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diff --git a/11432-0.txt b/11432-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e1becef --- /dev/null +++ b/11432-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4459 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11432 *** + +Note: Images of the original pages are available through the Florida + Board of Education, Division of Colleges and Universities, + PALMM Project, 2001. (Preservation and Access for American and + British Children's Literature, 1850-1869.) See + http://purl.fcla.edu/fcla/dl/UF00001878.jpg + or + http://purl.fcla.edu/fcla/dl/UF00001878.pdf + + + + + +THE YOUTH'S CORONAL + +BY HANNAH FLAGG GOULD + +Author of "Poems," etc., etc. + +1851 + + + + + + + Whate'er the good instruction may reveal, +The head must _take_, before the heart can _feel_. +THE MORALIZER. + + + + + +ADDRESS + +TO THE YOUTH OF MY COUNTRY. + + +In preparing the following pages, my aim has been, to produce a book +alike entertaining and instructive;--one which, in the reading, should +afford an amusement to the mind, pleasant as the spring-blossoms on the +tree; and, in its influences on the heart in after life, be like the +good fruits that succeed and ripen, to refresh and nourish us, when the +vernal season is over and gone, and the voices of the singing-birds are +lost in the distance. + +Choosing an appropriate title for such a presentation, I have borrowed +my idea from the words of the wise king of Israel:--"Hear the +instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother; for +they shall be an ornament of grace unto thy head," &c., and other +Scripture passages of similar figurative meaning; for, though often +given in a sportive way, it is my design that no moral shall be +conveyed in the volume, but such as a good and judicious parent would +wish a child to imbibe. + +Accept, then, my young Friends, this new CORONAL of the little flowers +of poesy which I have woven for you. When you shall have examined and +scented it, and found no thorn to pierce--no juice or odor to poison you +in its whole circle, wear it for the giver's sake; and enjoy it and +profit by its healthful influences, for your own. + +Gladly would I feel assured that, in some future years,--when I shall +have done with earthly flowers, and you will be engaged in the busy +scenes and arduous duties of mature life,--the import of these leaves +may from time to time arise to your memory, in all its dewy freshness, +like the fragrance which the summer-breeze wafts after us, from the +lilies and violets we have passed and left far behind us, in our morning +rambles. Then, if not to-day, you will be convinced that I was--as now I +am, + +Your true Friend, + +H. F. GOULD. + +Newburyport, Mass., August, 1850. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +The Sale of the Water-Lily + +The Humming-Bird's Anger + +The Butterfly's Dream + +The Boy and the Cricket + +Fanny Spy + +Sudden Elevation + +The Stricken Bird + +The Young Sportsman + +The Pebble and the Acorn + +The Grasshopper and the Ant + +The Rose-Bud of Autumn + +Frost, the Winter-Sprite + +Vivy Vain + +The Lost Kite + +The Summer-Morning Ramble + +The Shoemaker + +The Snow-Storm + +The Whirlwind + +The Disobedient Skater Boys + +Winter and Spring + +Tom Tar + +The Envious Lobster + +The Crocus' Soliloquy + +The Bee, Clover, and Thistle + +Poor Old Paul + +The Sea-Eagle's Fall + +The Two Thieves + +Jemmy String + +The Caterpillar + +The Mocking Bird + +The Silk-Worm's Will + +Dame Biddy + +Kit with the Rose + +The Captive Butterfly + +The Dissatisfied Angler Boy + +The Stove and Grate-Setter + +Song of the Bees + +Summer is Come + +The Morning-Glory + +The Old Cotter and his Cow + +The Speckled One + +The Blind Musician + +The Lame Horse + +The Mushroom's Soliloquy + +The Lost Nestlings + +The Bat's Flight by Daylight + +Idle Jack + +David and Goliath + +Escape of the Doves + +Edward and Charles + +The Mountain Minstrel + +The Veteran and the Child + +Captain Kidd + +The Dying Storm + +The Little Traveller + + + + +=The Sale of the Water-Lily= + +And these would sometimes come, and cheer + The widow with a song, +To let her feel a neighbor near, + And wing an hour along. + +A pond, supplied by hidden springs, + With lilies bordered round, +Was found among the richest things, + That blessed the widow's ground. + +She had, besides, a gentle brook, + That wound the meadow through, +Which from the pond its being took, + And had its treasures too. + +Her eldest orphan was a son; + For, children she had three; +She called him, though a little one, + Her hope for days to be. + +And well he might be reckoned so; + If, from the tender shoot, +We know the way the branch will grow; + Or, by the flower, the fruit. + +His tongue was true, his mind was bright; + His temper smooth and mild: +He was--the parent's chief delight-- + A good and pleasant child. + +He'd gather chips and sticks of wood + The winter fire to make; +And help his mother dress their food, + Or tend the baking cake. + +In summer time he'd kindly lead + His little sisters out, +To pick wild berries on the mead, + And fish the brook for trout. + +He stirred his thoughts for ways to earn + Some little gain; and hence, +Contrived the silver pond to turn. + In part, to silver pence. + +He found the lilies blooming there + So spicy sweet to smell, +And to the eye so pure and fair, + He plucked them up to sell. + +He could not to the market go: + He had too young a head, +The distant city's ways to know; + The route he could not tread. + +But, when the coming coach-wheels rolled + To pass his humble cot, +His bunch of lilies to be sold + Was ready on the spot. + +He'd stand beside the way, and hold + His treasures up to show, +That looked like yellow stars of gold + Just set in leaves of snow. + +"O buy my lilies!" he would say; + "You'll find them new and sweet: +So fresh from out the pond are they, + I haven't dried my feet!" + +And then he showed the dust that clung + Upon his garment's hem, +Where late the water-drops had hung, + When he had gathered them. + +And while the carriage checked its pace, + To take the lilies in, +His artless orphan tongue and face + Some bright return would win. + +For many a noble stranger's hand, + With open purse, was seen, +To cast a coin upon the sand, + Or on the sloping green. + +And many a smiling lady threw + The child a silver piece; +And thus, as fast as lilies grew, + He saw his wealth increase. + +While little more--and little more, + Was gathered by their sale, +His widowed mother's frugal store + Would never wholly fail. + +For He, who made, and feeds the bird, + Her little children fed. +He knew her trust: her cry he heard; + And answered it with bread. + +And thus, protected by the Power, + Who made the lily fair, +Her orphans, like the meadow flower, + Grew up in beauty there. + +Her son, the good and prudent boy, + Who wisely thus began, +Was long the aged widow's joy; + And lived an honored man. + +He had a ship, for which he chose + "The LILY" as a name, +To keep in memory whence he rose, + And how his fortune came.' + +He had a lily carved, and set, + Her emblem, on her stem; +And she was called, by all she met, + A beauteous ocean gem. + +She bore sweet spices, treasures bright; + And, on the waters wide, +Her sails as lily-leaves were white: + Her name was well applied. + +Her feeling owner never spurned + The presence of the poor; +And found that all he gave returned + In blessings rich and sure. + +The God who by the lily-pond + Had drawn his heart above, +In after life preserved the bond + Of grateful, holy love. + + + + +=The Humming-Bird's Anger= + +"Small as the humming-bird is, it has great courage and violent +passions. If it find a flower that has been deprived of its honey, it +will pluck it off, throw it on the ground, and sometimes tear it to +pieces." BUFFON. + +On light little wings as the humming-birds fly, +With plumes many-hued as the bow of the sky, +Suspended in ether, they shine to the light +As jewels of nature high-finished and bright. + +Their vision-like forms are so buoyant and small +They hang o'er the flowers, as too airy to fall, +Up-borne by their beautiful pinions, that seem +Like glittering vapor, or parts of a dream. + +The humming-bird feeds upon honey; and so, +Of course, 'tis a sweet little creature, you know. +But sweet little creatures have sometimes, they say, +A great deal that's bitter, or sour, to betray! + +And often the humming-bird's delicate breast +Is found of a very high temper possessed. +Such essence of anger within it is pent, +'Twould burst did no safety-valve give it a vent. + +Displeased, it will seem a bright vial of wrath, +Uncorked by its heat, the offender to scath; +And, taking occasion to let off its ire, +'Tis startling to witness how high it will fire. + +A humming-bird once o'er a trumpet-flower hung, +And darted that sharp little member, the tongue, +At once to the nectarine cell, for the sweet +She felt at the bottom most certain to meet. + +But, finding some other light child of the air +To rifle its store, had already been there; +And no drop of honey for her to draw up, +Her vengeance broke forth on the destitute cup. + +She flew in a passion, that heightened her power; +And cuffing, and shaking the innocent flower, +Its tender corolla in shred after shred +She hastily stripped; then she snapped off its head. + +A delicate ruin, on earth as it lay, +That bright little fury went, humming, away, +With gossamer softness, and fair to the eye, +Like some living brilliant, just dropped from the sky. + +And since, when that curious bird I behold +Arrayed in rich colors, and dusted with gold, +I cannot but think of the wrath and the spite +She has in reserve, though they're now out of sight. + +Ye two-footed, beautiful, passionate things, +If plumy or plumeless--without, or with wings, +Beware, lest ye break, in some hazardous hour, +Your vials of wrath, hot, or bitter, or sour! + +And would ye but know how at times ye do seem +Transformed to bright furies, or frights in a dream, +Go, stand at the glass--to the painter go sit, +When anger is just at the height of its fit! + + + + +=The Butterfly's Dream= + +A tulip, just opened, had offered to hold + A butterfly gaudy and gay; +And rocked in his cradle of crimson and gold, + The careless young slumberer lay. + +For the butterfly slept;--as such thoughtless ones will, + At ease, and reclining on flowers;-- +If ever they study, 'tis how they may kill + The best of their mid-summer hours! + +And the butterfly dreamed, as is often the case + With _indolent_ lovers of change, +Who, keeping the body at ease in its place, + Give fancy permission to range. + +He dreamed that he saw, what he could but despise, + The swarm from a neighboring hive; +Which, having come out for their winter supplies, + Had made the whole garden alive. + +He looked with disgust, as the proud often do, + On the diligent movements of those, +Who, keeping both present and future in view, + Improve every hour as it goes. + +As the brisk little alchymists passed to and fro, + With anger the butterfly swelled; +And called them mechanics--a rabble too low + To come near the station he held. + +"Away from my presence!" said he, in his sleep, + "Ye humble plebeians! nor dare +Come here with your colorless winglets to sweep + The king of this brilliant parterre!" + +He thought, at these words, that together they flew, + And, facing about, made a stand; +And then, to a terrible army they grew, + And fenced him on every hand. + +Like hosts of huge giants, his numberless foes + Seemed spreading to measureless size: +Their wings with a mighty expansion arose, + And stretched like a veil o'er the skies. + +Their eyes seemed like little volcanoes, for fire,-- + Their hum, to a cannon-peal grown,-- +Farina to bullets was rolled in their ire, + And, he thought, hurled at him and his throne. + +He tried to cry quarter! his voice would not sound, + His head ached--his throne reeled and fell; +His enemy cheered, as he came to the ground, + And cried, "King Papilio, farewell!" + +His fall chased the vision--the sleeper awoke, + The wonderful dream to expound; +The lightning's bright flash from the thunder-cloud broke, + And hail-stones were rattling around. + +He'd slumbered so long, that now, over his head, + The tempest's artillery rolled; +The tulip was shattered--the whirl-blast had fled, + And borne off its crimson and gold. + +'Tis said, for the fall and the pelting, combined + With suppressed ebullitions of pride. +This vain son of summer no balsam could find, + But he crept under covert and died! + + + + +=The Boy and the Cricket= + +At length I have thee! my brisk new-comer, +Sounding thy lay to departing summer; +And I'll take thee up from thy bed of grass, +And carry thee home to a house of glass; +Where thy slender limbs, and the faded green +Of thy close-made coat, can all be seen. +For I long to know if the cricket _sings_, +Or _plays_ the tune with his gauzy wings;-- +To bring that shrill-toned pipe to light +Which kept me awake so long last night, +That I told the hours by the lazy clock, +Till I heard the crow of the noisy cock; +When, tossing and turning, at length I fell +In a sleep so strange, that the dream I'll tell. + +Methought, on a flowery bank I lay, +By a beautiful stream; and watched the play +Of the sparkling wavelets, that fled so fast, +I could not number them as they passed. +But I marked the things which they carried by; +And a neat little skiff first caught my eye. +'Twas woven of reeds, and its sides were bound +By a tender vine, that had clasped it round; +And spreading within, had made it seem +A basket of leaves, borne down the stream. +And the skiff had neither a sail nor oar; +But a bright little boy stood up, and bore, +On his outstretched hands, a wreath so gay, +It looked like a crown for the Queen of May. +And while he was going, I heard him sing, +"O seize the garland of passing _Spring!_" +But I dared not reach, for the bank was steep; +And he bore it away, to the far off deep! + +There came, then, a lady;--her eye was bright-- +She was young and fair, and her bark was light; +Its mast was a living tree, that spread +Its boughs for a sail, o'er the lady's head. +And some of its fruits had just begun +To flush, on the side that was next the sun; +And some with the crimson streak were stained; +While others their size had not yet gained. +In passing she cried, "Oh! who can insure +The fruits of _Summer_ to get mature? +For, fast as the waters beneath me flowing, +Beyond recall, I'm going! I'm going!" + +I turned my eye, and beheld another, +That seemed as she might be Summer's mother. +She looked more grave; while her cheek was tinged +With a deeper brown; and her bark was fringed +With the tasselled heads of the wheaten sheaves +Along its sides; and the yellow leaves, +That had covered the deck concealed a throng +Of _Crickets!