.
In the land of the dike and the sea!
They who live in the glow of the dawning
Are, all the world over, like thee.
Bearers of sunlight and gladness,
Faithful in shadow and sadness—
The path of the day is diviner
Wherever their light may be.
198
AN APRIL GIRL.
The girl that is born on an April day
Has a right to be merry, lightsome, gay;
And that is the reason I dance and play
And frisk like a mote in a sunny ray.
Would n't you
Do it, too,
If you had been born on an April day?
Has a right to be merry, lightsome, gay;
And that is the reason I dance and play
And frisk like a mote in a sunny ray.
Would n't you
Do it, too,
If you had been born on an April day?
The girl that is born on an April day
Has a royal right to cry, they say;
And so I sometimes do give way
When things get crooked or all astray.
Would n't you
Do it, too,
If you had been born on an April day?
Has a royal right to cry, they say;
And so I sometimes do give way
When things get crooked or all astray.
Would n't you
Do it, too,
If you had been born on an April day?
199
The girls of March love noise and fray;
And sweet as blossoms are girls of May;
But I belong to the time midway—
And so I rejoice in a sunny spray
Of smiles and tears and hap-a-day—
Would n't you
Do it, too,
If you had been born on an April day?
And sweet as blossoms are girls of May;
But I belong to the time midway—
And so I rejoice in a sunny spray
Of smiles and tears and hap-a-day—
Would n't you
Do it, too,
If you had been born on an April day?
Heigh-ho! and hurrah! for an April day,
Its cloud, its sparkle, its skip and stay!
I mean to be happy whenever I may,
And cry when I must; for that 's my way.
Would n't you
Do it, too,
If you had been born on an April day?
Its cloud, its sparkle, its skip and stay!
I mean to be happy whenever I may,
And cry when I must; for that 's my way.
Would n't you
Do it, too,
If you had been born on an April day?
200
KITTY.
“Come, Kitty, come!” they said,—
But Kitty hesitated;
Nodding oft her pretty head
With, “I 'm coming soon.
Father 's rowing home, I know,
I cannot think what keeps him so,”
And still she stood and waited.—
“I'm coming soon.”
But Kitty hesitated;
Nodding oft her pretty head
With, “I 'm coming soon.
Father 's rowing home, I know,
I cannot think what keeps him so,”
And still she stood and waited.—
“I'm coming soon.”
“Come, Kit!” her brothers cried;
But Kitty by the water
Still eagerly the distance eyed,
With, “I'm coming soon.
Why what would evening be,” said she,
“Without dear father home to tea?
Without his ‘Ho, my daughter!’—?
I'm coming soon.”
But Kitty by the water
Still eagerly the distance eyed,
With, “I'm coming soon.
Why what would evening be,” said she,
“Without dear father home to tea?
Without his ‘Ho, my daughter!’—?
I'm coming soon.”
201
“Come, Kate!” her mother called,
“The supper 's almost ready.”
But Kitty in her place installed,
Pleads: “I'm coming soon.
Do let me wait. He 's sure to come;
By this time father 's always home—
He rows so fast and steady;
I'm coming soon.”
“The supper 's almost ready.”
But Kitty in her place installed,
Pleads: “I'm coming soon.
Do let me wait. He 's sure to come;
By this time father 's always home—
He rows so fast and steady;
I'm coming soon.”
“Come, Kit!” they half implore.
The girl is softly humming;
She hardly hears them any more,—
But “I'm coming soon”
Is in her heart; for far from shore—
Gliding the happy waters o'er—
She sees the boat, and cries, “He 's coming!
We 're coming soon!”
The girl is softly humming;
She hardly hears them any more,—
But “I'm coming soon”
Is in her heart; for far from shore—
Gliding the happy waters o'er—
She sees the boat, and cries, “He 's coming!
We 're coming soon!”
202
MY WINDOW-IVY.
Over my window the ivy climbs,
Its roots are in homely jars;
But all the day it looks at the sun,
And at night looks out at the stars.
Its roots are in homely jars;
But all the day it looks at the sun,
And at night looks out at the stars.
The dust of the room may dim its green,
But I call to the breezy air:
“Come in, come in, good friend of mine!
And make my window fair.”
But I call to the breezy air:
“Come in, come in, good friend of mine!
And make my window fair.”
So the ivy thrives from morn to morn,
Its leaves all turned to the light;
And it gladdens my soul with its tender green,
And teaches me day and night.
Its leaves all turned to the light;
And it gladdens my soul with its tender green,
And teaches me day and night.
What though my lot is in lowly place,
And my spirit behind the bars;
All the long day I may turn to the sun,
And at night look out at the stars.
And my spirit behind the bars;
All the long day I may turn to the sun,
And at night look out at the stars.
203
What though the dust of earth would dim,
There 's a glorious outer air
That will sweep through my soul if I let it in,
And make it fresh and fair.
There 's a glorious outer air
That will sweep through my soul if I let it in,
And make it fresh and fair.
