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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:40:54 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 04:40:54 -0700 |
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diff --git a/12879-0.txt b/12879-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..32f76fd --- /dev/null +++ b/12879-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9769 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12879 *** + +VOICES FOR THE SPEECHLESS + +Selections for Schools and Private Reading + +by + +ABRAHAM FIRTH + +Secretary of the American Humane Association + + --which "plead the cause + Of those dumb mouths that have no speech." + +LONGFELLOW + + + And I am recompensed, and deem the toils + Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine + May stand between an animal and woe, + And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge + +COWPER + +1883 + + + + + + + +PREFACE + + +The compiler of this little book has often heard inquiries by teachers of +schools, for selections suitable for reading and recitations by their +scholars, in which the duty of kindness to animals should be distinctly +taught. + +To meet such calls, three successive pamphlets were published, and a fourth +consisting of selections from the Poems of Mr. Longfellow. All were +received with marked favor by the teachers to whom they became known. + +This led to their collection afterwards in one volume for private +circulation, and now the volume is republished for public sale, with a few +omissions and additions. + +All who desire our children to be awakened in their schools to the claims +of the humbler creatures are invited to see that copies are put in school +libraries, that they may be within the reach of all teachers. And this, not +for the sake of the creatures only. + +As Pope has said, "Nothing stands alone; the chain holds on, and where it +ends, unknown." + +Many readers may be surprised to find how many of the great poets have been +touched by the sufferings of the "innocent animals," and how loftily they +have pleaded their cause. + +The poems in the collection are not all complete, because of their length +in some cases, and, in others, because a part only of each was suited to +the end in view. A very few, however, like "Geist's Grave" and "Don," could +not be divided satisfactorily. + +To all who have aided in this humble undertaking, heartiest thanks are +given, and especially to its publishers who have accorded to it their +coveted approval and the benefit of their large facilities for making the +volume widely known. + +May the lessons of kindness and dependence here taught with so much +poetical beauty and with such mingled justice, pathos and humor, find a +permanent lodgment in the hearts of all who may read them! + +A. F. + +BOSTON, MASS., U. S. A., June, 1883. + + + + +CONTENTS BY TITLES. + + +Introduction +A Prayer +He Prayeth Best +Our Morality on Trial +Sympathy +Mercy +Results and Duties of Man's Supremacy +Justice to the Brute Creation +Can they Suffer? +Growth of Humane Ideas +Moral Lessons +Duty to Animals not long recognized +Natural Rights +"Dumb" +Upward +Care for the Lowest +Trust +Say Not +See, through this Air +The Right must win +Animated Nature +Animal Happiness +No Grain of Sand +Humanity, Mercy, and Benevolence +Living Creatures +Nothing Alone +Man's Rule +Dumb Souls +Virtue +Little by Little +Loyalty +Animals and Human Speech +Pity +Learn from the Creatures +Pain to Animals +What might have been +Village Sounds +Buddhism +Old Hindoo +Truth +Our Pets +Egyptian Ritual +Brotherhood +A Birthday Address +Suffering +To Lydia Maria Child +Vivisection +Nobility +Acts of Mercy +The Good Samaritan +Love +Children at School +Membership of the Church +Feeling for Animals +Heroic +Effect of Cruelty +Aspiration +The Poor Beetle +The Consummation +Persevere +A Vision +Speak Gently +Questions +Heroes +For the Sake of the Innocent Animals +Ring Out +Fame and Duty +No Ceremony +True Leaders +Be kind to Dumb Creatures +Action +"In Him we Live" +Firm and Faithful +Heart Service +Exulting Sings +In Holy Books +The Bell of Atri +Among the Noblest +The Fallen Horse +The Horse +The Birth of the Horse +To his Horse +Sympathy for Horse and Hound +The Blood Horse +The Cid and Bavieca +The King of Denmark's Ride +Do you know +The Bedouin's Rebuke +From "The Lord of Butrago" +"Bay Billy" +The Ride of Collins Graves +Paul Revere's Ride +Sheridan's Ride +Good News to Aix +Dying in Harness +Plutarch's Humanity +The Horses of Achilles +The War Horse +Pegasus in Pound +The Horse +From "The Foray" +On Landseer's Picture, "Waiting for Master" +The Waterfowl +Sea Fowl +The Sandpiper +The Birds of Killingworth +The Magpie +The Mocking-Bird +Early Songs and Sounds +The Sparrow's Note +The Glow-Worm +St. Francis to the Birds +Wordsworth's Skylark +Shelley's Skylark +Hogg's Skylark +The Sweet-Voiced Quire +A Caged Lark +The Woodlark +Keats's Nightingale +Lark and Nightingale +Flight of the Birds +A Child's Wish +The Humming-Bird +The Humming-Bird's Wedding +The Hen and the Honey-Bee +Song of the Robin +Sir Robin +The Dear Old Robins +Robins quit the Nest +Lost--Three Little Robins +The Terrible Scarecrow and Robins +The Song Sparrow +The Field Sparrow +The Sparrow +Piccola and Sparrow +Little Sparrow +The Swallow +The Emperor's Bird's-Nest +To a Swallow building under our Eaves +The Swallow, the Owl, and the Cock's Shrill Clarion in the "Elegy" +The Statue over the Cathedral Door +The Bird let Loose +The Brown Thrush +The Golden-Crowned Thrush +The Thrush +The Aziola +The Marten +Judge You as You Are +Robert of Lincoln +My Doves +The Doves of Venice +Song of the Dove +What the Quail says +Chick-a-dee-dee +The Linnet +Hear the Woodland Linnet +The Parrot +The Common Question +Why not do it, Sir, To-day +To a Redbreast +Phoebe +To the Stork +The Storks of Delft +The Pheasant +The Herons of Elmwood +Walter von der Vogelweid +The Legend of the Cross-Bill +Pretty Birds +The Little Bird sits +The Living Swan +The Stormy Petrel +To the Cuckoo +Birds at Dawn +Evening Songs +Little Brown Bird +Life's Sign +A Bird's Ministry +Of Birds +Birds in Spring +The Canary in his Cage +Who stole the Bird's-Nest +Who stole the Eggs +What the Birds say +The Wren's Nest +On Another's Sorrow +The Shepherd's Home +The Wood-Pigeon's Home +The Shag +The Lost Bird +The Bird's must know +The Bird King +Shadows of Birds +The Bird and the Ship +A Myth +Cuvier on the Dog +A Hindoo Legend +Ulysses and Argus +Tom +William of Orange saved by his Dog +The Bloodhound +Helvellyn +Llewellyn and his Dog +Looking for Pearls +Rover +To my Dog "Blanco" +The Beggar and his Dog +Don +Geist's Grave +On the Death of a Favorite Old Spaniel +Epitaph in Grey Friars' Churchyard +From an Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog +The Dog +Johnny's Private Argument +The Harper +"Flight" +The Irish Wolf-Hound +Six Feet +There's Room enough for all +His Faithful Dog +The Faithful Hound +The Spider's Lesson +The Spider and Stork +The Homestead at Evening +The Cattle of a Hundred Farms +Cat-Questions +The Newsboy's Cat +The Child and her Pussy +The Alpine Sheep +Little Lamb +Cowper's Hare +Turn thy Hasty Foot aside +The Worm turns +Grasshopper and Cricket +The Honey-Bees +Cunning Bee +An Insect +The Chipmunk +Mountain and Squirrel +To a Field-Mouse +A Sea-Shell +The Chambered Nautilus +Hiawatha's Brothers +Unoffending Creatures +September +The Lark +The Swallow +Returning Birds +The Birds +Thrush +Linnet +Nightingale +Songsters +Mohammedanism--The Cattle +The Spider and the Dove +The Young Doves +Forgiven +Prayers +Dumb Mouths +The Parsees +Hindoo +The Tiger +Value of Animals +Societies for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + * * * * * + +THE BIBLE. + + +And God saw every thing that he had made, and, behold, it was very +good.