_--I knew by their choral song. +And at _Autumn's_ feet lay the golden corn, +While her hands were raised, to invert a horn +That was filled with a sweet and mellow store, +And the purple clusters were hanging o'er. +She bade me seize on the fruit that should last +When the harvest was gone, and Autumn had past. +But, when I had paused to make the choice, +I saw no bark! and I heard no voice! + +Then I looked on a sight that chilled my blood! +'Twas a mass of ice, where an old man stood +On his frozen float; while his shrivelled hand +Had clenched, as a staff by which to stand, +A whitened branch that the blast had broke +From the lifeless trunk of an aged oak. +The icicles hung from the naked limb, +And the old man's eye was sunken and dim. +But his scattering locks were silver bright, +His beard with gathering frost was white; +The tears congealed on his furrowed cheek, +His garb was thin, and the winds were bleak. +He faintly uttered, while drawing near, +"_Winter_, the death of the short-lived year, +Can yield thee nought, as I downward tend +To the boundless sea, where the Seasons end! +But I trust from others, who've gone before, +Thou'st clothed thy form, and supplied thy store +And now, what tidings am I to bear +Of thee--for I shall be questioned there?" + +I asked my mother, who o'er me bent, +What all this show of the Seasons meant? +She said 'twas a picture of Life, I saw; +And the useful moral myself must draw! + +I woke, and found that thy song was stilled, +And the sun's bright beams my room had filled! +But I think, my Cricket, I long shall keep +In mind the dream of my morning sleep! + + + + +=Fanny Spy= + +Lucy, Lucy, come away! + Never climb for things so high. +Don't you know, the other day, + What fell out with Fanny Spy? + +Fanny spied, a loaf of cake, + Wisely set above her reach; +Yet did Fanny think to make + In its tempting side a breach. + +When she thought the family + Out of sight and hearing too, +Forth a polished table she + Quickly to the closet drew. + +First, she stepped upon a chair; + Then the table--then a shelf; +Thinking she securely there + Might, unnoticed, help herself. + +Then she seized a heavy slice, + Leaving in the loaf a cleft +Wider than a dozen mice, + Feasted there all night, had left. + +Stepping backward, Fanny slid + On the table's polished face:-- +Down she came, with dish and lid, + Silver--glass--and china vase! + +In, from every room they rushed, + Father--mother--servants--all, +Thinking all the closet crushed, + By the racket and the fall. + +'Mid the uproar of the house, + Fanny, in her shame and fright, +Wished herself indeed a mouse, + But to run and hide from sight. + +Yet was she to learn how vain, + Poor and worthless, is a wish. +Wishing could not lull her pain, + Hide her shame, nor mend a dish. + +There she lay, but could not speak; + For a tooth had made a pass +Through her lip; and to her cheek + Clung a piece of shivered glass. + +From her altered features gushed + Rolling tears, and streaming gore; +While, untasted still, and crushed, + Lay her cake upon the floor. + +Then the doctor hurried in: + Fanny at his needle swooned, +As he held her crimson chin, + And together stitched the wound. + +Now her face a scar must wear, + Ever till her dying day! +Questioned how it happened there, + What can blushing Fanny say? + + + + +=Sudden Elevation; or The Empaled Butterfly= + +"Ho!" said the Butterfly, "here am I, + Up in the air, who used to lie + Flat on the ground, for the passers by + To treat with utter neglect! + But none will suspect that I am the same; + With a bright, new coat, and a different name; +The piece of nothingness whence I came + In me they'll never detect. + +"That horrible night in the chrysalis, + Which brought me at length to a day like this, + In a form of beauty--a state of bliss, + Was little enough to give + For freedom to range from bower to bower, + To flirt with the buds, and flatter the flower, + And bask in the sunbeams hour by hour, + The envy of all that live. + +"Why, this is a world of curious things, + Where those who crawl, and those that have wings, + Are ranked in the classes of beggars, and kings, + No matter how much the worth + May be on the side of those who creep, + Where the vain, the light, and the bold will sweep, + Others from notice, and proudly keep + Uppermost on the earth! + +"Many a one that has loathed the sight + Of the piteous worm, will take delight + In welcoming me, as I look so bright + In my new and beautiful dress. + But some I shall pass with a scornful glance, + Some, with an elegant _nonchalance_; + And others will woo me, till I advance + To give them a slight caress." + +"Ha, ha!" said the Pin, "you are just the one +Through which I'm commissioned, at once, to run +From back to breast, till, your fluttering done, + Your form may be fairly shown. +And when my point shall have reached your heart, +'T will be as a balm to the wounded part, +To think how you're to be copied by art, + And your beauty will all be known!" + + + + +=The Stricken Bird= + +Here's the last food your poor mother can bring! + Take it, my suffering brood. +Oh! they have stricken me under the wing; + See, it is dripping with blood! + +Fair was the morn, and I wished them to rise, + Enjoying its beauties with me. +The air was all fragrance--all splendor the skies, + While bright shone the earth and the sea. + +Little I thought, when so freely I went, + Employing my earliest breath, +To wake them with song, it could be their intent + To pay me with arrows and death! + +Fear that my nestlings would feel them forgot, + Helped me a moment to fly; +Else I had given up life on the spot, + Under my murderer's eye. + +Yet, I can never brood o'er you again, + Closing you under my breast! +Its coldness would chill you; my blood would but stain + And spoil the warm down of your nest. + +Ere the night-coming, your mother will lie, + All motionless, under the tree; +Where, deafened, and silent, I still shall be nigh, + While you will be moaning for me! + + + + +=The Young Sportsman= + +Harry had a dog and gun; +And he loved to set the one, +Barking, out upon the run, + While he held the other, +Often charged so heavily, +'Twas a dangerous thing to be +With so young a wight as he + Mindless of his mother. + +Earnestly she warned her child +To forego a sport so wild; +While he, turning, frowned or smiled, + And away would sidle. +For, to give him short and long, +Harry had a head so strong, +In the right or in the wrong, + It was hard to bridle. + +On his gunning madly bent, +Often in his clothes a rent +Told the reckless way he went, + Over hedge and brambles. +Homeward then would Harry slouch, +With his gun and empty pouch, +Looking like a scaramouch + Coming from his rambles. + +Sometimes when he scaled a wall, +Headlong there to pitch and fall, +Ratling stones, and gun and all. + Down together tumbled. +Tray would bark to tell the news +Of his master with a bruise, +Hatless, and with grated shoes, + Lying flat and humbled! + +Where he saw the bushes stirred, +Harry, sure of hare or bird, +Drew,--and at a flash was heard + Noise like little thunder. +When he ran his game to find, +Disappointment 'mazed his mind;-- +Finding he'd but shot the wind, + Dumb he stood with wonder! + +Over muddy pool or bog, +Not so nimble as his dog, +When he walked the plank or log, + There his balance losing, +Splash! he went--a rueful plight! +If his face before was white, +'Twas like morning turned to night, + Much against his choosing. + +Now, like many a hasty one, +Whether quadruped or gun, +Or a mother's wayward son + Given to disaster, +Harry's gun was rather quick; +And it had a naughty trick,-- +It would snap itself, and kick + Fiercely at its master. + +So, this snappish habit grew +With a power for him to rue; +Just as all bad habits do + Grow, as age increases. +When, one day, with noise and smoke, +Over-charged, the barrel broke, +Harry's hand the mischief spoke-- + It was blown to pieces! + +Tray came crouching round, and growled,-- +Saw the gore, and whined, and howled, +While his owner groaned and scowled, + And the blood was running. +With the horrors of his state, +And with anguish desperate, +Then poor Harry owned too late, + He was _sick of gunning_! + +While his mother bent to mourn +As her froward son was borne, +With his hand all burnt and torn, + Faint and pale, before her, +Harry's pain must be endured,-- +And the wound--it might be cured; +But, for fingers uninsured, + There was no restorer! + + + + +=The Pebble and the Acorn= + +"I am a Pebble! I yield to none!" +Were the swelling words of a tiny stone, +"Nor time nor season can alter me; +I am abiding, while ages flee. +The pelting hail and the drizzling rain +Have tried to soften me, long, in vain; +And the dew has tenderly sought to melt, +Or touch my heart; but it was not felt. +There's none to tell you about my birth, +For I am as old as the big, round earth. +The children of men arise, and pass +Out of the world, like blades of grass; +And many foot that on me has trod +Is gone from sight, and under the sod! +I am a Pebble! but who art _thou_, +Rattling along from the restless bough?" + +The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute, +And lay for a moment abashed and mute: +She never before had been so near +This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere; +And she felt for a time at loss to know +How to answer a thing so coarse and low. +But to give reproof of a nobler sort +Than the angry look, or the keen retort, +At length she said, in a gentle tone, +"Since it has happened that I am thrown, +From the lighter element where I grew, +Down to another, so hard and new, +And beside a personage so august, +Abased, I'll cover my head with dust, +And quick retire from the sight of one +Whom time, nor season, nor storm, nor sun, +Nor the gentle dew, nor the grinding heel +Has ever subdued, or made to feel!" +And soon in the earth she sank away +From the cheerless spot where the Pebble lay. + +But 'twas not long ere the soil was broke +By the jeering head of an infant oak! +As it arose, and its branches spread, +The Pebble looked up, and, wondering, said, +"Ah, modest Acorn! never to tell +What was enclosed in its simple shell;-- +That the pride of the forest was folded up +In the narrow space of its little cup!-- +And meekly to sink in the darksome earth, +Which proves that nothing could hide her worth! +And O, how many will tread on me, +To come and admire the beautiful tree, +Whose head is towering towards the sky, +Above such a worthless thing as I! +Useless and vain, a cumberer here, +Have I been idling from year to year. +But never, from this, shall a vaunting word +From the humbled Pebble again be heard, +Till something without me or within +Shall show the purpose for which I've been!" +The Pebble could ne'er its vow forget, +And it lies there wrapt in silence yet. + + + + +=The Grasshopper and the Ant= + +"Ant, look at me!" a young grasshopper said, +As nimbly he sprang from his green, summer-bed, +"See how I'm going to skip over your head, + And could o'er a thousand like you! +Ant, by your motion alone, I should judge +That Nature ordained you a slave and a drudge, +For ever and ever to keep on the trudge, + And always find something to do. + +"Oh! there is nothing like having our day-- +Taking our pleasure and ease while we may-- +Bathing ourselves in the bright, mellow ray + That comes from the warm, golden sun! +Whilst I am up in the light and the air, +You, a sad picture of labor and care, +Still have some hard, heavy burden to bear, + And work that you never get done. + +"I have an exercise healthful and good, +For tuning the nerves and digesting the food-- +Graceful gymnastics for stirring the blood + Without the _gross purpose of use_ +Ant, let me tell you 'tis not _a la mode_ +To plod like a pilgrim, and carry a load, +Perverting the limbs that for grace were bestowed, + By such a plebeian abuse! + +"While the whole world with provisions is filled, +Who would keep toiling and toiling, to build +And lay in a store for himself, till he's killed + With work that another might do? +Come! drop your budget, and just give a spring; +Jump on a grass-blade, and balance and swing; +Soon you'll be light as a gnat on the wing, + Gay as a grasshopper, too!" + +Ant trudged along, while the grasshopper sung, +Minding her business and holding her tongue, +Until she got home her own people among; + But these were her thoughts on the road. +"What will become of that poor, idle one +When the light sports of the summer are done? +And, where is the covert to which he may run + To find a safe winter abode? + +"Oh! if I only could tell him how sweet +Toil makes my rest and the morsel I eat, +While hope gives a spur to my little black feet, + He'd never pity my lot! +He'd never ask me my burden to drop, +To join in his folly--to spring, and to hop; +And thus make the ant and her labor to stop, + When time, I am certain, would not. + +"When the cold frost all the herbage has nipped, +When the bare branches with ice-drops are tipped, +Where will the grasshopper then be, that skipped + So careless and lightly to-day? +Frozen to death! '_a sad picture_,' indeed, +Of reckless indulgence and what must succeed, +That all his gymnastics can't shelter or feed, + Or quicken his pulse into play! + +"I must prepare for a winter to come, +I shall be glad of a home and a crumb, +When my frail form out of doors would be numb, + And I in the snow-storm should die. +Summer is lovely, but soon will be past. +Summer has plenty not always to last. +Summer's the time for the ant to make fast + Her stores for a future supply!" + + + + +=The Rose-Bud of Autumn= + +Come out--pretty Rose-Bud,--my lone, timid one! +Come forth from thy green leaves, and peep at the sun! +For little he does, in these dull autumn hours, +At height'ning of beauty, or laughing with flowers. + +His beams, on thy tender young cheek as he plays, +Will give it a blush that no other could raise: +Thy fine silken petals they'll softly unfold, +Thy pure bosom filling with spices and gold! + +I would not instruct thee in coveting wealth; +Yet beauty, we know, is the offspring of health; +And health, the fair daughter of freedom! is bright +From drinking the breezes, and feasting on light. + +Then, come, little gem, from thy covert look out; +And see what the glad, golden sun is about! +His shafts, do they strike thee, new charms will impart, +Thy form making fairer, and richer, thy heart. + +Occasion, sweet Bud, is for thee and for me: +This hour it may give what again ne'er shall be. +O, let not the sunshine of life pass away, +Nor touch both our eye and our heart with its ray! + + + + +=Frost, the Winter-Sprite= + +The Frost looked forth on a still, clear night, +And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight; +So through the valley, and over the height + I'll silently take my way. +I will not go on like that blustering train, +The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, +That make so much bustle and noise in vain. + But I'll be as busy as they!" + +He flew up, and powdered the mountain's crest; +He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest +With diamonds and pearls;--and over the breast + Of the quivering Lake he spread +A bright coat of mail that it need not fear +The glittering point of many a spear +That he hung on its margin, far and near, + Where a rock was rearing its head. + +He went to the windows of those who slept, +And over each pane, like a fairy crept; +Wherever he breathed--wherever he stepped-- + Most beautiful things were seen +By morning's first light!