Dear God! let me grow from day to day,
Resolute, sunny, and bright!
Though planted in shade, Thy window is near,
And my leaves may turn to the light.
Resolute, sunny, and bright!
Though planted in shade, Thy window is near,
And my leaves may turn to the light.
204
A BIRTHDAY RHYME.
Tell me, O youth so straight and tall,
So glad with eager thought!
Have you seen of late a bouncing boy
Brimful of merry sport?
Brimful of merry sport is he,
A lad of fifteen summers,
With velvet lip still smooth and fair,
But a fist that awes all comers.
So glad with eager thought!
Have you seen of late a bouncing boy
Brimful of merry sport?
Brimful of merry sport is he,
A lad of fifteen summers,
With velvet lip still smooth and fair,
But a fist that awes all comers.
He used to laugh with unconcern
Whene'er a school-girl met him,
Unconscious quite what wondrous power
She 'd have in time to fret him.
He only cared for “fellows” then,
And “ball,” and “tag,” and “shinny,”
And thought a chap who brushed his hair
Was just a fop or ninny.
Whene'er a school-girl met him,
Unconscious quite what wondrous power
She 'd have in time to fret him.
He only cared for “fellows” then,
And “ball,” and “tag,” and “shinny,”
And thought a chap who brushed his hair
Was just a fop or ninny.
205
Somehow, I loved this bouncing boy
Because he was my own;
I had him here a year ago,
And know not where he 's flown.
I know not where he 's flown, and yet
Whenever you are near—
It 's very odd!—I 'm reconciled
Because you grow so dear.
Because he was my own;
I had him here a year ago,
And know not where he 's flown.
I know not where he 's flown, and yet
Whenever you are near—
It 's very odd!—I 'm reconciled
Because you grow so dear.
You bear great likeness to my boy
I think, and—strange the whim!—
There 's that in you which I have prayed
Might come in time to him.
Then if you'll stay, my dashing youth,
And love me like the other,
I'll let him go, and, clasping you,
Be still a happy mother.
I think, and—strange the whim!—
There 's that in you which I have prayed
Might come in time to him.
Then if you'll stay, my dashing youth,
And love me like the other,
I'll let him go, and, clasping you,
Be still a happy mother.
So hold me close, my bigger boy,
My larger-hearted Harry,
With broader shoulders, older head,
And more of life to carry;
Hold close, and whisper, heart to heart,
Our Lord has blessed us truly,
Since every year we love so well
And find it out so newly.
My larger-hearted Harry,
With broader shoulders, older head,
And more of life to carry;
206
Our Lord has blessed us truly,
Since every year we love so well
And find it out so newly.
With deepened joy and prayerful love,
All in the autumn's splendor,
I hail you, boy of mine, and give
A welcome proud and tender.
'T is grand to take the birthdays in,
If, while the years we 're counting,
In heart and soul, in hope and aim,
We steadily are mounting.
All in the autumn's splendor,
I hail you, boy of mine, and give
A welcome proud and tender.
'T is grand to take the birthdays in,
If, while the years we 're counting,
In heart and soul, in hope and aim,
We steadily are mounting.
207
THANKSGIVING.
All their heads were bowed in prayer,—
Father's, mother's, boys' and girls',
Grandma's, grandpa's—only Nelly,
Little Nelly, shook her curls.
Father's, mother's, boys' and girls',
Grandma's, grandpa's—only Nelly,
Little Nelly, shook her curls.
Little Nelly shook her curls,
Smiling, gazing, all intent,
Stared, as ever, at the sight—
Wondered what on earth it meant.
Smiling, gazing, all intent,
Stared, as ever, at the sight—
Wondered what on earth it meant.
Busy fire-light, flashing bright,
Shot its frisky flamelets out;
While the ship above the clock
Gayly tossed and pitched about.
Shot its frisky flamelets out;
While the ship above the clock
Gayly tossed and pitched about.
Roasted turkey, on his back,
And the chickens, side by side,
Had a perky, pompous air,
Full of jollity and pride;
And the chickens, side by side,
Had a perky, pompous air,
Full of jollity and pride;
208
Tempting pies and puddings near,
Held their faces to the light;
While canary in his cage,
Piped and sang with all his might.
Held their faces to the light;
While canary in his cage,
Piped and sang with all his might.
Flowery carpet under-foot,
Hanging basket all a-bloom,
Pearly, picture-covered wall—
Drew the sunlight to the room.
Hanging basket all a-bloom,
Pearly, picture-covered wall—
Drew the sunlight to the room.
Little Nelly felt it all,
Felt how bright it was and fair;
And the moment seemed so long
That the heads were bowed in prayer.
Felt how bright it was and fair;
And the moment seemed so long
That the heads were bowed in prayer.
If they only knew, she thought,
How the room was full of play,
They would never hide their faces
In that sober, solemn way.
How the room was full of play,
They would never hide their faces
In that sober, solemn way.