--Gen. i. 31. + +But the seventh day is the sabbath of the Lord thy God: in it thou shalt +not do any work, thou, nor thy son, nor thy daughter, thy man-servant, nor +thy maid-servant, nor thy cattle, nor thy stranger that is within thy +gates.--Ex. xx. 10. + +For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand +hills. + +I know all the fowls of the mountains: and the wild beasts of the field are +mine.--Psa. l. 10, 11. + +The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works. + +The eyes of all wait upon thee: and thou givest them their meat in due +season. + +Thou openest thine hand, and satisfiest the desire of every living +thing.--Psa. cxlv. 9, 15, 16. + +A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast.--Prov. xii. 10. + +Open thy mouth for the dumb in the cause of all such as are appointed to +destruction.--Prov. xxxi. 8. + +But ask now the beasts, and they shall teach thee; and the fowls of the +air, and they shall tell thee.--Job xii. 7. + +Thou shalt not see thy brother's ox or his sheep go astray, and hide +thyself from them: thou shalt in any case bring them again unto thy +brother. And if thy brother be not nigh unto thee, or if thou know him not, +then thou shalt bring it unto thine own house, and it shall be with thee +until thy brother seek after it, and thou shalt restore it to him again. + +In like manner shalt thou do with his ass; and so shalt thou do with his +raiment: and with all lost things of thy brother's, which he hath lost, and +thou hast found, shalt thou do likewise: thou mayest not hide thyself. + +Thou shalt not see thy brother's ass or his ox fall down by the way, and +hide thyself from them: thou shalt surely HELP him to lift them up +again.--Deut. xxii. 1-4. + +Who _is_ a God like unto thee, that pardoneth iniquity, and passeth by the +transgression of the remnant of his heritage? he retaineth not his anger +for ever, because he DELIGHTETH IN MERCY. He will turn again, he will have +compassion upon us; he will subdue our iniquities: and thou wilt cast all +their sins into the depths of the sea.--Mic. vii. 18, 19. + +Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and stretch her wings toward the south? +Doth the eagle mount up at thy command, and make her nest on high?--Job +xxxix. 26, 27. + + Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise: + Which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, + Provideth her meat in summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest. + --Prov. vi. 6-8. + +And the Lord sent Nathan unto David. And he came unto him, and said unto +him, There were two men in one city: the one was rich, and the other poor. + +The rich man had exceeding many flocks and herds: But the poor man had +nothing save one little ewe-lamb, which he had bought and nourished up: and +it grew up together with him, and with his children; it did eat of his own +meat, and drank of his own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was unto him as a +daughter. + +And there came a traveller unto the rich man, and he spared to take of his +own flock, and of his own herd, to dress for the wayfaring man that was +come to him; but took the poor man's lamb, and dressed it for the man that +was come to him. + +And David's anger was greatly kindled against the man; and he said to +Nathan, As the Lord liveth, the man that hath done this thing shall surely +die. And he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and +because HE HAD NO PITY.--2 Sam. xii. 1-6. + +Praise ye the Lord from the heavens: praise him in the heights. Praise ye +him, all his angels: praise ye him, all his hosts. + +Beasts and all cattle: creeping things, and flying fowl.--Psa. cxlviii. 1, +2, 10. + +Yea, the sparrow hath found an house, and the swallow a nest for herself, +where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O Lord of hosts, my King +and my God.--Psa. lxxxiv. 3. + +And should not I spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than +sixscore thousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and +their left hand, and also much cattle?--Jonah iv. 11. + +For the scripture saith, Thou shalt not muzzle the ox that treadeth out the +corn.--1 Tim. v. 18. + +Blessed are the merciful: for they shall obtain mercy. Matt. v. 7. + +Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor +gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them.--Matt. vi. 26. + +Are not five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is +forgotten before God?--Luke xii. 6. + + + + +VOICES FOR THE SPEECHLESS. + + + * * * * * + +A PRAYER. + + Maker of earth and sea and sky, + Creation's sovereign, Lord and King, + Who hung the starry worlds on high, + And formed alike the sparrow's wing: + Bless the dumb creatures of thy care, + And listen to their voiceless prayer. + + For us they toil, for us they die, + These humble creatures Thou hast made; + How shall we dare their rights deny, + On whom thy seal of love is laid? + Teach Thou our hearts to hear their plea, + As Thou dost man's in prayer to Thee! + +EMILY B. LORD. + + * * * * * + +HE PRAYETH BEST. + + O wedding guest! this soul hath been + Alone on a wide, wide sea: + So lonely 'twas, that God himself + Scarce seeméd there to be. + + O sweeter than the marriage feast, + 'Tis sweeter far to me, + To walk together to the kirk + With a goodly company!-- + + To walk together to the kirk, + And all together pray, + While each to his great Father bends, + Old man, and babes, and loving friends, + And youths and maidens gay! + + Farewell! farewell! but this I tell + To thee, thou wedding guest! + He prayeth well, who loveth well + Both man and bird and beast. + + He prayeth best, who loveth best + All things both great and small; + For the dear God who loveth us, + He made and loveth all. + +S. T. COLERIDGE. + + * * * * * + +OUR MORALITY ON TRIAL. + + +Bishop Butler affirmed that it was on the simple fact of a creature being +_sentient_, i.e. capable of pain and pleasure, that rests our +responsibility to save it pain and give it pleasure. There is no evading +this obligation, then, as regards the lower animals, by the plea that they +are not moral beings; it is _our_ morality, not _theirs_, which is in +question. + +MISS F. P. COBBE. + + * * * * * + + +"Never," said my aunt, "be mean in anything; never be false, never BE +CRUEL. Avoid those three vices, Trot, and I can always be hopeful of you." + +C. DICKENS, in _David Copperfield_. + + * * * * * + +SYMPATHY. + + +Wherefore it is evident that even the ordinary exercise of this faculty of +sympathy implies a condition of the whole moral being in some measure right +and healthy, and that to the entire exercise of it there is necessary the +entire perfection of the Christian character, for he who loves not God, nor +his brother, cannot love the grass beneath his feet and the creatures that +fill those spaces in the universe which he needs not, and which live not +for his uses; nay, he has seldom grace to be grateful even to those that +love and serve him, while, on the other hand, none can love God nor his +human brother without loving all things which his Father loves, nor without +looking upon them every one as in that respect his brethren also, and +perhaps worthier than he, if in the under concords they have to fill their +part is touched more