--there flowers and trees, +With bevies of birds, and swarms of bright bees;-- +There were cities--temples, and towers; and these, + All pictured in silvery sheen! + +But one thing he did that was hardly fair-- +He peeped in the cupboard, and, finding there +That none had remembered for him to prepare, + "Now, just to set them a-thinking, +I'll bite their rich basket of fruit," said he, +"This burly old pitcher--I'll burst it in three! +And the glass with the water they've left for me + Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking!" + + + + +=Vivy Vain= + +Miss Vain was all given to dress-- +Too fond of gay clothing; and so, + She'd gad about town + Just to show a new gown, +As a train-band their color to show. + +Her head being empty and light, +Whene'er she obtained a new hat, + With pride in her air, + She'd go round, here and there, +For all whom she knew to see that. + +Her folly was chiefly in this: +More highly she valued fine looks, + Than virtue or truth, + Or devoting her youth +To usefulness, friendship, or books. + +Her passion for show was unchecked; +And therefore, it happened one day, + Arrayed in bright hues, + And with new hat and shoes, +Miss Vain walked abroad for display. + +She took the most populous streets. +To cause but aversion in those, + Who saw how she prinked, + And the bystanders winked. +While the boys cried, "Halloo! there she goes!" + +It chanced, that, in passing on way, +She came near a pool, and a green + With fence close and high; + And, as Vivy drew nigh, +A donkey stood near it unseen. + +He put his mouth over its top, +The moment she came by his place; + And gave a loud bray + In her ear, when, away +She sprang, shrieked, and fell on her face. + +She thought she was swallowed alive, +Awhile upon earth lying flat; + And the terrible sound + Seemed to furrow the ground +She embraced in her fine gown and hat. + +She gathered herself up, and ran, +Yet heeded not whither or whence, + To flee from the roar, + That continued to pour +Behind her, from over the fence. + +In passing a slope near the pool, +She slipped and rolled down to its brim; + The geese gave a shout, + And at length hissed her out +Of the bounds, where they'd gathered to swim. + +In turning a corner, she met +Abruptly, the horns of a cow + That mooed, while the cur, + At her heels, turned from her, +And aimed at Miss Vain his "bow-wow." + +Then Vivy's bright ribbons and skirt, +As she flew, flirted high on the wind; + The children at play, + Paused to see one so gay, +And all in a flutter behind. + +A group of glad schoolboys came by: +Said they, "So it seems, that to-day, + Miss Vain carries marks + At which the dog barks, +And that make sober Long-Ears to bray." + +And when, all bedraggled and pale, +Poor Vivy approached her own door, + She went, swift and straight + As a dart, through the gate, +Abhorring the gay gear she wore. + +She sat down, and thought of the scene +With humiliation and tears: + The words, and the noise + Of the brutes and the boys +Were echoing still in her ears. + +She reasoned, and came at the cause, +Resolving that cause to remove; + And thence, her desire + Was for modest attire, +And her heart and her mind to improve. + +And soon, all who knew her before +Remarked on the change and the gain + In mind, and in mien, + And in dress, that were seen +In the once flashy Miss Vivy Vain. + + + + +=The Lost Kite= + +"My kite! my kite! I've lost my kite! +Oh! when I saw the steady flight, +With which she gained her lofty height, +How could I know, that letting go +That naughty string, would bring so low +My pretty, buoyant, darling kite, +To pass for ever out of sight? + +"A purple cloud was sailing by, +With silver fringes, o'er the sky; +And then I thought, it seemed so nigh, +I'd make my kite go up and light +Upon its edge, so soft and bright; +To see how noble, high and proud +She'd look, while riding on a cloud! + +"As near her shining mark she drew +I clapped my hands; the line slipped through +My silly fingers; and she flew, +Away! away! in airy play, +Right over where the water lay! +She veered and fluttered, swung and gave +A plunge, then vanished with the wave! + +"I never more shall want to look +On that false cloud, or babbling brook; +Nor e'er to feel the breeze that took +My dearest joy, to thus destroy +The pastime of your happy boy. +My kite! my kite! how sad to think +She flew so high, so soon to sink!" + +"Be this," the mother said, and smiled, +"A lesson to thee, simple child! +And when by fancies vain and wild, +As that which cost the kite that's lost, +The busy brain again is crossed, +Of shining vapor then beware, +Nor trust thy joys to fickle air. + +"I have a darling treasure, too, +That sometimes would, by slipping through +My guardian hands, the way pursue, +From which, more tight than thou thy kite, +I hold my jewel, new and bright, +Lest he should stray without a guide, +To drown my hopes in sorrow's tide!" + + + + +=A Summer-Morning Rumble= + +Oh! the happy Summer hours. +With their butterflies and flowers, +And the birds among the bowers + Sweetly singing;-- +With the spices from the trees, +Vines, and lilies, while the bees +Come floating on the breeze, + Honey bringing! + +All the East was rosy red, +When we woke and left our bed; +And to gather flowers we sped, + Gay and early. +Every clover-top was wet, +And the spider's silken net +With a thousand dew-drops set, + Pure and pearly. + +With their modest eyes of blue +Were the violets peeping through +Tufts of grasses, where they grew, + Full of beauty, +At the lamb in snowy white, +O'er the meadow bounding light, +And the crow just taking flight, + Grave and sooty. + +On our floral search intent, +Still away, away we went,-- +Up and down the rugged bent,-- + Through the wicket,-- +Where the rock with water drops,-- +Through the bushes and the copse,-- +Where the greenwood pathway stops + In the thicket. + +We heard the fountain gush, +And the singing of the thrush; +And we saw the squirrel's brush + In the hedges, +As along his back 't was thrown, +Like a glory of his own. +While the sun behind it, shone + Through its edges. + +All the world appeared so fair, +And so fresh and free the air,-- +Oh! it seemed that all the care + In creation +Belonged to God alone; +And that none beneath his throne, +Need to murmur or to groan + At his station. + +Dear little brother Will! +He has leaped the hedge and rill,-- +He has clambered up the hill, + Ere the beaming +Of the rising sun, to sweep +With its golden rays the steep, +Till he's tired, and dropped asleep, + Sweetly dreaming. + +See, he threw aside his cap, +And the roses from his lap, +When his eyes were, for the nap, + Slowly closing: +Wit his sunny curls outspread, +On its fragrant mossy bed, +Now his precious infant head + Is reposing. + +He is dreaming of his play-- +How he rose at break of day, +And he frolicked all the way + On his ramble. +And before his fancy's eye, +He has still the butterfly +Mocking him, where not so high + He could scramble. + +In his cheek the dimples dip, +And a smile is on his lip, +While his tender finger-tip + Seems as aiming +At some wild and lovely thing +That is out upon the wing, +Which he longs to catch and bring + Home for taming. + +While he thus at rest is laid +In the old oak's quiet shade, +Let's cull our flowers to braid, + Or unite them +In bunches trim and neat, +That for every friend we meet, +We may have a token sweet + To delight them. + +'Tis the very crowning art +Of a happy, grateful heart +To others to impart + Of its pleasure. +Thus its joys can never cease, +For it brings an inward peace, +Like an every day increase + Of a treasure. + + + + +=The Shoemaker= + +"Honor and shame from no condition rise. + Act well your part:--there all the honor lies." + +The shoemaker sat amid wax and leather, + With lapstone over his knee; +Where, snug in his shop, he defied all weather, +A-drawing his quarters and sole together: + A happy old man was he! + +This happy old man was so wise and knowing, + The worth of his time he knew. +He bristled his ends, and he kept them going; +And felt to each moment a stitch was owing, + Until he got round the shoe. + +Of every deed that his wax was sealing, + The closing was firm and fast. +The prick of his steel never caused a feeling +Of pain to the toe, and his skill in heeling + Was perfect, and true to the last! + +Whenever you gave him a foot to measure. + With gentle and skilful hand, +He took its proportions, with looks of pleasure, +As if you were giving the costliest treasure, + Or dubbing him lord of the land. + +And many a one did he save from getting + A fever, or cold or cough: +For many a sole did he save from wetting, +When, whether in water or snow 'twas setting, + His shoeing would keep them off + +And when he had done with his making and mending, + With hope and a peaceful breast, +Resigning his awl, as his thread was ending, +He slid from his bench, to the grave descending, + As high as a king to rest! + + + + +=The Snow-Storm= + +It snows! it snows! from out the sky +The feathered flakes, how fast they fly, +Like little birds, that don't know why +They're on the chase, from place to place, +While neither can the other trace! +It snows, it snows! a merry play +Is o'er us, on this sombre day. + +As dancers in time's airy hall, +That not a moment holds them all, +While some keep up, and others fall, +The atoms shift; then, thick and swift, +They drive along to form the drift, +That weaving up, so dazzling white, +Is rising like a wall of light. + +But now the wind comes, whistling loud, +To snatch and waft it, as a cloud, +Or giant phantom in a shroud. +It spreads,--it curls,--it mounts and whirls; +At length a mighty wing unfurls; +And then, away!--but where, none knows, +Or ever will.--It snows! it snows! + +To-morrow will the storm be done; +Then out will come the golden sun! +And we shall, we shall see, upon the run +Before his beams, in sparkling streams, +What now a curtain o'er him seems. +And thus, with life it ever goes;-- +'Tis shade and shine! It snows, it snows! + + + + +=The Whirlwind= + +Whirlwind, Whirlwind, whither art thou hieing, + Snapping off the flowers young and fair;-- +Setting all the chaff and the withered leaves a-flying,-- + Tossing up the dust in the air? + +"I," said the Whirlwind, "cannot stop for talking! + Give me up your cap, my little man; +And the polished stick, that you will not need for walking. + While you run to catch them, if you can! + +"You, pretty maiden--none has time to tell her + I am coming, ere I shall be there. +I will twirl her zephyr--snatch her light umbrella, + Seize her hat, and snarl her glossy hair!" + +On went the Whirlwind, showing many capers + One would hardly deem it meet to tell;-- +Dusting Judge and Parson--flirting gown and papers,-- + Discomposing matron, beau and belle. + +"Whisk!" from behind came the long and sweeping feather, + Round the head of old Chanticleer:-- +Plumed and plumeless biped felt gust together, + In a way they wouldn't like to hear. + +Snug in his arbor sat a scholar, musing + Calmly o'er the philosophic page: +"Flap!" went the leaves of the volume he was using, + Cutting short the lecture of the sage. + +"Hey!" said the bookworm, "this I think is taking + Rather too much liberty with me! +Yet I'll not resent it; being bent on making + Use of every thing I hear and see. + +"Many, I know, will not their anger stifle, + When as little cause as this, they find +To let it kindle up; but minding every trifle + Is profitless as quarrels with the wind. + +"Forth to his business when the Whirlwind sallies, + He is all alive to get it done;-- +He on his pathway never lags nor dallies; + But is ever up, and on the run. + +"Though ever whirling, never growing dizzy; + Motion gives him buoyancy and power. +All who have known him own that he is busy, + Doing much in half a fleeting hour. + +"Oh! there is nothing--when our work's before us,-- + Like _despatch;_ for, while our time is brief, +Some sweeping blast may suddenly come o'er us, + Lose our place, and turn another leaf! + +"Whirlwind, Whirlwind, though you're but a flurry, + And so odd the business you pursue;-- +Though you come on, and are off, in such a hurry, + I have caught a hint; and now adieu!" + + + + +=The Disobedient Skater Boys= + +Said William to George, "It is New-Year's day! +And now for the pond and the merriest play! +So, on with your cap; and away, away, + We'll off for a frolic and slide, +Be quick--be quick, if you would not be chid +For doing what father and mother forbid; +And under your coat let the skates be hid; + Then over the ice we'll glide." + +They're up, and they're off; on their run-away feet +They fasten the skates, when, away they fleet, +Far over the pond, and beyond retreat, + Unconscious of danger near. +But lo! the ice is beginning to bend-- +It cracks--it cracks--and their feet descend! +To whom can they look as a helper--a friend? + Their faces are pale with fear. + +In their flight to the pond, they had caught the eye +Of a neighboring peasant, who, lingering nigh, +Aware of their danger, and hearing their cry, + Now hastens to give them aid. +As home they are brought, all dripping and cold, +To all who their piteous plight behold, +The worst of the story is plainly told-- + Their parents were disobeyed! + + + + +=Winter and Spring= + +"Adieu!" Father Winter sadly said + To the world, when about withdrawing, +With his old white wig half off his head, + And his icicle fingers thawing;-- + +"Adieu! I'm going to the rocks and caves, + And must leave all here behind me; +Or perhaps I shall sink in the Northern waves, + So deep that none can find me." + +"Good luck! good luck, to your hoary locks!" + Said the gay young Spring, advancing; +"You may take your rest 'mid the caves and rocks, + While I o'er the earth am dancing. + +"But there is not a spot where you have trod. + You hard, old clumsy fellow,-- +Not a hill, nor a field, nor a single sod, + But I must make haste to mellow. + +"I then shall carpet them o'er with grass, + To look so bright and cheering, +That none will regret having let you pass + Far out of sight and hearing. + +"The fountains that you locked up so tight, + When I shall give them a sunning, +Will sparkle and play in my warmth and light, + And the streams set off to running. + +"I'll speak in the earth to the palsied root, + That under your reign was sleeping; +I'll teach it the way in the dark to shoot, + And draw out the vine to creeping. + +"The boughs that you cased so close in ice, + It was chilling e'en to behold them, +I'll deck all over with buds so nice; + My breath can alone unfold them. + +"And when all the trees are with