Laughing, puzzled little Nell!
How could such a baby know
'T was the cheery, sunny gladness
That had bowed their heads so low;
How could such a baby know
209
That had bowed their heads so low;
That the blithesome, happy home-life,
And the light on hearth and hall,
And the laughing “Little Mischief,”
Made them thank the God of all.
And the light on hearth and hall,
And the laughing “Little Mischief,”
Made them thank the God of all.
210
THERE'S A SHIP ON THE SEA.
There's a ship on the sea. It is sailing to-night,Sailing to-night!
And father 's aboard, and the moon is all bright,
Shining and bright!
Dear moon! he'll be sailing for many a night—
Sailing from mother and me.
Oh! follow the ship with your silvery light,
As father sails over the sea!
211
AN OFFERTORY.
Oh, the beauty of the Christ-child!
The gentleness, the grace,
The smiling, loving tenderness,
The infantile embrace!
All babyhood he holdeth,
All motherhood enfoldeth,—
Yet who hath seen his face?
The gentleness, the grace,
The smiling, loving tenderness,
The infantile embrace!
All babyhood he holdeth,
All motherhood enfoldeth,—
Yet who hath seen his face?
Oh, the nearness of the Christ-child,
When, for a sacred space,
He nestles in our very homes,—
Light of the human race!
We know him and we love him,
No man to us need prove him,—
Yet who hath seen his face?
When, for a sacred space,
He nestles in our very homes,—
Light of the human race!
We know him and we love him,
No man to us need prove him,—
Yet who hath seen his face?
212
THE BLOOM OF THE CHRISTMAS TREE.
At night we planted the Christmas tree
In the pretty home, all secretly;
All secretly, though merry of heart,
With many a whisper, many a start.
(For children who 'd scorn to make believe
May not sleep soundly on Christmas Eve.)
In the pretty home, all secretly;
All secretly, though merry of heart,
With many a whisper, many a start.
(For children who 'd scorn to make believe
May not sleep soundly on Christmas Eve.)
And then the tree began to bloom,
Filling with beauty the conscious room.
The branches curved in a perfect poise,
Laden with wonders that men call “toys,”
Blooming and ripening (and still no noise),
Until we merry folk stole away
To rest and dream till dawn of day.
In the morning the world was a girl and a boy,
The universe only their shouts of joy,
Till every branch and bough had bent
To yield the treasure the Christ-child sent.
And then—and then—the children flew
Into our arms, as children do,
And whispered, over and over again,
That oldest, newest, sweetest refrain,
“I love you! I love you! Yes, I love you!”
And hugged and scrambled, as children do.
And we said in our hearts, all secretly:
“This is the bloom of the Christmas tree!”
Filling with beauty the conscious room.
The branches curved in a perfect poise,
Laden with wonders that men call “toys,”
Blooming and ripening (and still no noise),
Until we merry folk stole away
To rest and dream till dawn of day.
213
The universe only their shouts of joy,
Till every branch and bough had bent
To yield the treasure the Christ-child sent.
And then—and then—the children flew
Into our arms, as children do,
And whispered, over and over again,
That oldest, newest, sweetest refrain,
“I love you! I love you! Yes, I love you!”
And hugged and scrambled, as children do.
And we said in our hearts, all secretly:
“This is the bloom of the Christmas tree!”
214
OLD SONGS.
Alone in the twilight tender,I plan the coming days,
While the supple flames are lapping
In weird, fantastic ways;
When out of the startled darkness
There springs a single note,—
And the first light strains of a prelude
Slow into the silence float.
'T is Mother's touch! How quietly she always enters in!
With child-like throb I listen now to hear the song begin:
“Roy's wife of Aldivalloch!” Ah, me! The woful shame!
And “how she cheated him” I learn with honest ire and blame.
And then a moment's silence, a fallen music-page—
And gone all thought of cruel wife and sorry lover's rage.
215
For the sweet “Bluebells of Scotland” are waving in the air.
The summer sky is over them, the fragrant breezes blow,
But, ere they fade, the voice begins in cadence sad and slow.
“What's this dull town to me?” it sings. “Ah, what indeed,” I sigh,—
For “Robin is not here” it sobs, in plaintive, broken cry.
Poor, lonely lassie! weeping sore. My heart is with her still,
When suddenly, in changeful mood, there comes a martial thrill;
And now I know that through the land one burst of fervor rings,
As “Who'll be king but Charlie?” the sweet voice faintly sings.
Ah, good it is to listen here, in flitting shadows hid!—
Till comes a silken rustle; and then with folded lid
216
Reveals the tall, retreating form, framed in the doorway bright.
Only a moment. Vanished now the softly-kerchiefed gown;
And once again, the firelight chasing shadows up and down,
Is all I see, as thoughtfully I lift the warm brass tongs,
And turn the embers over to the echoes of old songs.
| Poems and verses by Mary Mapes Dodge | |