truly. + +RUSKIN. + + * * * * * + +MERCY. + + The quality of mercy is not strained; + It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven + Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed; + It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes: + 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes + The throned monarch better than his crown: + His sceptre shows the force of temporal power, + The attribute to awe and majesty, + Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings. + But mercy is above this sceptred sway: + It is enthroned in the hearts of kings; + It is an attribute to God himself; + And earthly power doth then show likest God's + When mercy seasons justice. Therefore,... + Though justice be thy plea, consider this,-- + That, in the course of justice, none of us + Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy; + And that same prayer doth teach us all to render + The deeds of mercy. + +SHAKESPEARE: _Merchant of Venice_, Act 4, Sc. 1. + + * * * * * + +RESULTS AND DUTIES OF MAN'S SUPREMACY. + + +And in that primeval account of Creation which the second chapter of +Genesis gives us, the first peculiar characteristic of the Human Being is +that he assumes the rank of the Guardian and Master of every fowl of the +air and every beast of the field. They gather round him, he names them, he +classifies them, he seeks for companionship from them. It is the fit +likeness and emblem of their relation to him in the course of history. That +"earnest expectation of the creature" which the Apostle describes, that, +"stretching forth the head" of the whole creation towards a brighter and +better state as ages have rolled on, has received even here a fulfilment +which in earlier times could not have been dreamed of. The savage animals +have, before the tread of the Lord of Creation, gradually disappeared. +Those creatures which show capacity for improvement have been cherished and +strengthened and humanized by their intercourse with man. The wild horse +has been brought under his protecting care, has become a faithful +ministering servant, rejoicing in his master's voice, fondled by his +master's children. The huge elephant has had his "half-reasoning" powers +turned into the faculties of a gentle, benevolent giant, starting aside +from his course to befriend a little child, listening with the docility of +a child to his driver's rebuke or exhortation. The light, airy, volatile +bird seems to glow with a new instinct of affection and of perseverance +under the shelter of the firm hand and eye of man. The dog, in all Eastern +nations, even under the Old Testament itself, represented as an outcast, +the emblem of all that was unclean and shameful, has, through the Gentile +Western nations, been admitted within the pale of human fellowship. Truly, +if man has thus, as it were, infused a soul into the dumb, lawless animals, +what a community of feeling, what tenderness should it require from him in +dealing with them. What a heartless, in one word, what an _inhuman_ spirit +is implied by any cruelty towards those, his dependents, his followers, his +grateful, innocent companions, placed under his charge by Him who is at +once their Father and ours. Remember our common origin and our common +infirmities. Remember that we are bound to feel for their hunger, their +thirst, their pains, which they share with us, and which we, the +controllers of their destiny, ought to alleviate by the means which our +advancing civilization enables us to use for ourselves. Remember how +completely each of us is a god to them, and, as a god, bound to them by +godlike duties. + +DEAN STANLEY. + + * * * * * + +JUSTICE TO THE BRUTE CREATION. + + +The rights of all creatures are to be respected, but especially of those +kinds which man domesticates and subsidizes for his peculiar use. Their +nearer contact with the human world creates a claim on our loving-kindness +beyond what is due to more foreign and untamed tribes. Respect that claim. +"The righteous man," says the proverb, "regardeth the life of his beast." +Note that word "righteous." The proverb does not say the merciful man, but +the righteous, the just. Not mercy only, but justice, is due to the brute. +Your horse, your ox, your kine, your dog, are not mere chattels, but +sentient souls. They are not your own so proper as to make your will the +true and only measure of their lot. Beware of contravening their nature's +law, of taxing unduly their nature's strength. Their powers and gifts are a +sacred trust. The gift of the horse is his fleetness, but when that gift is +strained to excess and put to wager for exorbitant tasks, murderous +injustice is done to the beast. They have their rights, which every +right-minded owner will respect. We owe them return for the service they +yield, all needful comfort, kind usage, rest in old age, and an easy death. + +REV. DR. HEDGE. + + * * * * * + +CAN THEY SUFFER? + + +The day may come when the rest of the animal creation may acquire those +rights which never could have been withheld from them but by the hand of +tyranny. It may come one day to be recognized that the number of legs, or +the villosity of the skin, are reasons insufficient for abandoning a +sensitive being to the caprice of a tormentor. What else is it that should +trace the insuperable line? Is it the faculty of reason, or perhaps the +faculty of discourse? But a full-grown horse or dog is beyond comparison a +more rational as well as a more conversable animal than an infant of a day, +a week, or even a month old. But suppose the case were otherwise, what +could it avail? The question is not "Can they reason?" nor "Can they +speak?" but "Can they suffer?" + +BENTHAM. + + * * * * * + +GROWTH OF HUMANE IDEAS. + + +The disposition to raise the fallen, to befriend the friendless, is now one +of the governing powers of the world. Every year its dominion widens, and +even now a strong and growing public opinion is enlisted in its support. +Many men still spend lives that are merely selfish. But such lives are +already regarded with general disapproval. The man on whom public opinion, +anticipating the award of the highest tribunal, bestows its approbation, is +the man who labors that he may leave other men better and happier than he +found them. With the noblest spirits of our race this disposition to be +useful grows into a passion. With an increasing number it is becoming at +least an agreeable and interesting employment. On the monument to John +Howard in St. Paul's, it is said that the man who devotes himself to the +good of mankind treads "an open but unfrequented path to immortality." The +remark, so true of Howard's time, is happily not true of ours. + +MACKENZIE'S _Nineteenth Century._ + + * * * * * + +MORAL LESSONS. + + +And let us take to ourselves the moral lessons which these creatures preach +to all who have studied and learned to love what I venture to call the +moral in brutes. Look at that faithful servant, the ox! What an emblem in +all generations of patient, plodding, meek endurance and serviceable toil! +Of the horse and the dog, what countless anecdotes declare the generous +loyalty, the tireless zeal, the inalienable love! No human devotion has +ever surpassed the recorded examples of brutes in that line. The story is +told of an Arab horse who, when his master was taken captive and bound hand +and foot, sought him out in the dark amidst other victims, seized him by +the girdle with his teeth, ran with him all night at the top of his speed, +conveyed him to his home, and then, exhausted with the effort, fell down +and died. Did ever man