blossoms drest, + The bird, with her song so merry, +Will come to the branches to build her nest, + With a view to the future cherry. + +"The earth will show by her loveliness, + The wonders that I am doing; +While the skies look down with a smile, to bless + The way that I'm pursuing!" + +Said Winter, "Then I would have you learn, + By me, my gay new-comer, +To push off too, when it comes your turn, + And yield your place to Summer!" + + + + +=Tom Tar= + +I'll tell you now about Tom Tar, + The sailor stout and bold, +Who o'er the ocean roamed so far, + To countries new and old. + +Tom was a man of thousands! he + Would ne'er complain nor frown, +Though high and low the wind and sea + Might toss him up and down. + +Amid the waters dark and deep, + He had the happy art, +When all around was storm, to keep + Fair weather in his heart. + +Though winds were wild, and waves were rough, + He'd always cast about, +And find within he'd calm enough + To stand the storms without. + +"For nought," said Tom, "is ever gained + By sighs for what we lack; +Nor can it mend a vessel strained, + To let our temper crack. + +"And sure I am, the worst of storms, + That any man should dread, +Is that which in the bosom forms, + And musters to the head." + +Serene, and ever self-possessed, + His mess-mates he would cheer, +And often put their fears to rest, + When dangers gathered near. + +If on the rocks the ship was cast, + And surges swept the deck, +Tom Tar was ever found the last + Who would forsake the wreck. + +And when his only hat and shoes + The waters plucked from him, +Why, these, he felt, were small to lose, + Could he keep up and swim! + +Then through the billows, foam, and spray, + That rose on every hand, +He'd, somehow, always find a way + Of getting safe to land. + +The secret was, the fear and love + Of Heaven had filled his soul: +His trust was firm in One above, + Howe'er the seas might roll. + +And Tom had sailed to many a shore, + And many a wonder seen: +The stories he could tell would more + Than fill a magazine. + +He'd seen mankind in every state, + Almost, that man can know; +But envied not the rich and great, + Nor scorned the poor and low. + +The monarch in his sight had stood, + Superb, in glittering vest; +The savage, too, that roams the wood, + In skins and feathers dressed. + +The tribes of many an isle he knew; + And beasts, and birds, and flowers, +And fruits, of many a shape and hue, + In lands remote from ours. + +He'd seen the wide-winged albatros + Her breast in ocean lave; +And bold sea-lions, playing, toss + Their heads above the wave. + +He'd seen the dolphin, while his back + Went flashing to the sun, +A swarm of flying fish attack, + And swallow every one! + +The porpoise and the spouting whale + Had sported in his view; +And hungry sharks pursued his sail, + As if they'd eat the crew. + +And ever, when Tom Tar got home, + The children, at their play, +Were glad to have the Sailor come, + And greet them by the way. + +Then, oft, some curious stone, or shell, + The laughing girls and boys +Would find, upon their aprons fell, + To put among their toys. + +"These pearly shells," said he, "I found + Where gloomy waters roar: +These polished stones, so smooth and round, + Rough surges washed ashore. + +"Though small to us a pebble seems, + 'Tis made and marked by One, +Who gave the warmth, and lit the beams + Of yon great shining sun. + +"And when these pretty shells I find, + Along the ocean strand, +Their beauteous finish brings to mind + Their Maker's perfect hand. + +"When on the wildest shore I'm thrown + And far from human eye, +I think of him who made the stone, + And shell, and sea, and sky. + +"For he's my Friend and I am his! + Though strong and cold the blast, +My safest guide I know he is + Where'er my lot is cast." + +When Tom passed on, the children said, + "These treasures from afar +He brought us! Blessings on his head! + For he's a good Tom Tar!" + + + + +=The Envious Lobster= + +A FABLE + +A Lobster from the water came, +And saw another, just the same +In form and size; but gayly clad +In scarlet clothing; while she had +No other clothing on her back +Than her old suit of greenish black. + +"So ho!" she cried, "'tis very fine! +Your dress was yesterday like mine; +And in the mud below the sea, +You lived, a crawling thing like me. +But now, because you've come ashore, +You've grown so proud, that what you wore-- +Your strong old suit of bottle-green, +You think improper to be seen. + +"To tell the truth, I don't see why +You should be better dressed than I. +And I should like a suit of red +As bright as yours, from feet to head. +I think I'm quite as good as you, +And might be clothed in scarlet too." + +"Will you be _boiled_" her owner said, +"To be arrayed in glowing red? +Come here, my discontented miss, +And hear the scalding kettle hiss! +Will you go in, and there be boiled, +To have your dress, so old and soiled, +Exchanged for one of scarlet hue?" +"Yes," cried the Lobster, "that I'll do, +And twice as much, if needs must be, +To be as gayly clad as she." +Then, in she made a fatal dive, +And never more was seen alive! + +Now, if you ever chance to know, +Of one as fond of dress and show +As that vain Lobster, and withal +As envious you'll perhaps recall +To mind her folly, and the plight +In which she reappeared to sight. + +She had obtained a bright array, +But for it, thrown her life away! +Her life and death were best untold, +But for the moral they unfold! + + + + +=The Crocus' Soliloquy= + +Down in my solitude, under the snow, + Where nothing cheering can reach me-- +Here, without light to see how I should grow, + I trust to nature to teach me. +I'll not despair, nor be idle, nor frown; + Though locked in so gloomy a dwelling! +My leaves shall shoot up, while my root's running down, + And the bud in my bosom is swelling. + +Soon as the frost will get off from my bed, + From this cold dungeon to free me, +I will peer up, with my bright little head; + All will be joyful to see me! +Then from my heart will young petals diverge, + Like rays of the sun from their focus; +When I from the darkness of earth shall emerge, + All complete, as a beautiful CROCUS! + +Gayly arrayed in gold, crimson, and green, + When to their view I have risen; +Will they not wonder how one so serene + Came from so dismal a prison? +Many, perhaps, from so simple a flower + A wise little lesson may borrow:-- +If patient to-day through the dreariest hour, + We shall come out the brighter to-morrow! + + + + +=The Bee, Clover, and Thistle= + +A bee from the hive one morning flew, + A tune to the daylight humming; +And away she went o'er the sparkling dew, +Where the grass was green, the violet blue, + And the gold of the sun was coming. + +And what first tempted the roving Bee, + Was a head of the crimson clover. +"I've found a treasure betimes!" said she, +"And perhaps a greater I might not see, + If I travelled the field all over. + +"My beautiful Clover, so round and red, + There is not a thing in twenty, +That lifts this morning so sweet a head +Above its leaves, and its earthy bed, + With so many horns of plenty!" + +The flow'rets were thick which the Clover crowned, + As the plumes in the helm of Hector; +And each had a cell that was deep and round, +Yet it would not impart, as the Bee soon found, + One drop of its precious nectar. + +She cast in her eye where the honey lay, + And her pipe she began to measure; +But she saw at once it was clear as day, +That it would not go down one half the way + To the place of the envied treasure.[1] + +Said she, in a pet, "One thing I know," + As she rose, and in haste departed, +"It is not those of the _greatest show,_ +To whom for a favor 'tis best to go, + Or that prove most generous-hearted!" + +A fleecy flock came into the field; + When one of its members followed +The scent of the clover, till between +Her nibbling teeth its head was seen, + And then in a moment swallowed. + +"Ha, ha!" said the Bee, as the Clover died, + "Her fortune's smile was fickle! +And now I can get my wants supplied +By a homely flower, with a rough outside. + And even with scale and prickle!" + +Then she flew to one, that, by man and beast + Was shunned for its stinging bristle; +But it injured not the Bee in the least; +And she filled her pocket, and had a feast, + From the bloom of the purple Thistle. + +The generous Thistle's life was spared + In the home where the Bee first found her, +Till she grew so old she was hoary-haired, +And her snow-white locks with the silk compared, + As they shone where the sun beamed round her. + +FOOTNOTES: + +[Footnote 1: The clover-floret is so small and deep in its tube, +that the bee cannot reach the honey at the bottom.] + + + + +=Poor Old Paul= + +Poor old Paul! he has lost a foot; + And see him go hobbling along, +With the stump laced up in that clumsy boot, + Before the gathering throng! + +And now, as he has to pass so many, + And suffer the gaze of all, +If each would only bestow a penny, + 'Twere something for poor old Paul. + +His cheek is wan, and his garb is thin; + His eye is sunken and dim; +He looks as if the winter had been + Making sad work with him. + +While he is trying to hide the tatter, + Mark how his looks will fall! +Nobody needs to ask the matter + With poor, old, hungry Paul. + +All that he has in his dingy sack + Is morsels of bread and meat,-- +The leavings, to burden his aged back, + Which others refused to eat. + +So now I am sure, you will all be willing + To part with a sum so small +As each will spare, who makes up a shilling + To comfort him--Poor old Paul! + + + + +=The Sea-Eagle's Fall= + +An Eagle, on his towering wing, + Hung o'er the summer sea; +And ne'er did airy, feathered king + Look prouder there than he. + +He spied the finny tribes below, + Amid the limpid brine; +And felt it now was time to know + Whereon he was to dine. + +He saw a noble, shining fish + So near the surface swim, +He felt at once a hungry wish + To make a feast of him. + +Then straight he took his downward course; + A sudden plunge he gave; +And, pouncing, seized, with murderous force, + His tempter in the wave. + +He struck his talons firm and deep, + Within the slippery prize, +In hope his ruffian grasp to keep, + And high and dry to rise. + +But ah! it was a fatal stoop, + As ever monarch made; +And, for that rash--that cruel swoop, + He soon most dearly paid! + +The fish had too much gravity + To yield to this attack. +His feet the eagle could not free + From off the scaly back. + +He'd seized on one too strong and great; + His mastery now was gone! +And on, by that preponderant weight, + And downward, he was drawn. + +Nor found he here the element + Where he could move with grace; +And flap, and dash, his pinions went, + In ocean's wrinkled face. + +They could not bring his talons out, + His forfeit life to save; +And planted thus, he writhed about + Upon his gaping grave. + +He raised his head, and gave a shriek, + To bid adieu to light: +The water bubbled in his beak-- + He sank from human sight! + +The children of the sea came round, + The foreigner to view. +To see an airy monarch drowned, + To them was something new + +Some gave a quick, astonished look, + And darted swift away; +While some his parting plumage shook, + And nibbled him for prey. + +O! who that saw that bird at noon + So high and proudly soar, +Could think how awkwardly--how soon, + He'd fall to rise no more? + +Though glory, majesty, and pride + Were his an hour ago, +Deprived of all, that eagle died, + For stooping once too low! + +Now, have you ever known or heard + Of biped, from his sphere +Descending, like that silly bird + To buy a fish so dear? + + + + +=The Two Thieves= + +A lady, they called her Miss Mouse, + In a slate-colored dress, like a Quaker, +Once lived in a snug little house, + Of which she herself was the maker. + +There lived in another close by, + A dame, whom they called Lady Kitty; +But that she was stationed so nigh, + Miss Mouse often thought a great pity. + +For she, though so soberly clad, + And never inclined to ill-speaking, +Had often a fancy to gad, + Or more than her own might be seeking. + +She did not then like to be scanned, + Or questioned respecting her duty, +When some little theft she had planned, + Or seen coming home with her booty. + +So modest she was, and so shy, + Although an inveterate sinner, +She'd nip out her part of the pie + Before it was brought up to dinner. + +She held that 'twas folly to ask + For what her own wits would allow her; +And, making her way through the cask, + She helped herself well to the flour. + +The candles she scraped to their wicks; + And, mischievous in her invention, +Would do many more naughty tricks, + Which I, as her friend, cannot mention. + +Kit, too, had her living to make, + And yet, she was so above toiling, +She'd sooner attack the beef-steak, + When the cook had prepared it for broiling. + +And so, near a dish of warm toast, + She often most patiently lingered, +To seize her first chance; yet, could boast + That none ever called her _light-fingered_. + +But mending, or minding herself, + She thought would be quite too much labor, +And so peeped about on the shelf, + To spy out the faults of her neighbor. + +For Mouse loved to promenade there, + While Kit would watch close to waylay her; +And once, in the midst of her fare, + Up bounded Miss Kitty to slay her! + +But this was as luckless a jump + As ever Kit made, with the clatter +Of knife, skimmer, spoon, and a thump, + Which she got, as she threw down the platter. + +While Mouse glided under a dish. + Escaping the mortal disaster, +Miss Kitty turned off to a fish, + The breakfast elect for her master. + +Said she to herself, "Tis clear gain,-- + This rarity, fresh from the water, +Will save my white mittens the stain-- + And me from the trouble of slaughter!" + +But her racket, she found to her cost, + The plot had most fatally thickened; +And all hope of mercy was lost, + As Jack's coming footstep was quickened. + +He seized her, and binding her fast. + Declared he could never forgive her; +So Kitty was sentenced and cast, + With a stone at her neck, in the river! + +But Mouse still continued to thieve; + And often, alone in her dwelling, +Would silently laugh in her sleeve, + At the scene in the tale I've been telling-- + +Till once, by a fatal mishap, + The little unfortunate rover +Perceived herself close in a trap, + And felt that her race was now over. + +She knew she must leave all behind; + And thus, in the midst of her terrors, +As every thing rushed to her mind, + Began her confession of errors:-- + +"You'll find, on the word of a Mouse, + Whom hope has for ever forsaken, +The following things in my house, + Which I have unlawfully taken: + +"A cork, that was soaked in the beer, + Which I nibbled until I was merry; +Some kernels of corn from the ear, + The skin and the stone of a cherry:-- + +"Some hemp-seed I took from the bird, + And found most deliriously tasted, +While safe in my covert, I heard + Its owner complain that 'twas wasted:-- + +"You'll find a few cucumber seeds, + Which I thought, if they could but be hollowed, +Would answer to string out for beads; + So the inside of all I have swallowed:-- + +"A few crumbs of biscuit and cheese, + Which I thought might a long time supply me +With luncheon--some rice and split peas, + Which seemed well prepared to keep by me:-- + +"A cluster of curls which I stole + At night from a young lady's toilet, +And made me a bed of it whole, + As tearing it open would spoil it;-- + +"And as, in a long summer day + I'd time both or reading and spelling, +I gnawed up the whole of a play, + And carried it home to my dwelling. + +"I wish you'd set fire to my place; + And pray you at once to despatch me, +That none of my enemy's race, + In the form of Miss Kitty, may catch me!" + +Disgrace thus will follow on vice, + Although for a while it be hidden; +When children, or kittens, or mice, + Will do what they know is forbidden. + + + + +=Jemmy String= + +I knew a little heedless boy, + A child that seldom cared, +If he could get his cake and toy, + How other matters fared. + +He always bore upon his foot + A signal of the thing, +For which, on him his playmates put + The name of Jemmy String. + +No malice in his heart was there; + He had no fault beside, +So great as that of wanting care. + To keep his shoe-strings tied. + +You'd often see him on the run, + To chase the geese about, +While both his shoe-ties were undone, + With one end slipping out. + +He'd tread on one, then down he'd go, + And all around would ring +With bitter cries, and sounds of woe, + That came from Jemmy String. + +And oft, by such a sad mishap, + Would Jemmy catch a hurt; +The muddy pool would catch his cap, + His clothes would catch the dirt! + +Then home he'd hasten through the street, + To tell about his fall; +While, on his little sloven feet, + The cause was plain to all. + +For while he shook his aching hand, + Complaining of the bruise, +The strings were trailing through the sand + From both his loosened shoes. + +One day, his father thought a ride + Would do his children good; +But Jemmy's shoe-strings were untied, + And on the stairs he stood. + +In hastening down to take his place + Upon the carriage seat, +Poor Jemmy lost his joyous face; + Nor could he keep his feet. + +The dragging string had made him trip, + And bump! bump! went his head;-- +The teeth had struck and cut his lip, + And tears and blood were shed. + +His aching wounds he meekly bore; + But with a swelling heart +He heard the carriage from the door, + With all but him, depart. + +This grievous lesson taught him care, + And gave his mind a spring; +For he resolved no more to bear + The name of JEMMY STRING! + + + + +=The Caterpillar= + +"Don't kill me!" Caterpillar said, + As Charles had raised his heel +Upon the humble worm to tread, + As though it could not feel. + +"Don't kill me! and I'll crawl away + To hide awhile, and try +To come and look, another day, + More pleasing to your eye. + +"I know I'm now among the things + Uncomely to your sight; +But by and by on splendid wings + You'll see me high and light! + +"And then, perhaps, you may be glad + To watch me on the flower; +And that you spared the worm you had + To-day within your power!" + +Then Caterpillar went and hid + In some secreted place, +Where none could look on what he did + To change his form and face. + +And by and by, when Charles had quite + Forgotten what I've told, +A Butterfly appeared in sight, + Most beauteous to behold. + +His shining wings were trimmed with gold, + And many a brilliant dye +Was laid upon their velvet fold, + To charm the gazing eye! + +Then, near as prudence would allow, + To Charles's ear he drew +And said, "You may not know me, now + My form and name are new! + +"But I'm the worm that once you raised + Your ready foot to kill! +For sparing me, I long have praised, + And love and praise you still. + +"The lowest reptile at your feet, + When power is not abused, +May prove the fruit of mercy sweet, + By being kindly used!" + + + + +=The Mocking Bird= + + A Mocking Bird was he, + In a bushy, blooming tree, +Imbosomed by the foliage and flower. + And there he sat and sang, + Till all around him rang, +With sounds, from out the merry mimic's bower. + + The little satirist + Piped, chattered, shrieked, and hissed; +He then would moan, and whistle, quack, and caw; + Then, carol, drawl, and croak, + As if he'd pass a joke +On every other winged one he saw. + + Together he would catch + A gay and plaintive snatch, +And mingle notes of half the feathered throng. + For well the mocker knew, + Of every thing that flew, +To imitate the manner and the song. + + The other birds drew near, + And paused awhile to hear +How well he gave their voices and their airs. + And some became amused; + While some, disturbed, refused +To own the sounds that others said were theirs. + + The sensitive were shocked, + To find their honors mocked +By one so pert and voluble as he; + They knew not if 't was done + In earnest or in fun; +And fluttered off in silence from the tree. + + The silliest grew vain, + To think a song or strain +Of theirs, however weak, or loud, or hoarse, + Was worthy to be heard + Repeated by the bird; +For of his wit they could not feel the force. + + The charitable said, + "Poor fellow! if his head +Is turned, or cracked, or has no talent left; + But feels the want of powers, + And plumes itself from ours, +Why, we shall not be losers by the theft." + + The haughty said, "He thus. + It seems, would mimic us, +And steal our songs, to pass them for his own! + But if he only quotes + In honor of our notes, +We then were quite as honored, let alone." + + The wisest said, "If foe + Or friend, we still may know +By him, wherein our greatest failing lies. + So, let us not be moved, + Since first to be improved +By every thing, becomes the truly wise." + + + + +=The Silk-Worm's Will= + +On a plain rush-hurdle a silk-worm lay, +When a proud young princess came that way. +The haughty child of a human king +Threw a sidelong glance at the humble thing, +That received with a silent gratitude +From the mulberry-leaf her simple food; +And shrunk, half scorn, and half disgust, +Away from her sister child of the dust; +Declaring she never yet could see +Why a reptile form like this should be;-- +And that she was not made with nerves so firm, +As calmly to stand by a _crawling worm_! + +With mute forbearance the silk-worm took +The taunting words and the spurning look. + +Alike a stranger to self and pride, +She'd no disquiet from aught beside; +And lived of a meekness and peace possest +Which these debar from the human breast. +She only wished, for the harsh abuse, +To find some way to become of use +To the haughty daughter of lordly man; +And thus did she lay her noble plan +To teach her wisdom, and make it plain +That the humble worm was not made in vain;-- +A plan so generous, deep and high, +That to carry it out, she must even die! + +"No more," said she, "will I drink or eat! +I'll spin and weave me a winding-sheet, +To wrap me up from the sun's clear light, +And hide my form from her wounded sight. +In secret then, till my end draws nigh, +I will toil for her; and when I die, +I'll leave behind, as a farewell boon +To the proud young princess, my whole cocoon, +To be reeled, and wove to a shining lace, +And hung in a veil o'er her scornful face! +And when she can calmly draw her breath +Through the very threads that have caused my death; +When she finds at length, she has nerves so firm, +As to wear the shroud of a _crawling worm_, +May she bear in mind that she walks with pride +In the winding-sheet where the silk-worm died!" + + + + +=Dame Biddy= + +Dame Biddy abode in a coop, + Because it so chanced that dame Biddy +Had round her a family group + Of chicks, young, and helpless, and giddy. + +And when she had freedom to roam, + She fancied the life of a ranger; +And led off her brood, far from home, + To fall into mischief or danger. + +She'd trail through the grass to be mown, + And call all her children to follow; +And scratch up the seeds that were sown, + Then, lie in their places and wallow. + +She'd go where the corn in the hill, + Its first little blade had been shooting, +And try, by the strength of her bill, + To learn if the kernel was rooting. + +And when she went out on a walk + Of pleasure, through thicket and brambles, +The covetous eye of a Hawk + Delighted in marking her rambles. + +"I spy," to himself he would say, + "A prize of which I'll be the winner!" +So down would he pounce on his prey, + And bear off a chicken for dinner. + +The poor frighted matron, that heard + The cry of her youngling in dying, +Would scream at the merciless bird, + That high with his booty was flying. + +But shrieks could not ease her distress, + Nor grief her lost darling recover. +She now had a chicken the less, + For acting the part of a rover. + +And there lay the feathers, all torn. + And flying one way and another, +That still her dear child might have worn, + Had she been more wise as a mother. + +Her owner then thought he must teach + Dame Biddy a little subjection; +And cooped her up, out of the reach + Of hawking, with time for reflection. + +And, throwing a net o'er a pile + Of brush-wood that near her was lying, +He hoped to its meshes to wile + The fowler, that o'er her was flying. + +For Hawk, not forgetting his fare, + And having a taste to renew it, +Sailed round near the coop, high in air, + With cruel intention, to view it. + +The owner then said, "Master Hawk, + If you love my chickens so dearly, +Come down to my yard for a walk, + That you may address them more nearly." + +But, "No," thought the sharp-taloned foe + Of Biddy, "my circuit is higher! +If I to his premises go. + 'Twill be when I see he's not nigh her." + +The Farmer strewd barley, and toled + The chickens the brush to run under, +And left them, while Hawk growing bold, + Thus tempted, came near for his plunder. + +As closer and closer he drew, + With appetite stronger and stronger, +He found he'd but one thing to do, + And plunged, to defer it no longer. + +But now he had come to a pause, + At once in the net-work entangled, +While through it his head and his claws + In hopeless vacuity dangled. + +The chicks saw him hang overhead, + Where they for their barley had huddled; +And all in a flutter they fled, + And soon through the coop holes had scuddled. + +The Farmer came out to his snare, + He saw the bold captive was in it; +And said, "If this play be unfair, + Remember, I did not begin it!" + +He then put a cork on his beak, + The airy assassin disarming, +Unspurred him, and rendered him weak, + By blunting each talent for harming. + +And into the coop he was thrown: + The chickens hid under their mother, +For he, by his feathers was known + As he, who had murdered their brother + +Dame Biddy, beholding his plight, + Determined to show him no quarter, +In action gave vent to her spite; + As motherly tenderness taught her. + +She shouted, and blustered; and then + Attacked the poor captive unfriended; +And you, (who have witnessed a hen + In anger,) may guess how it ended. + +She made him a touching address, + If pecking and scratching could do it; +Till sinking in silent distress, + He perished before she got through it. + +We would not, however, convey + A thought like approving the fury, +That gave, in this summary way, + Punition without judge or jury. + +Whenever 'tis given, it tends + To lessen the angry bestower. +The _fowl_ that inflicts it descends-- + But the _featherless biped_, still lower. + + + + +=Kit With the Rose= + +A Rose-tree stood in the parlor, + When Kit came frolicking by; +So, up went her feet on the window-seat, + To a rose that had caught her eye. + +She gave it a cuff, and it trembled + Beneath her ominous paw; +And while it shook, with a threatening look, + She coveted what she saw. + +Thought she, "What a beautiful toss-ball! + If I could but give it a snap, +Now all are out, nor thinking about + Their rose, or the least mishap!" + +She twisted the stem, and she twirled it; + And seizing the flower it bore, +With the timely aid of her teeth, she made + A leap to the parlor-floor. + +Then over the carpet she tossed it, + All fresh in its morning bloom, +Till, shattered and rent, its leaves were sent + To every side of the room. + +At length, with her sport grown weary, + She laid herself down to sun, +Inclining to doze, forgetting the rose, + And the mischief she'd slily done. + +By and by her young mistress entered, + And uttered a piteous cry, +When she saw the fate of what had so late + Delighted her watchful eye. + +But, where was the one who had spoiled it + Concealing his guilty face? +She had not a clue, whereby to pursue + The rogue to his lurking-place! + +Thought Kit, "I'll keep still till it's over; + And none will suspect it was I." +For the puss awoke, when her mistress spoke; + And she well understood the cry. + +But, mewing at length for her dinner, + Kit's mouth confessed the whole truth: +It opened so wide that her mistress espied + A rose-leaf pierced by her tooth! + +Then, banished was Kit from the parlor, + All covered with shame! And those +Inclined, like her, in secret to err, + Should remember Kit with the Rose. + + + + +=The Captive Butterfly= + +Good morning, pretty Butterfly! + How have you passed the night? +I hope you're gay and glad as I + To see the morning light. + +But, little silent one, methinks + You're in a sober mood. +I wonder if you'd like to drink, + And what you take for food. + +I shut you in my crystal cup, + To let your winglets rest. +And now I want to hold you up, + To see your velvet vest. + +I want to count your tiny toes. + To find your breathing-place, +And touch the downy horn that grows + Each side your pretty face. + +I'd like to see just how you're made, + With streaks and spots and rings; +And wish you'd show me how you played + Your shining, rainbow wings. + +"'T was not," the little prisoner said, + "For want of food or drink, +That, while you slumbered on your bed, + I could not sleep a wink. + +"My wings are pained for want of flight, + My lungs, for want of air. +In bitterness I've passed the night, + And meet the morning's glare. + +"When looking through my prison wall, + So close, and yet so clear, +I see there's freedom there for all, + While I'm a captive here. + +"I've stood upon my feeble feet + Until they're full of pain. +I know that liberty is sweet, + Which I cannot regain. + +"Do I deserve a fate like this, + Who've ever acted well, +Since first I left the chrysalis, + And fluttered from my shell? + +"I've never injured fruit, or flower, + Or man, or bird, or beast; +And such a one should have the power + Of going free, at least. + +"And now, if you will let me quit + My prison-house, the cup, +I'll show you how I sport and flit, + And make my wings go up!" + +The lid was raised; the prisoner said, + "Behold my airy play!" +Then quickly on the wing he fled + Away, away, away! + +From flower to flower he gayly flew, + To cool his aching feet, +And slake his thirst with morning dew, + Where liberty