evince more devoted affection? + +Surely, something of a moral nature is present also in the brute creation. +If nowhere else we may find it in the brute mother's care for her young. +Through universal nature throbs the divine pulse of the universal Love, and +binds all being to the Father-heart of the author and lover of all. +Therefore is sympathy with animated nature, a holy affection, an extended +humanity, a projection of the human heart by which we live, beyond the +precincts of the human house, into all the wards of the many creatured city +of God, as He with his wisdom and love is co-present to all. Sympathy with +nature is a part of the good man's religion. + +REV. DR. HEDGE. + + * * * * * + + +Whenever any trait of justice, or generosity, or far-sighted wisdom, or +wide tolerance, or compassion, or purity, is seen in any man or woman +throughout the whole human race, as in the fragments of a broken mirror we +see the reflection of the Divine image. + +DEAN STANLEY. + + * * * * * + +DUTY TO ANIMALS NOT LONG RECOGNIZED. + + +It is not, however, to be reckoned as surprising, that our forefathers did +not dream of such a thing as Duty to Animals. They learned very slowly that +they owed duties to _men_ of other races than their own. Only in the +generation which recognized thoroughly for the first time that the negro +was a man and brother, did it dawn that beyond the negro there were other +still humbler claimants for benevolence and justice. Within a few years, +passed both the Emancipation of the West Indian slaves and the first act +for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, of which Lord Erskine so truly +prophesied that it would prove not only an honor to the Parliament of +England, but an era in the civilization of the world. + +MISS F. P. COBBE. + + * * * * * + +NATURAL RIGHTS. + + +But what is needed for the present is due regard for the natural rights of +animals, due sense of the fact that they are not created for man's pleasure +and behoof alone, but have, independent of him, their own meaning and place +in the universal order; that the God who gave them being, who out of the +manifoldness of his creative thought let them pass into life, has not cast +them off, but is with them, in them, still. A portion of his Spirit, though +unconscious and unreflecting, is theirs. What else but the Spirit of God +could guide the crane and the stork across pathless seas to their winter +retreats, and back again to their summer haunts? What else could reveal to +the petrel the coming storm? What but the Spirit of God could so geometrize +the wondrous architecture of the spider and the bee, or hang the +hill-star's nest in the air, or sling the hammock of the tiger-moth, or +curve the ramparts of the beaver's fort, and build the myriad "homes +without hands" in which fish, bird, and insect make their abode? The Spirit +of God is with them as with us,--consciously with us, unconsciously with +them. We are not divided, but one in his care and love. They have their +mansions in the Father's house, and we have ours; but the house is one, and +the Master and keeper is one for us and them. + +REV. DR. HEDGE. + + * * * * * + +"DUMB." + + +I can hardly express to you how much I feel there is to be thought of, +arising from the word "dumb" applied to animals. Dumb animals! What an +immense exhortation that is to pity. It is a remarkable thing that this +word dumb should have been so largely applied to animals, for, in reality, +there are very few dumb animals. But, doubtless, the word is often used to +convey a larger idea than that of dumbness; namely, the want of power in +animals to convey by sound to mankind what they feel, or, perhaps, I should +rather say, the want of power in men to understand the meaning of the +various sounds uttered by animals. But as regards those animals which are +mostly dumb, such as the horse, which, except on rare occasions of extreme +suffering, makes no sound at all, but only expresses pain by certain +movements indicating pain--how tender we ought to be of them, and how +observant of these movements, considering their dumbness. The human baby +guides and governs us by its cries. In fact, it will nearly rule a +household by these cries, and woe would betide it, if it had not this power +of making its afflictions known. It is a sad thing to reflect upon, that +the animal which has the most to endure from man is the one which has the +least powers of protesting by noise against any of his evil treatment. + +ARTHUR HELPS. + + * * * * * + +UPWARD. + + His parent hand + From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore, + To men, to angels, to celestial minds, + Forever leads the generations on + To higher scenes of being; while supplied + From day to day with His enlivening breath, + Inferior orders in succession rise + To fill the void below. + +AKENSIDE: _Pleasures of Imagination._ + + * * * * * + +CARE FOR THE LOWEST. + + I would not enter on my list of friends + (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, + Yet wanting sensibility) the man + Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. + An inadvertent step may crush the snail + That crawls at evening in the public path; + But he that has humanity, forewarned, + Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. + The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, + And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, + A visitor unwelcome, into scenes + Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, + The chamber, or refectory, may die: + A necessary act incurs no blame. + Not so when, held within their proper bounds, + And guiltless of offence, they range the air, + Or take their pastime in the spacious field: + There they are privileged; and he that hunts + Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, + Disturbs the economy of nature's realm, + Who, when she formed, designed them an abode. + The sum is this: If man's convenience, health, + Or safety, interfere, his rights and claims + Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. + Else they are all--the meanest things that are-- + As free to live, and to enjoy that life, + As God was free to form them at the first, + Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all. + Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons + To love it too. + +COWPER. + + * * * * * + +TRUST. + + Oh, yet we trust that somehow good + Will be the final goal of ill, + To pangs of nature, sins of will, + Defects of doubt and taints of blood; + + That nothing walks with aimless feet; + That not one life shall be destroyed, + Or cast as rubbish to the void, + When God hath made the pile complete; + + That not a worm is cloven in vain; + That not a moth with vain desire + Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, + Or but subserves another's gain. + +TENNYSON. + + * * * * * + +SAY NOT. + + Say not, the struggle naught availeth, + The labor and the wounds are vain, + The enemy faints not, nor faileth, + And as things have been they remain. + + If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; + It may be, in yon smoke concealed, + Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, + And, but for you, possess the field. + + For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, + Seem here no painful inch to gain, + Far back, through creeks and inlets making, + Comes silent, flooding in, the main. + + And not by eastern windows only, + When daylight comes, comes in the light; + In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly! + But westward, look, the land is