was sweet! + + + + +=The Dissatisfied Angler Boy= + +I'm sorry they let me go down to the brook; +I'm sorry they gave me the line and the hook; +And wish I had staid at home with my book! + I'm sure 'twas no pleasure to see +That poor little harmless, suffering thing +Silently writhe at the end of the string, +Or to hold the pole, while I felt him swing + In torture,--and all for me! + +'Twas a beautiful speckled and glossy trout; +And when from the water I drew him out, +On the grassy bank as he floundered about, + It made me shivering cold, +To think I had caused so much needless pain; +And I tried to relieve him, but all in vain: +O never, as long as I live, again + May I such a sight behold! + +But, what would I give, once more to see +The brisk little swimmer alive and free, +And darting about as he used to be, + Unhurt, in his native brook! +'Tis strange that people can love to play, +By taking innocent lives away! +I wish I had stayed at home to-day + With sister, and read my book. + + + + +=The Stove and the Grate-Setter= + +Old Winter is coming, to play off his tricks-- + To make your ears tingle--your fingers to numb! +So I, with my trowel, new mortar and bricks, + To guard you against him, already am come. + +An ounce of prevention in time, I have found, + Is worth pounds of remedy taken too late! +And proof that the sense of my maxim is sound, + Will shine where I fasten stove, furnace or grate. + +The Summer leaves now whirling fast from the trees, + By Autumn's chill blast are tossed yellow and sere; +And soon, with the breath of his nostrils to freeze + Each thing he can puff at, will Winter be here! + +But hardly he'll dare to steal in at the door, + Your elbows to bite with his keen cutting air, +And give you an ague, where I've been before, + To set the defence I to-day can prepare. + +And when he comes blustering on from the north, + To give you blue faces, and shakes by the chin, +You'll find what the craft of the mason was worth, + As you from abroad to your parlor step in! + +For all will around be so pleasant and warm,-- + Your hearth bright and cheering--your coal in a glow; +You'll not heed the winds whistling up the rough storm + To sift o'er your dwellings its clouds full of snow! + +You'll then think of me;--how I handled to-day + The cold stone and iron--the brick and the lime: +And all, but the surer foundation to lay + For comfort to give in the drear winter time. + +I lay you, against this old Winter, a charm. + To make him, at least, keep himself out of doors! +'Twould melt--should he enter--his hard hand and arm. + When loud for admission he threatens and roars. + +If gratitude then should come, warming your _heart_, + As peaceful you sit by your warm _fireside_; +Perhaps it may teach you some good to impart + To those, where the gifts you enjoy are denied. + +For He in whose favor all blessedness is; + And out of whose kingdom no treasure is sure, +Was poor when on earth;--and the poor still are his: + His charge to his friends is "_Remember the poor_." + +Nor would his disciple be higher than He, + Who once on the dwellings of men, for his bread, +In lowliness wrought! but contentedly, we + Will work by the light that our Master has shed. + + + + +=Song of the Bees= + +We watch for the light of the morn to break, + And color the eastern sky +With its blended hues of saffron and lake; +Then say to each other, "Awake! awake! +For our winter's honey is all to make, + And our bread for a long supply!" + +Then off we hie to the hill and the dell-- + To the field, the meadow, and bower: +In the columbine's horn we love to dwell,-- +To dip in the lily with snow-white bell,-- +To search the balm in its odorous cell, + The mint, and rosemary flower. + +We suck the bloom of the eglantine,-- + Of the pointed thistle and brier; +And follow the track of the wandering vine, +Whether it trail on the earth, supine, +Or round the aspiring tree-top twine, + And reach for a state still higher. + +As each, on the good of the others bent, + Is busy, and cares for all, +We hope for an evening with hearts content,-- +That Winter may find us without lament +For a Summer that's gone, with its hours misspent, + And a harvest that's past recall! + + + + +=The Summer is Come= + +CHILDHOOD'S RURAL SONG. + + The Summer is come + With the insect's hum, +And the birds that merrily sing. + And sweet are the hours, + And the fruits and flowers, +That Summer has come to bring. + + All nature is glad, + And the earth is clad +In her brightest and best array: + So, we with delight + Will our songs unite, +Our tribute of joy to pay. + + + The swallow is out, + And she sails about +In air, for the careless fly: + Then she takes a sip + With her horny lip +As she skims where the waters lie. + + And the lamb bounds light + In his fleece of white, +But he doesn't know what to think, + In the streamlet clear, + Where he sees appear +His face as he stoops to drink. + + For, never before + Has he gambolled o'er +The summer-dressed, flowery earth; + And he skips in play, + As he fain would say +"'Tis a season of feast and mirth." + + And we have to-day + Been rambling away +To gather the flowers most fair, + Which we sat beneath + An old oak to wreath +While fanned by the balmy air. + + Now the sun goes down + Like a golden crown +That's sliding behind a hill; + So we dance the while + To his farewell smile; +And well dance as the dews distil. + + Then, we'll dance to-night + While the fire-fly's light +Is sparkling among the grass; + And we'll step our tune + To the silver moon, +As over the green we pass. + + O, Summer is sweet! + But her joys are fleet; +We catch them but on the wing: + Yet never the less + Would our hearts confess +The blessings she comes to bring. + + + + +=The Morning-Glory= + +Come here and sit thee down by me! +I've read a tale, I'll tell to thee; +And precious will the moral be, + Though simple is the story. +It is about a brilliant flower, +With beauty scarce possessed of power +Its opening to survive an hour-- + An airy Morning-Glory. + +'Tis common parlance names it thus; +But 'twas a gay convolvulus: +Yet we'll not stop to here discuss + Its species or its genus. +We'll just suppose a blooming vine +With many leaf and bud to shine, +And curling tendrils thrown to twine + And form a bower, between us. + +And we'll suppose a happy boy, +With face lit up by hope and joy, +Who thinks that nothing shall destroy + His vine, his pride and pleasure, +Is standing near, with kindling eye, +As if its very look would pry +The cup apart, therein to spy + The growing floral treasure. + +And now the petal, twisted tight, +Above the calyx peers to sight +With apex tipped with purple, bright + As if the rainbow dyed it. +While on the air it vacillates, +Its owner's bosom palpitates +To see it open, as he waits + Impatient close beside it. + +Another rising sun has thrown +Its beams upon the vine, and shown +The splendid Morning-Glory blown, + As if some little fairy, +When early from his couch he went, +On some ethereal journey bent, +Had there inverted left his tent + Of purple, high and airy. + +And many a fair and shining flower +As bright as this adorned the bower, +Displayed like jewels in an hour, + Where'er the vine was clinging. +As each corolla lost its twist, +The zephyr fanned, the sunbeam kissed +The little vase of amethyst; + And round it birds were singing. + +And now the little boy comes out +To see his vine. He gives a shout, +And sings and laughs, and jumps about + Like one two-thirds demented. +His little playmates, one, two, three, +Come round the beauteous vine to see, +And each cries, "Give a flower to me, + And I'll go off contented." + +But "No," the selfish owner cried, +And pushed his comrades all aside, +While walking round his bower with pride, + "Not one of you shall sever +A floweret from the stem so gay; +I own them, not to give away! +I'll come to see them every day; + And keep them mine for ever!" + +So, when at noon from school he came, +To see his vine was first his aim: +But oh! his feelings who can name, + As mute he stood and eyed it? +For not a flower could he behold, +While each corolla, inward rolled, +Appeared as shrivelled, dead, and old + As if a fire had dried it. + +"Alas!" the selfish owner said, +"My Glories----oh! they all are dead! +And all my little friends have fled + Aggrieved! for I've abused them. +They'll keep away, and but deride +My sorrow, when they hear my pride +Is gone;--that quick the pleasures died + Which rudely I refused them!" + + + + +=The Old Cotter and his Cow= + + My good old Cow, + I scarce know how +Again we've wintered over; + With my scant fare, + And thine so spare-- +No dainty dish, nor clover! + + We both were old, + And keen the cold; +While poorly housed we found us; + And by the blast + That, whistling, passed, +The snows were sifted round us. + + While, many a day. + Few locks of hay +Were most thy crib presented, + A patient Cow, + And kind wast thou, +And with thy mite contented. + + But though the storms + Have chilled our forms, +And we've been pinched together, + The dark, blue day + Is passed away; +We've reached the warm spring weather! + + The bounteous earth + Is shooting forth +Her grass and flowers so gayly; + Thou now canst feed + Along the mead, +While food is growing daily. + + The soft, sweet breeze + Through budding trees +Now fans my brow so hoary: + And these old eyes + Find new supplies +Of light from nature's glory. + + Though poor my cot, + And low my lot, +With thee, my richest treasure, + I take my cup, + And looking up, +Bless Him who gives my measure. + + + + +=The Speckled One= + +Poor speckled one! none else will deign + To waft thy name around; +So, let me take it on my strain, + To give it air and sound. + +Yes--air and sound, low child of earth! + For these are oft the things +That give a name its greatest worth, + Its gorgeous plumes and wings. + +But do not shun me thus, and hop + Affrighted from my way! +Dismiss thy terrors--turn and stop; + And hear what I may say. + +Meek, harmless thing, afraid of man? + This truly should not be. +Then calmly pause, and let me scan + My Maker's work in thee. + +For both of us to Him belong; + We're fellow-creatures here; +And power should not be armed with wrong, + Nor weakness filled with fear. + +I know it is thy humble lot + To burrow in a hole-- +To have a form I envy not, + And that without a soul. + +In motion, attitude and limb + I see thee void of grace; +And that a look supremely grim, + Reigns o'er thy solemn face. + +But thou for this art not to blame; + Nor should it make us load +With obloquy, and scorn, and shame + The honest name of TOAD. + +For, though so low on nature's scale-- + In presence so uncouth, +Thou ne'er hast told an evil tale, + Of falsehood, or of truth. + +Thy thoughts are ne'er on malice bent-- + Nor hands to mischief prone; +Nor yet thy heart to discontent; + Though spurned, and poor and lone. + +No coveting nor envy burns + In thy bright golden eye, +That calm and innocently turns + On all below the sky. + +Thy cautious tongue and sober lip + No words of folly pass, +Nor, are they found to taste and sip + The madness of the glass. + +Thy frugal meal is often drawn + From earth, and wood, and stone; +And when thy means by these are gone, + Thou seem'st to live on none. + +I hear that in an earthen jar + Sealed close, shut up alive, +From food, drink, air, sun, moon and star, + Thou'lt live and even thrive:-- + +And that no moan, or murmuring sound + Will issue from the lid +Of thy dark dwelling under ground, + When it is deeply hid. + +Thou hast, as 'twere, a secret shelf, + Whereon is a supply +Of nourishment, within thyself, + Concealed from mortal eye. + +Methinks this self-sustaining art + 'Twere well for us to know, +To keep us up in flesh and heart, + When outer means grow low. + +Could we contain our riches thus, + On such mysterious shelves, +Why, none could rob or beggar us; + Unless we lost ourselves! + +But ah! my Toadie, there's the rub, + With every human breast-- +To live as in the cynic's tub, + And yet be self-possessed! + +For, how to let no boast get round + Beyond our tub, to show +That we in head and heart are sound, + Is one great thing to know. + +And yet, the prison-staves and hoop + To let no murmur through, +However hard we find the coop, + Is greater still to do. + +Then go, thou sage, resigned and calm, + Amid thy low estate; +And to thy burrow bear the palm + For victory over fate. + +We conquer, when we meekly bear + The lot we cannot shape; +And hug to death the ills and care + From which there's no escape. + + + + +=The Blind Musician= + +"Ah! who comes here?" old Raymond cried, +As lone he sat by the highway-side, +Where Frisk jumped up at his knee in play; +And his white locks went to the air astray;-- +While his worn-out hat lay on the ground, +And his light violin gave forth no sound-- +"Ah! who comes here with voice so kind +To the ear of a poor old man who's blind?" + +'Twas a gladsome troop of bright young boys, +With hearts all full of their play-day joys, +As their baskets were of nuts and cake, +And fruits, a pic-nic treat to make. +For they were out for the fields and flowers-- +For the grassy lane, and the woodland bowers; +And the course they took first led them by +Where the lone one sat with a sightless eye. + +They saw he'd a worn and hungry look; +And each from his basket promptly took +A part of its precious pic-nic store, +And tried the others to get before, +As on with their ready gifts they ran, +To reach them forth to the poor old man; +And said, "Good Sir, take this and eat +While resting thus on your mossy seat." + +"Heaven bless you, little children dear!" +Old Raymond cried, with a starting tear, +As they took their cup to the fountain's brink, +And brought him back some clear, cool drink. +And Frisk looked up with a grateful eye, +As to him they dropped some crust of pie: +For he, good dog, was his master's guide, +By a cord to the ring of his collar tied. + +"And now, would you like to hear me play," +Said the traveller, "ere you go your way? +O, I did not think that aught so soon +Could have put my poor old heart in tune. +But you have touched it at the spring, +And it seems as if it could dance and sing. +Your kindness makes my spirit light, +Till I hardly feel that I've lost my sight!" + +He took up his violin and bow, +And made his voice to their music flow; +And the children, listening sat around +As if by a spell to the circle bound. +While thus they were fastened to the spot, +And their first pursuit almost forgot, +They felt they could ask no pleasure more, +And their picnic frolic at once gave o'er. + +And there they staid till the sun went down, +When they led the old Raymond safe to town; +While Frisk went sporting all the way, +To speak his thanks by his joyous play. +They found him a room with a table spread, +And a pillow to rest his hoary head. +Then feeling their time and pence well-spent, +They all went back to their homes content. + + + + +=The Lame House= + +O, I cannot bring to mind +When I've had a look so kind, +Gentle lady, as thine eye +Gives me, while I'm limping by! +Then, thy little boy appears +To regard me but with tears. +Think'st thou he would like to know +What has brought my state so low? + +When not half so old as he, +I was bounding, light and free, +By my happy mother's side, +Ere my mouth the bit had tried, +Or my head had felt the rein +Drawn, my spirits to restrain. +But I'm now so worn and old, +Half my sorrows can't be told. + +When my services began, +How I loved my master, man! +I was pampered and caressed,-- +Housed, and fed upon the best. +Many looked with hearts elate +At my graceful form and gait,-- +At my smooth and glossy hair +Combed and brushed with daily care. + +Studded trappings then I wore, +And with pride my master bore,-- +Glad his kindness to repay +In my free, but silent way. +Then was found no nimble steed +That could equal me in speed, +So untiring, and so fleet +Were these now, old, aching feet. + +But my troubles soon drew nigh: +Less of kindness marked his eye, +When my strength began to fail; +And he put me off at sale. +Constant changes were my fate, +Far too grievous to relate. +Yet I've been, to say the least, +Through them all a patient beast. + +Older--weaker--still I grew: +Kind attentions all withdrew! +Little food, and less repose; +Harder burdens--heavier blows,-- +These became my hapless lot, +Till I sunk upon the spot! +This maimed limb beneath me bent +With the pain it underwent. + +Now I'm useless, old, and poor, +They have made my sentence sure; +And to-morrow is the day, +Set for me to limp away, +To some far, sequestered place, +There at once to end my race. +I stood by, and heard their plot-- +Soon my woes shall be forgot! + +Gentle lady, when I'm dead +By the blow upon my head, +Proving thus, the truest friend, +Him who brings me to my end; +Wilt thou bid them dig a grave +For their faithful, patient slave; +Then, my mournful story trace, +Asking mercy for my race? + + + + +=Humility; or, The Mushroom's Soliloquy.= + +O, what, and whence am I, 'mid damps and dust, +And darkness, into sudden being thrust? +What was I yesterday? and what will be, +Perchance, to-morrow, seen or heard of me? + +Poor--lone--unfriended--ignorant--forlorn, +To bear the new, full glory of the morn,-- +Beneath the garden wall I stand aside, +With all before me beauty, show, and pride. + +Ah! why did Nature shoot me thus to light, +A thing unfit for use--unfit for sight; +Less like her work than like a piece of Art, +Whirled out and trimmed--exact in every part? + +Unlike the graceful shrub, and flexible vine, +No fruit--no branch--nor leaf, nor bud, is mine. +No singing bird, nor butterfly, nor bee +Will come to cheer, caress, or flatter me. + +No beauteous flower adorns my humble head, +No spicy odors on the air I shed; +But here I'm stationed, in my sombre suit, +With only top and stem--I've scarce a root! + +Untaught of my beginning or my end, +I know not whence I sprung, or where I tend: +Yet I will wait, and trust; nor dare presume +To question Justice--I, a frail Mushroom! + + + + +=The Lost Nestlings.= + +"Have you seen my darling nestlings?" +A mother-robin cried, +"I cannot, cannot find them, +Though I've sought them far and wide. + +"I left them well this morning, +When I went to seek their food; +But I found, upon returning, +I'd a nest without a brood. + +"O have you nought to tell me, +That will ease my aching breast, +About my tender offspring +That I left within the nest? + +"I have called them in the bushes, + And the rolling stream beside; +Yet they come not at my bidding;-- + I'm afraid they all have died!" + +"I can tell you all about them;" + Said a little wanton boy +"For 'twas I that had the pleasure + Your nestlings to destroy. + +"But I didn't think their mother + Her little ones would miss; +Or ever come to hail me + With a wailing sound, like this. + +"I didn't know your bosom + Was formed to suffer woe, +And to mourn your murdered children, + Or I had not grieved you so. + +"I am sorry that I've taken + The lives I can't restore; +And this regret shall teach me + To do the like no more. + +"I ever shall remember +The wailing sound I've heard! +No more I'll kill a nestling, +To pain a mother-bird!" + + + + +=The Bat's Flight By Daylight An Allegory=. + +A Bat one morn from his covert flew, +To show the world what a Bat could do, +By soaring off on a lofty flight, +In the open day, by the sun's clear light! +He quite forgot that he had for wings +But a pair of monstrous, plumeless things; +That, more than half like a fish's fin, +With a warp of bone, and a woof of skin, +Were only fit in the dark to fly, +In view of a bat's or an owlet's eye. + +He sallied forth from his hidden hole, +And passed the door of his neighbor, Mole, +Who shrugged, and said, "Of the two so blind +The wisest, surely, stays behind!" +But he could not cope with the glare of day: +He lost his sight, and he missed his way;-- +He wheeled on his flapping wings, till, "bump!" +His head went, hard on the farm-yard pump. +Then, stunned and posed, as he met the ground, +A stir and a shout in the yard went round; +For its tenants thought they had one come there, +That seemed not of water, earth, or air. +The Hen, "Cut, cut, cut-dah-cut!" cried, +For all to cut at the thing she spied; +While the taunting Duck said, "Quack, quack, quack!" +As her muddy mouth to the pool went back, +For something denser than sound, to show +Her sage disgust, at the quack to throw. +The old Turk strutted, and gobbled aloud, +Till he gathered around him a babbling crowd; +When each proud neck in the whole doomed group +Was poked with a condescending stoop, +And a pointed beak, at the prostrate Bat, +Which they eyed askance, as to ask, "What's _that_?" +But none could tell; and the poults moved off, +In their _select circle_ to leer and scoff. + +The Goslings skulked; but their wise mamma, +She hissed, and screamed, till the Lambs cried, "Ba-a!" +When up from his straw sprang the gaping Calf, +With a gawky leap and a clammy laugh. +He stared--retreated--and off he went, +The wondrous news in his voice to vent,-- +That he had discovered a _monster_ there-- +A _bird four-footed, and clothed with hair_! +And had dashed his heel at the sight so odd, +It looked, he thought, like a _heathen god_! + +The scuddling Chicks cried, "Peep, peep, peep! +For Boss looks high, but not very deep! +It is not a fowl! 'tis the worst of things,-- +low, mean beast, with the use of wings, +So noiseless round on the air to skim, +You know not when you are safe from him." + +There stood by, some of the bristly tribe, +Who felt so touched by the peeper's gibe, +Their backs were up; for they thought, at least, +It aimed at them the _low, mean beast:_ +And they challenged Chick to her tiny face, +In their sharp, high notes, and their awful base. + +Then old Chanticleer to his mount withdrew, +And gave from his rostrum a loud halloo. +He blew his clarion strong and shrill, +Till he turned all eyes to his height, the hill; +When he noised it round with his loudest crow, +That 't was none of the _plumed_ ones brought so low. + +And, "Bow-wow-wow!" went the sentry Cur; +But he soon strolled off in a grave demur, +When he saw on the wonder, _hair_, like his, +_Two ears_, and a kind of _doubtful phiz;_ +And he deemed it prudent to pause, and hark +In silence, for fear that the sight might _bark_! + +At last came Puss, with a cautious pat +To feel the pulse of the quivering Bat, +That had not, under her tender paw, +A limb to move, nor a breath to draw! +Then she called her kit for a mother's gift, +And stilled its mew with the racy lift. + +When Mole of the awful death was told, +"Alas!" cried she, "he had grown too bold-- +Too vain and proud! Had he only kept, +Like the _prudent Mole_, in his nest, and slept. +Or worked underground, where none could see, +He might have still been alive, like me!" + +While thus, so early the poor Bat died, +A cry, that it was but the fall of pride, +And signs of mirth, or of scorn, were all +He had from those who beheld his fall. +They each could triumph, and each condemn; +But no kind pity was shown by them. + +And now, should we, as a mirror, place +This story out for the world to face, +How many, think you, would there perceive +Likeness to children of Adam and Eve? + + + + +=Idle Jack.= + +See mischievous and idle Jack! +How fast he flies, nor dares look back! +He seized Horatio's pretty cart, +And broke and threw it part from part; +The body here, and there the wheels; +And now, by taking to his heels, +He makes the Scripture proverb true,-- +_The wicked flee when none pursue._. + +Oh! Jack's a worthless, wicked boy, +Who seems but evil to enjoy. +He often racks his naughty brain +Inventing ways of giving pain. +He loves to torture butterflies-- +To dust the kitten's tender eyes-- +To break the cricket's slender limb; +And pain to them is sport to him. + +He sometimes to your garden comes, +To crush the flowers and steal the plums-- +The melons tries with thievish gripe, +To find the one that's nearest ripe-- +His pocket fills with grapes or pears, +No matter how their owner fares; +When, by its lawless, robber track, +You trace the foot of idle Jack. + +Whenever Jack is sent to school, +He, playing truant, plays the fool: +Or else he goes, with sloven looks +And hands unclean, to spoil the books-- +To spill the ink, or make a noise, +Disturbing good and studious boys; +Till all who find what Jack's about +Within the school, must wish him out. + +If ever Jack at church appears, +He knows not, cares not, what he hears. +While others to the word attend, +He has a pencil-point to mend-- +An apple, or his nails to pare, +Or cracks a nut in time of prayer, +Till many wish that Jack would come, +A better boy, or stay at home. + +In short, he shows, beyond a doubt, +That, if he does not turn about, +And mend his morals and his ways, +He yet must come to evil days; +And of a life of wasted time-- +Of idleness, and vice, and crime, +To meet, perhaps, a felon's end, +With neither man, nor God his friend. + + + + +=David and Goliath=. + +Young David was a ruddy lad + With silken, sunny locks, +The youngest son that Jesse had: + He kept his father's flocks. + +Goliath was a Philistine, + A giant, huge and high; +He lifted, like a towering pine, + His head towards the sky. + +He was the foe of Israel's race. + A mighty warrior, too; +And on he strode from place to place, + And many a man he slew. + +So Saul, the king of Israel then, + Proclaimed it to and fro, +That most he'd favor of his men + The one, who'd kill the foe. + +Yet all, who saw this foe draw near, + Would feel their courage fail; +For not an arrow, sword, or spear, + Could pierce the giant's mail. + +But Jesse's son conceived a way, + That would deliverance bring; +Whereby he might Goliath slay, + And thus relieve the king. + +Then quick he laid his shepherd's crook + Upon a grassy bank; +And off he waded in the brook + From which the lambkins drank. + +He culled and fitted to his sling + Five pebbles, smooth and round; +And one of these he meant should bring + The giant to the ground. + +"I've killed a lion and a bear," + Said he, "and now I'll slay +The Philistine, and by the hair + I'll bring his head away!" + +Then onward to the battle-field + The youthful hero sped; +He knew Goliath by his shield, + And by his towering head. + +But when, with only sling and staff, + The giant saw him come, +In triumph he began to laugh; + Yet David struck him dumb. + +He fell! 'twas David's puny hand + That caused his overthrow! +Though long the terror of the land, + A pebble laid him low. + +The blood from out his forehead gushed. + He rolled, and writhed, and roared: +The little hero on him rushed, + And drew his ponderous sword. + +Before its owner's dying eye + He held the gleaming point +Upon his throbbing neck to try; + Then severed cord and joint. + +He took the head, and carried it + And laid it down by Saul; +And showed him where the pebble hit + That caused the giant's fall. + +The lad, who had Goliath slain + With pebbles and a sling, +Was raised in after years to reign + As Israel's second king! + +'Twas not the courage, skill, or might + Which David had, alone, +That helped him Israel's foe to fight + And conquer, with a stone. + +But, when the shepherd stripling went + The giant thus to kill, +God used him as an instrument + His purpose to fulfil! + + + + +=Escape of the Doves=. + +Come back, pretty Doves! O, come back from the tree. + You bright little fugitive things! +We could not have thought you so ready and free + In using your beautiful wings. + +We didn't suppose, when we lifted the lid, + To see if you knew how to fly, +You'd all flutter off in a moment, and bid + The basket for ever good-by! + +Come down, and we'll feast you on insects and seeds;-- + You sha'nt have occasion to roam-- +We'll give you all things that a bird ever needs, + To make it contented at home. + +Then come, pretty Doves! O, return for our sakes, + And don't keep away from us thus; +Or, when your old slumbering master awakes, + 'Twill be a sad moment for us! + +"We can't!" said the birds, "and the basket may stand + A long time in waiting; for now +You find out too late, that a bird in the hand + Is worth, at least, two on the bough. + +"And we, from our height, looking down on you there, + By experience taught to be sage,-- +Find, one pair of wings that are free in the air + Are worth two or three in the cage! + +"But when our old master awakes, and shall find + The work you have just been about, +We hope, by the freedom we love, he'll be kind, + And spare you for letting us out. + +"We thank you for all the fine stories you tell, + And all the good things you would give; +But think, since we're out, we shall do very well + Where nature designed us to live. + +"Whene'er you may think of the swift little wings + On which from your reach we have flown, +No doubt, you'll beware, and not meddle with things, + In future, that are not your own." + + + + +=Edward and Charles=. + +The brothers went out with the father to ride, +Where they looked for the flowers, that, along the way-side, + So lately were blooming and fair; +But their delicate heads by the frost had been nipped; +Their stalks by the blast were all twisted and stripped; + And nothing but ruin was there. + +"Oh! how the rude autumn has spoiled the green hills!" +Exclaimed little Charles, "and has choked the bright rills + With leaves that are faded and dead! +The few on the trees are fast losing their hold. +And leaving the branches so naked and cold. + That the beautiful birds have all fled." + +"I know," replied Edward, "the country has lost +A great many charms by the touch of the frost, + Which used to appear to the eye; +But then, it has opened the chestnut-burr too, +The walnut released from the case where it grew; + And now our _Thanksgiving_ is nigh! + +"Oh! what do you think we shall do on that day?" +"I guess," answered Charles, "we shall all go away + To Grandpa's; and there find enough +Of turkeys, plum-puddings, and pies by the dozens, +For Grandpa' and Grandma', aunts, uncles