bright. + +A. H. CLOUGH. + + * * * * * + +SEE, THROUGH THIS AIR. + + See, through this air, this ocean, and this earth, + All matter quick, and bursting into birth. + Above, how high progressive life may go! + Around, how wide! how deep extend below! + Vast chain of being! which from God began, + Natures ethereal, human, angel, man, + Beast, bird, fish, insect, which no eye can see, + No glass can reach; from infinite to thee; + From thee to nothing. On superior powers + Were we to press, inferior might on ours; + Or in the full creation leave a void, + Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroyed: + From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, + Tenth, or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike. + All are but parts of one stupendous whole, + Whose body Nature is, and God the soul; + That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, + Great in the earth, as in the ethereal frame; + Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, + Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees; + Lives through all life, extends through all extent, + Spreads undivided, operates unspent; + Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, + As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; + As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns, + As the rapt seraph that adores and burns: + To Him no high, no low, no great, no small; + He fills, He bounds, connects, and equals all. + +POPE. + + * * * * * + +THE RIGHT MUST WIN. + + Oh, it is hard to work for God, + To rise and take his part + Upon this battle-field of earth, + And not sometimes lose heart! + + Ill masters good; good seems to change + To ill with greatest ease; + And, worst of all, the good with good + Is at cross purposes. + + It is not so, but so it looks; + And we lose courage then; + And doubts will come if God hath kept + His promises to men. + + Workman of God! Oh lose not heart, + But learn what God is like; + And in the darkest battle-field + Thou shalt know where to strike. + + For right is right, since God is God; + And right the day must win; + To doubt would be disloyalty, + To falter would be sin! + +FABER. + + * * * * * + +ANIMATED NATURE. + + Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, + But animated nature sweeter still + To soothe and satisfy the human ear. + Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one + The livelong night: nor these alone whose notes + Nice-fingered art must emulate in vain; + But coying rooks, and kites that swim sublime + In still repeated circles, screaming loud, + The jay, the pie, and ev'n the boding owl + That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. + Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, + Yet heard in scenes where peace forever reigns, + And only there, please highly for their sake. + +COWPER. + + * * * * * + +ANIMAL HAPPINESS. + + The heart is hard in nature, and unfit + For human fellowship, as being void + Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike + To love and friendship both, that is not pleased + With sight of animals enjoying life, + Nor feels their happiness augment his own. + The bounding fawn that darts along the glade + When none pursues, through mere delight of heart, + And spirits buoyant with excess of glee; + The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet, + That skips the spacious meadow at full speed, + Then stops, and snorts, and throwing high his heels, + Starts to the voluntary race again; + The very kine that gambol at high noon, + The total herd receiving first from one + That leads the dance a summons to be gay, + Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth + Their efforts, yet resolved with one consent + To give such act and utterance as they may + To ecstasy too big to be suppressed-- + These and a thousand images of bliss, + With which kind Nature graces every scene, + Where cruel man defeats not her design, + Impart to the benevolent, who wish + All that are capable of pleasure pleased, + A far superior happiness to theirs, + The comfort of a reasonable joy. + +COWPER. + + * * * * * + +NO GRAIN OF SAND. + + The very meanest things are made supreme + With innate ecstasy. No grain of sand + But moves a bright and million-peopled land, + And hath its Edens and its Eves, I deem. + For love, though blind himself, a curious eye + Hath lent me, to behold the heart of things, + And touched mine ear with power. Thus, far or nigh, + Minute or mighty, fixed or free with wings, + Delight, from many a nameless covert sly, + Peeps sparkling, and in tones familiar sings. + +LAMAN BLANCHARD. + + * * * * * + +HUMANITY, MERCY, AND BENEVOLENCE. + + +When that great and far-reaching softener of hearts, the sense of our +failures and offences, is vividly present, the position we hold to +creatures who have never done wrong is always found inexpressibly touching. +To be kind to them, and rejoice in their happiness, seems just one of the +few ways in which we can act a godlike part in our little sphere, and +display the mercy for which we hope in turn. The only befitting feeling for +human beings to entertain toward brutes is--as the very word suggests--the +feeling of _Humanity_; or, as we may interpret it, the sentiment of +sympathy, as far as we can cultivate fellow feeling; of Pity so far so we +know them to suffer; of Mercy so far as we can spare their sufferings; of +Kindness and Benevolence, so far as it is in our power to make them happy. + +MISS F. P. COBBE. + + * * * * * + +LIVING CREATURES. + + What call'st thou solitude? Is mother earth + With various living creatures, and the air + Replenished, and all these at thy command + To come and play before thee? Know'st thou not + Their language and their ways? They also know, + And reason not contemptibly; with these + Find pastime, and bear rule; thy realm is large. + +_Paradise Lost_, bk. 8. + + * * * * * + +NOTHING ALONE. + + One all-extending, all-preserving Soul + Connects each being, greatest with the least; + Made beast in aid of man, and man of beast; + All served, all serving: nothing stands alone: + The chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown. + +POPE. + + * * * * * + +MAN'S RULE. + + Thou gavest me wide nature for my kingdom, + And power to feel it, to enjoy it. Not + Cold gaze of winder gav'st thou me alone, + But even into her bosom's depth to look, + As it might be the bosom of a friend; + The grand array of living things thou madest + To pass before me, mak'st me know my brothers + In silent bush, in water, and in air. + +_Blackie's Translation of Goethe's Faust._ + + * * * * * + +DUMB SOULS. + + Even the she-wolf with young, on rapine bent, + He caught and tethered in his mat-walled tent, + And cherished all her little sharp-nosed young, + Till the small race with hope and terror clung + About his footsteps, till each new-reared brood, + Remoter from the memories of the wood + More glad discerned their common home with man. + This was the work of Jubal: he began + The pastoral life, and, sire of joys to be, + Spread the sweet ties that bind the family + O'er dear dumb souls that thrilled at man's caress, + And shared his pain with patient helpfulness. + +GEORGE ELIOT: _Legend of Jubal_. + + * * * * * + + +Nor must we childishly feel contempt for the study of the lower animals, +since in all nature's work there is something wonderful. And if any one +thinks the study of other animals despicable, he must despise the study of +his own nature. + +ARISTOTLE. + + * * * * * + +VIRTUE. + + Thus born alike, from virtue first began + The diff'rence that distinguished man from man: + He claimed no title from descent of blood; + But that which made him noble made him good. + +DRYDEN. + + * * * * * + +LITTLE BY LITTLE. + + Little by little the time goes by-- + Short if you sing through it, long if you sigh. + Little by little--an hour, a day, + Gone with the years that have vanished away; + Little by little the race is run, + Trouble and waiting and toil are done! + + Little by little the skies grow clear; + Little by little the sun comes near; + Little by little the days smile out + Gladder and brighter on pain and doubt; + Little by little the seed we sow + Into a beautiful yield will grow. + + Little by little the world grows strong, + Fighting the battle of Right and Wrong: + Little by little the Wrong gives way, + Little by little the Right has sway; + Little by little all longing souls + Struggle up nearer the shining goals! + + Little by little the good in men + Blossoms to beauty for human ken; + Little by little the angels see + Prophecies better of good to be; + Little by little the God of all + Lifts the world nearer the pleading call. + +_Cincinnati Humane Appeal_. + + * * * * * + +LOYALTY. + + Life may be given in many ways + And loyalty to truth be sealed + As bravely in the closet as the field, + So generous is fate; + But then to stand beside her, + When craven churls deride her, + To front a lie in arms, and not to yield, + This shows, methinks, God's plan + And measure of a stalwart man, + Limbed like the old heroic breeds, + Who stands self-poised on manhood's solid earth, + Not forced to frame excuses for his birth, + Fed from within with all the strength he needs. + +J. R. LOWELL. + + * * * * * + +ANIMALS AND HUMAN SPEECH. + + +Animals have much more capacity to understand human speech than is +generally supposed. The Hindoos invariably talk to their elephants, and it +is amazing how much the latter comprehend. The Arabs govern their camels +with a few cries, and my associates in the African desert were always +amused whenever I addressed a remark to the big dromedary who was my +property for two months; yet at the end of that time the beast evidently +knew the meaning of a number of simple sentences. Some years ago, seeing +the hippopotamus in Barnum's museum looking very stolid and dejected, I +spoke to him in English, but he did not even open his eyes. Then I went to +the opposite corner of the cage, and said in Arabic, "I know you; come here +to me." He instantly turned his head toward me; I repeated the words, and +thereupon he came to the corner where I was standing, pressed his huge, +ungainly head against the bars of the cage, and looked in my face with a +touch of delight while I stroked his muzzle. I have two or three times +found a lion who recognized the same language, and the expression of his +eyes, for an instant, seemed positively human. + +BAYARD TAYLOR. + + * * * * * + +PITY. + + And I, contented with a humble theme, + Have poured my stream of panegyric down + The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds + Among her lovely works, with a secure + And unambitious course, reflecting clear + If not the virtues, yet the worth, of brutes. + And I am recompensed, and deem the toils + Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine + May stand between an animal and woe, + And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. + +COWPER. + + * * * * * + +LEARN FROM THE CREATURES. + + See him from Nature, rising slow to Art! + To copy Instinct, that was Reason's part; + Thus then to man the voice of Nature spake:-- + "Go, from the creatures thy instructions take; + Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield; + Learn from the beasts the physic of the field; + Thy arts of building from the bee receive; + Learn of the mole to plough, the worm to weave; + Learn of the little nautilus to sail, + Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale. + Here, too, all forms of social union find, + And hence let reason, late, instruct mankind: + Here subterranean works and cities see; + There towns aerial on the waving tree. + Learn each small people's genius, policies, + The Ant's republic, and the realm of Bees: + How those in common all their wealth bestow, + And Anarchy without confusion know; + And these forever, though a monarch reign, + Their sep'rate cells and properties maintain. + Mark what unvaryed laws preserve each state, + Laws wise as Nature, and as fixed as Fate. + In fine, thy Reason finer webs shall draw, + Entangle Justice in her net of Law, + And Right, too rigid, harden into Wrong; + Still for the strong too weak, the weak too strong. + Yet go! and thus o'er all the creatures sway, + Thus let the wiser make the rest obey; + And, for those Arts mere Instinct could afford, + Be crowned as Monarchs, or as God adored." + +POPE. + + * * * * * + +PAIN TO ANIMALS. + + +Granted that any practice causes more pain to animals than it gives +pleasure to man; is that practice moral or immoral? And if exactly in +proportion as human beings raise their heads out of the slough of +selfishness, they do not answer "immoral," let the morality of the +principle of utility be forever condemned. + +JOHN STUART MILL. + + * * * * * + +WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN. + + It might have been that the sky was green, and the grass serenely blue; + It might have been that grapes on thorns and figs on thistles grew; + It might have been that rainbows gleamed before the showers came; + It might have been that lambs were fierce and bears and tigers tame; + It might have been that cold would melt and summer heat would freeze; + It might have been that ships at sea would sail against the breeze-- + And there may be worlds unknown, dear, where we would find the change + From all that we have seen or heard, to others just as strange-- + But it never could be wise, dear, in haste to act or speak; + It never could be noble to harm the poor and weak; + It never could be kind, dear, to give a needless pain; + It never could be honest, dear, to sin for greed or gain; + And there could not be a world, dear, while God is true above, + Where right and wrong were governed by any law but love. + +KATE LAWRENCE. + + * * * * * + +VILLAGE SOUNDS. + + Sweet was the sound, when oft at evening's close, + Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; + There as I passed with careless steps and slow, + The mingling notes came softening from below; + The swain responsive to the milkmaid sung: + _The sober herd that lowed to meet their young; + The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool:_ + The playful children just let loose from school; + _The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind_, + And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind,-- + These all in sweet confusion sought the shade, + And filled each pause the nightingale had made. + +GOLDSMITH. + + * * * * * + +BUDDHISM. + + +The Buddhist duty of universal love enfolds in its embraces not only the +brethren and sisters of the new faith, not only our neighbors, _but every +thing that has life_. + +T. W. RHYS DAVIDS. + + * * * * * + + +As a mother, even at the risk of her own life, protects her son, her only +son, so let a man _cultivate good-will without measure toward all beings_. +Let him cultivate good-will without measure, unhindered love and +friendliness toward the whole world, above, below, around. Standing, +walking, sitting, or lying, let him be firm in this mind so long as he is +awake; this state of heart, they say, is the best in the world. + +_Metta Sutta._ + + * * * * * + + +He who lives pure in thought, free from malice, contented, leading a holy +life, _feeling tenderly for all creatures_, speaking wisely and kindly, +humbly and sincerely, has the Deity ever in his breast. The Eternal makes +not his abode within the breast of that man who covets another's wealth, +who _injures living creatures_, who is proud of his iniquity, whose mind is +evil. + +_Dhammapada._ + + * * * * * + +FROM THE ASOKA INSCRIPTIONS. + + +The discontinuance of the murder of human beings and of cruelty to animals, +respect for parents, obedience to father and mother, obedience to holy +elders, these are good deeds.