and cousins; + And at night we'll all play blind-man's-buff. + +"Perhaps we'll get Grandpa' to tell us some stories +About the old times, with their _Whigs_ and their _Tories_; + And what sort of men they could be; +When some spread their tables without any cloth, +With basins and spoons, and the fuming bean-broth, + Which they took for their coffee and tea. + +"They'd queer kind of sights, I have heard Grandma' say, +About in their streets; for, if not every day, + At least it was nothing uncommon, +To see them pile on the poor back of one horse +A saddle and _pillion_; and what was still worse, + Up mounted a man and a woman! + +"The lady held on by the driver; and so, +Away about town at full trot would they go; + Or perhaps to a great country marriage,-- +To Thanksgiving-supper--to husking, or ball; +Or quilting; for thus did they take nearly all + Their rides, on an _animal_ carriage! + +"I know not what _huskings_ and _quiltings_ maybe; +But Grandma' will tell; and perhaps let us see + Some things she has long laid away:-- +That stiff damask gown, with its sharp-pointed waist, +The hoop, the craped, cushion, and buckles of paste, + Which they wore in her grandparent's day. + +"She says they had buttons as large as our dollars, +To wear on their coats with their square, standing collars; + And then, there's a droll sort of hat, +Which Mary once fixed me one like, out of paper, +And said she believed 'twas called _three-cornered scraper_; + Perhaps, too, she'll let us see that. + +"Oh! a glorious time we shall have! If they knew +At the south, what it is, I guess they'd have one too; + But I have heard somebody say, +That, there, they call all the New England folks _Bumpkins,_ +Because we eat puddings, and pies made of pumpkins, + And have our good Thanksgiving-day." + +"I think, brother Charles," returned Edward "at least, +That they might go to church, if they don't like the feast; + For to me it is much the best part, +To hear the sweet anthems of praise, that we give +To Him, on whose bounty we constantly live:-- + It is feasting the ear and the heart. + +"From Him, who has brought us another year round, +Who gives every blessing, wherewith we are crowned, + Their gratitude who can withhold? +And now how I wish I could know all the poor +Their Thanksgiving-stores had already secure, + Their fuel, and clothes for the cold!" + +"I'm glad," said their father, "to hear such a wish; +But wishes alone, can fill nobody's dish, + Or clothe them, or build them a fire. +And now I will give you the money, my sons, +Which I promised, you know, for your drum and your guns, + To spend in the way you desire." + +The brothers went home, thinking o'er by the way, +For how many comforts this money might pay, + In something for clothing or food: +At length they resolved, if their mother would spend it, +For what she thought best, they would get her to send it + Where she thought it would do the most good. + + + + +=The Mountain Minstrel=. + +On our mountain of Savoy, + In the shadow of a rock, +Once I sat, a shepherd-boy, + Watching o'er my father's flock. + +We'd a happy cottage-home, + Peaceful as the sparrow's nest, +Where, at evening, we could come + From our roamings to our rest. + +I'd a minstrel's voice and ear: + I could whistle, pipe and sing, +While I roving, seemed to hear + Music stir in every thing. + +But misfortune, like a blast. + Swift upon my father rushed; +From our dwelling we were cast-- + At a stroke our peace was crushed. + +All we had was seized for debt: + In the sudden overthrow, +Even my fond, fleecy pet, + My white cosset, too, must go. + +Then I wandered, sad and lone, + Where I'd once a flock to feed; +All the treasure now my own + Was my simple pipe of reed. + +But a noble, pitying friend, + Who had seen me sadly stray, +Made me to his lute attend; + And he taught me how to play. + +Then his lute to me he gave; + And abroad he bade me roam, +Till the earnings I could save + Would redeem our cottage-home. + +Glad, his counsel straight I took-- + I received his gift with joy; +All my former ways forsook, + And became a minstrel-boy. + +With my mountain airs to sing, + Forward then I roamed afar, +Sweeping still the tuneful string-- +Having hope my leading star. + +In the hamlets where I've gone, + Groups would gather--music-bound: +In the cities I have drawn + List'ners till my hopes were crowned. + +Ever saving as I earned, + I of one dear object dreamed; +To my mountain then returned, + And our cottage-home redeemed. + +Time has wiped away our tears; + Here we dwell together blest; +All our sorrows, doubts and fears + I have played and sung to rest. + +Here my aged parents live + Free from want, and toil, and cares; +All the bliss that earth can give + Deem they in this home of theirs. + +Life's night-shades fast o'er them creep; + All their wrongs have been forgiven-- +They have but to fall asleep + In their cot, to wake in heaven. + +Gentle friend, dost thou inquire + What's the lineage whence I came? +Jesse is my shepherd sire-- + David-Jesse is my name! + + + + +=The Veteran and the Child=. + +"Come, grandfather, show how you carried your gun +To the field, where America's freedom was won, +Or bore your old sword, which you say was new then, +When you rose to command, and led forward your men; +And tell how you felt with the balls whizzing by, +Where the wounded fell round you, to bleed and to die!" + +The prattler had stirred, in the veteran's breast, +The embers of fire that had long been at rest. +The blood of his youth rushed anew through his veins; +The soldier returned to his weary campaigns; +His perilous battles at once fighting o'er, +While the soul of nineteen lit the eye of four-score. + +"I carried my musket, as one that must be +But loosed from the hold of the dead, or the free! +And fearless I lifted my good, trusty sword, +In the hand of a mortal, the strength of the Lord! +In battle, my vital flame freely I felt +Should go, but the chains of my country to melt! + +"I sprinkled my blood upon Lexington's sod, +And Charlestown's green height to the war-drum I trod. +From the fort, on the Hudson, our guns I depressed, +The proud coming sail of the foe to arrest. +I stood at Stillwater, the Lakes and White Plains, +And offered for freedom to empty my veins! + +"Dost now ask me, child, since thou hear'st here I've been, +Why my brow is so furrowed, my locks white and thin-- +Why this faded eye cannot go by the line, +Trace out little beauties, and sparkle like thine; +Or why so unstable this tremulous knee, +Who bore 'sixty years since,' such perils for thee? + +"What! sobbing so quick? are the tears going to start? +Come! lean thy young head on thy grandfather's heart! +It has not much longer to glow with the joy +I feel thus to clasp thee, so noble a boy! +But when in earth's bosom it long has been cold, +A man, thou'lt recall, what, a babe, thou art told." + + + + +=Captain Kidd=. + +There's many a one who oft has heard + The name of Robert Kidd, +Who cannot tell, perhaps, a word + Of him, or what he did. + +So, though I never saw the man, + And lived not in his day; +I'll tell you how his guilt began-- + To what it paved the way. + +'Twas in New York Kidd had his home; + And there he left his wife +And children, when he went to roam, + And lead a seaman's life. + +Now Robert had as firm a hand, + A heart as stern and brave, +As ever met in one on land, + Or on the briny wave. + +'Twas in the third king William's time, + When many a pirate bold +Committed on the seas the crime + Of shedding blood for gold. + +So Captain Kidd was singled out + As one devoid of fears, +To take a ship and cruise about + Against the Bucaniers. + +The ship was armed with many a gun, + And manned with many a man, +Across the southern seas to run + To foil the pirate's plan. + +But when she long, from isle to isle, + Without success had sailed, +And made no capture all the while, + Her master's patience failed. + +The prizes he so oft had sought, + He found he sought in vain; +And soon a wicked, bloody thought, + Came into Robert's brain! + +His mind he opened to his men; + And found his guilty crew +Agreed with him, that they, from then, + Would all turn pirates too! + +He threw his Bible in the deep, + Defied its Author's will; +And, with his conscience put to sleep, + Began to rob and kill. + +And now the desperado reigned, + A tyrant on the waves; +While they whose blood his hands had stained, + Went down to watery graves. + +No merchant ship could near him go, + Which he would not annoy; +For Kidd was passing to and fro, + And seeking to destroy. + +He seized the vessel, plunged the knife + Within the seamen's breast: +And by a cruel waste of life, + His evil gains possessed. + +He then would make the nearest isle. + And go at night by stealth, +To hide within the earth awhile + His last ill-gotten wealth. + +Thus, many a shining wedge of gold + This modern Achan hid; +And many a frightful tale was told + About the pirate, Kidd. + +But Justice does not slumber long; + If slow, she's ever sure. +There's none too artful, quick, or strong + For her to make secure! + +To Boston, with a brazen face, + The pirate boldly went, +Where he was seized; and in disgrace + And chains, to England sent. + +The captain and his crew were there, + A solemn, fearful sight; +Resigning life high up in air, + E'en at the gibbet's height! + +For many a year their bodies hung + Along the river side; +As beacons, showing old and young + How they had lived and died. + +The wealth they hid was never found. + Though often sought of men. +'Tis where they placed it in the ground, + Till they should come again! + +The earth has seemed by Heaven constrained. + The treasures to withhold +That price of blood has none obtained, + Or used the pirate's gold! + + + + +=The Dying Storm=. + +I am feeble, pale and weary, + And my wings are nearly furled. +I have caused a scene so dreary, + I am glad to quit the world. +While with bitterness I'm thinking + On the evil I have done, +To my caverns deep I'm sinking + From the coming of the sun. + +Oh! the heart of man will sicken + In that pure and holy light, +When he feels the hopes I've stricken + With an everlasting blight! +For, so wildly in my madness + Have I poured abroad my wrath, +I've been changing joy to sadness; + And with ruins strewed my path. + +Earth has shuddered at my motion:-- + She my power in silence owns; +While the troubled, roaring ocean + O'er my deeds of horror moans. +I have sunk the dearest treasure-- + I've destroyed the fairest form: +Sadly have I filled my measure; + And I'm now a dying Storm! + +Yet, to man among the living, + With my final gasp and sigh, +I, a solemn caution giving, + Fain would serve him while I die. +Not like me, shall he, descending + Swift to death, from being cease. +He's a spirit!--fleetly tending + To eternal pain or peace! + + + + +=The Little Traveller=. + +I am the tiniest child of earth! + But still, I would like to be known to fame; +Though next to nothing I had my birth, + And lowest of all in my lowly name. + +Yet, if so humble my native place, + This I can say, in family pride-- +That I'm of the world's most numerous race, + And made by the Maker of all beside. + +Although I'm so poor, I naught to lose; + Still I'm so little I can't be lost! +I journey about, wherever I choose, + And those who carry me bear the cost. + +The most forgiving of earthly things, + I often cling to my deadly foe; +And, spite of the cruellest flirts and flings, + Arise by the force that has cast me low. + +When beauty has trodden me under foot, + I've quietly risen, her face to seek,-- +Embraced her forehead, and calmly put + Myself to rest in her dimpled cheek. + +I've ridden to war on the soldier's plume; + But startled and sprung, at the wild affray,-- +The sights of horror--of fire and fume; + And fled on the wings of the wind away. + +I've visited courts, and been ushered in + By the proudest guest of the stately scene; +I've touched his majesty's bosom-pin, + And the nuptial ring of his lofty queen. + +At the royal board, in the grand parade, + I've oft been one familiar and free: +The fairest lady has smiled, and laid + Her delicate, gloveless hand on me. + +Philosopher, poet, the learned, the sage, + Never declines a call from me; +And all, of every rank and age. + Admit me into their _coteri_. + +I visit the lions of every where, + If human, or brute, and can testify +To what they do, to what they wear, + To wonders none ever beheld but I! + +And now, reviewing the things I've done, + Forgetting my name, my rank and birth, +I begin to think I am number ONE, + Of the great and manifold things of earth. + +I've still much more, I yet might tell, + Which modesty bids me here withhold; +For fear with my travels I seem to swell, + Or grow, for an ATOM OF DUST, too bold! + +THE END. + + + + +BY SUSAN PINDAR. =Now ready, a New Edition=. + +=FIRESIDE FAIRIES; OR, CHRISTMAS AT AUNT ELSIE'S.= + +Beautifully illustrated, with Original Designs. 1 vol. 12mo. 75 cts., +gilt ed. $1. + +_Contents_. + +The Two Voices, or the Shadow and the Shadowless. The Minute Fairies. I +Have and O Had I. The Hump and Long Nose. The Lily Fairy and the Silver +Beam. The Wonderful Watch. The Red and White Rose Trees. The Diamond +Fountain. The Magical Key. + +Though this is a small book, it is, mechanically, exceedingly beautiful, +being illustrated with spirited woodcuts from Original Designs. But that +is its least merit. It is one of the most entertaining, and decidedly +one of the best juveniles that have issued from the prolific press of +this city. We speak advisedly. It is long since we found time to read +through a juvenile book, so near Christmas, when the name of this class +of volumes is legion; but this charmed us so much that we were unwilling +to lay it down after once commencing it. The first story,--"The Two +Voices, or the Shadow and the Shadowless,"--is a sweet thing, as is also +the one entitled, "The Diamond Fountain." Indeed, the whole number, and +there are ten, will be read with avidity. Their moral is as pure as +their style is enchanting.--_Com. Adv_. + + * * * * * + +D. Appleton & Co. have just ready, + +A NEW UNIFORM SERIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. BY AMEREL. + +COMPRISING + +I. CHRISTMAS STORIES, for Good Children. Illustrated. 16mo. II. WINTER +HOLIDAYS. A Story for Children. Illustrated. 16mo. III. THE SUMMER +HOLIDAYS. A Story for Children. Illus. 16mo. IV. GEORGE'S ADVENTURES IN +THE COUNTRY. Illus. 16mo. V. THE CHILD'S STORY BOOK. A Holiday Gift. +Illus. 16mo. VI. THE LITTLE GIFT-BOOK. For Good Boys and Girls. Illus. +16mo. + + + + +NEW ILLUSTRATED JUVENILES. + +AUNT FANNY'S STORY BOOK. Illustrated. 16mo. $ 50 + +THE CHILD'S PRESENT. Illustrated. 16mo. + +HOWITT'S PICTURE AND VERSE BOOK. Illustrated with 100 plates. 75 cts.; +gilt 1 00 + +HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS. Illustrated. 4to., 25 cts.; cloth 50 + +STORY OF JOAN OF ARC. By R.M. Evans. With 23 illustrations. 16mo. 75 + +ROBINSON CRUSOE. 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