--_No. IV._ + +And now the joyful chorus resounds again and again that henceforward not a +single animal shall be put to death.--_No. V._ + +In a summary of the inscriptions by Arthur Lillie, in "Buddhism and Early +Buddhism," he says, they require also, for the benefit of both beast and +men, "that gardens be cultivated everywhere of healing shrubs and herbs." + +[The inscriptions were written on "rocks, temples, and monuments" in India +for the instruction of the people, by order of the Emperor Asoka, who lived +about 250 years before Christ.] + + * * * * * + +OLD HINDOO. + + +God is within this universe, and yet outside this universe; whoever beholds +all living creatures as in Him, and Him the universal Spirit, as in all, +henceforth regards no creature with contempt. + +_Quoted by_ REV. J. E. CARPENTER. + + * * * * * + +TRUTH. + + It fortifies my soul to know + That though I perish, truth is so, + That howsoe'er I stray and range, + Whate'er I do, thou dost not change. + I steadier step when I recall + That, if I slip, thou dost not fall. + +ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH. + + * * * * * + +OUR PETS. + + We, dying, fondly hope the life immortal + To win at last; + Yet all that live must through death's dreary portal + At length have passed. + + And from the hope which shines so bright above us, + My spirit turns, + And for the lowlier ones, that serve and love us, + Half sadly yearns. + + Never a bird its glad way safely winging + Through those blest skies? + Never, through pauses in the joyful singing, + Its notes to rise? + + Not one of those who toil's severest burdens + So meekly bear, + To find at last of faithful labor's guerdons + An humble share? + + Ah, well! I need not question; gladly rather, + I'll trust in all-- + Assured that not without our Heavenly "Father" + The sparrows fall. + + And if He foldeth in a sleep eternal + Their wings to rest; + Or waketh them to fly the skies supernal-- + He knoweth best? + +MARY SHEPPARD. + + * * * * * + +EGYPTIAN RITUAL. + + +God is the causer of pleasure and light, _maker of grass for the cattle_, +and of fruitful trees for man, _causing the fish to live in the river and +the birds to fill the air_, lying awake when all men sleep, to seek out the +good of His creatures. + +_Quoted by_ REV. J. E. CARPENTER. + + * * * * * + +BROTHERHOOD. + + +There is a higher consanguinity than that of the blood which runs through +our veins,--that of the blood which makes our hearts beat with the same +indignation and the same joy. And there is a higher nationality than that +of being governed by the same imperial dynasty,--that of our common +allegiance to the Father and Ruler of all mankind. + +MAX MÜLLER. + + * * * * * + +A BIRTHDAY ADDRESS. + +TO ANTHONY ASHLEY COOPER, SEVENTH EARL OF SHAFTESBURY, K. G., APRIL 13, +1880. + + For eighty years! Many will count them over, + But none but He who knoweth all may guess + What those long years have held of high endeavor, + Of world-wide blessing and of blessedness. + + For eighty years the champion of the right + Of hapless child neglected and forlorn; + Of maniac dungeoned in his double night; + Of woman overtasked and labor-worn; + + Of homeless boy, in streets with peril rife; + Of workman, sickened in his airless den; + Of Indian parching for the streams of life; + Of negro slave in bond of cruel men. + + O Friend of all the friendless 'neath the sun, + Whose hand hath wiped away a thousand tears, + Whose fervent lips and clear strong brain have done + God's holy service, lo! these eighty years,-- + + How meet it seems thy grand and vigorous age + Should find beyond man's race fresh pangs to spare, + And for the wronged and tortured brutes engage + In yet fresh labors and ungrudging care! + + Oh, tarry long amongst us! Live, we pray, + Hasten not yet to hear thy Lord's "Well done!" + Let this world still seem better while it may + Contain one soul like thine amid its throng. + + Whilst thou art here our inmost hearts confess, + Truth spake the kingly seer of old who said,-- + "Found in the way of God and righteousness, + A crown of glory is the hoary head." + +MISS F. P. COBBE. + + * * * * * + +SUFFERING. + + Pain, terror, mortal agonies which scare + Thy heart in man, to brutes thou wilt not spare. + Are these less sad and real? Pain in man + Bears the high mission of the flail and fear; + In brutes 'tis purely piteous. + +HENRY TAYLOR. + + * * * * * + +TO LYDIA MARIA CHILD. + + Who knows thy love most royal power, + With largess free and brave, + Which crowns the helper of the poor, + The suffering and the slave. + + Yet springs as freely and as warm, + To greet the near and small, + The prosy neighbor at the farm, + The squirrel on the wall. + +ELIZA SCUDDER. + + * * * * * + +VIVISECTION. + + +It is the simple idea of dealing with a living, conscious, sensitive, and +intelligent creature as if it were dead and senseless matter, against which +the whole spirit of true humanity revolts. It is the notion of such +absolute despotism as shall justify, not merely taking life, but converting +the entire existence of the animal into a misfortune which we denounce as +a misconception of the relations between the higher and lower creatures. A +hundred years ago had physiologists frankly avowed that they recognized no +claims on the part of the brutes which should stop them from torturing +them, they would have been only on a level with their contemporaries. But +to-day they are behind the age. + +As I have said ere now, the battle of Mercy, like that of Freedom, + + "Once begun, + Though often lost, is always won." + +MISS F. P. COBBE. + + * * * * * + +NOBILITY. + + From yon blue heavens above us bent + The grand old gardener and his wife + Smile at the claims of long descent. + Howe'er it be, it seems to me + 'Tis only noble to be good; + Kind hearts are more than coronets, + And simple faith than Norman blood. + +A. TENNYSON. + + * * * * * + +ACTS OF MERCY. + + +Yes, any act of mercy, even to the humblest and lowliest of God's +creatures, is an act that brings us near to God. Although "the mercy of +God," as the Psalmist says, "reaches to the heavens, although his judgments +are like the great deep," yet still, as the Psalmist adds, it is the same +mercy, the same justice as that which we know in ourselves. "Thou +preservest both man and beast; how exalted is thy mercy, O Lord; therefore +the children of men take refuge under the shadow of thy wings." That mercy +which we see in the complex arrangements of the animal creation, extending +down to the minutest portions of their frames--that same Divine mercy it is +which we are bid to imitate. He whose soul burns with indignation against +the brutal ruffian who misuses the poor, helpless, suffering horse, or dog, +or ass, or bird, or worm, shares for the moment that Divine companion wrath +which burns against the oppressors of the weak and defenceless everywhere. +He who puts forth his hand to save from ill treatment, or add to the +happiness of any of those dumb creatures, has opened his heart to that +Divine compassion which our Heavenly Father has shown to the whole range of +created things--which our blessed Saviour has shown to the human race, his +own peculiar charge, by living and dying for us. "Be ye merciful" to dumb +animals, for ye have a common nature with them. Be ye merciful, for the +worst part of the nature of brutes is to be unmerciful. Be ye merciful, for +ye are raised far above them, to be their appointed lords and guardians. Be +ye merciful, for ye are made in the image of him who is All-Merciful and +All-Compassionate. + +DEAN STANLEY. + + * * * * * + +THE GOOD SAMARITAN. + + He beheld the poor man's need; + Bound his wounds, and with all speed + Set him on his own good steed, + And brought him to the inn. + + When our Judge shall reappear, + Thinkest thou this man will hear, + Wherefore didst thou interfere + With what concerned not thee? + + No! the words of Christ will run + "Whatsoever thou hast done + To the poor and suffering one + That hast thou done to me." + +ANON. + + * * * * * + +LOVE. + + +Thus, when Christianity announced its fundamental idea of love, it, by an +immovable logic, enveloped all things in that affection, and every dumb +brute of the street comes within the colored curtains of the sanctuary. The +Humane Society is a branch of God's Church, and we Christian church-members +are all members of all such associations, so far as we are intelligent +members of the Church of Christ. Love does not mean love of me or you, but +it means love always and for all. + +PROF. SWING. + + * * * * * + +CHILDREN AT SCHOOL. + + +If children at school can be made to understand how it is just and noble to +be humane even to what we term inferior animals, it will do much to give +them a higher character and tone through life. There is nothing meaner than +barbarous and cruel treatment of the dumb creatures, who cannot answer us +or resent the misery which is so often needlessly inflicted upon them. + +JOHN BRIGHT. + + * * * * * + +MEMBERSHIP OF THE CHURCH. + + +Love and charity being the basis of Christianity, it is as much a question +for the Church to ask, when a person wishes to be admitted into her bosom, +"Are you kind to animals?" as it is to ask, "Do you believe in such or such +a doctrine?" Certainly the question would be pertinent to Christian life +and consonant with the fundamental and distinguishing principle of the +Christian religion; and the mere asking of it at so solemn a juncture could +not but do much to assimilate and draw closer the heart and life of the +novitiate to Him who sees every sparrow that falls. + +E. HATHAWAY. + + * * * * * + +FEELING FOR ANIMALS. + + +The power of feeling for animals, realizing their wants and making their +pains our own, is one which is most irregularly shown by human beings. A +Timon may have it, and a Howard be devoid of it. A rough shepherd's heart +may overflow with it, and that of an exquisite fine gentleman and +distinguished man of science may be as utterly without it as the nether +millstone. One thing I think must be clear: till man has learnt to feel for +all his sentient fellow-creatures, whether in human or in brutal form, of +his own class and sex and country, or of another, he has not yet ascended +the first step towards true civilization nor applied the first lesson from +the love of God. + +MISS F. P. COBBE. + + * * * * * + +HEROIC. + + +Nay, on the strength of that same element of self-sacrifice, I will not +grudge the epithet "heroic" which my revered friend Darwin justly applies +to the poor little monkey who once in his life did that which was above his +duty; who lived in continual terror of the great baboon, and yet, when the +brute had sprung upon his friend the keeper, and was tearing out his +throat, conquered his fear by love, and, at the risk of instant death, +sprung in turn upon his dreaded enemy, and hit and shrieked until help +arrived. + +CHARLES KINGSLEY. + + * * * * * + +EFFECT OF CRUELTY. + + +The effect of the barbarous treatment of inferior creatures on the minds of +those who practise it is still more deplorable than its effects upon the +animals themselves. The man who kicks dumb brutes kicks brutality into his +own heart. He who can see the wistful imploring eyes of half-starved +creatures without making earnest efforts to relieve them, is on the road to +lose his manhood, if he has not already lost it. And the boy who delights +in torturing frogs or insects, or robbing birds'-nests, or dogging cattle +and hogs wantonly and cruelly, can awaken no hope of an honorable after +life. + +E. HATHAWAY. + + * * * * * + +ASPIRATION. + + Oh may I join the choir invisible + Of those immortal dead who live again + In minds made better by their presence: live + In pulses stirred to generosity: + In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn + For miserable aims that end with self; + In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, + And with their mild persistence urge men's search + To vaster issues. + +GEORGE ELIOT. + + * * * * * + +THE POOR BEETLE. + + The sense of death is most in apprehension; + And the poor beetle that we tread upon, + In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great + As when a giant dies. + +_Measure for Measure_, Act 3, Sc. 1. + + * * * * * + +THE CONSUMMATION. + + +It is little indeed that each of us can accomplish within the limits of our +little day. Small indeed is the contribution which the best of us can make +to the advancement of the world in knowledge and goodness. But slight +though it be, if the work we do is real and noble work, it is never lost; +it is taken up into and becomes an integral moment of that immortal life to +which all the good and great of the past, every wise thinker, every true +and tender heart, every fair and saintly spirit, have contributed, and +which, never hasting, never resting, onward through ages is advancing to +its consummation. + +REV. DR. CAIRD. + + * * * * * + +PERSEVERE. + + Salt of the earth, ye virtuous few + Who season human kind! + Light of the world, whose cheering ray + Illumes the realms of mind! + + Where misery spreads her deepest shade, + Your strong compassion glows; + From your blest lips the balm distils + That softens mortal woes. + + Proceed: your race of glory run, + Your virtuous toils endure; + You come, commissioned from on high, + And your reward is sure. + +MRS. BARBAULD. + + * * * * * + +A VISION. + + When 'twixt the drawn forces of Night and of Morning, + Strange visions steal down to the slumbers of men, + From heaven's bright stronghold once issued a warning, + Which baffled all scorning, when brought to my ken. + + Methought there descended the Saints and the Sages, + With grief-stricken aspect and wringing of hands, + Till Dreamland seemed filled with the anguish of ages, + The blots of Time's pages, the woes of all lands. + + And I, who had deemed that their bliss knew no morrow + (Half vexed with their advent, half awed with their might)-- + Cried, "Come ye from heaven, Earth's aspect to borrow, + To mar with weird sorrow the peace of the night?" + + They answered me sternly, "Thy knowledge is mortal; + Thou hear'st not as we must, the plaints without tongue: + The wrongs that come beating the crystalline portal, + Inflicted by mortals on those who are dumb. + + "Ye bleed for the nation, ye give to the altar, + Ye heal the great sorrows that clamor and cry, + Yet care not how oft 'neath the spur and the halter, + The brutes of the universe falter and die. + + "Yet Jesus forgets not that while ye ensnared Him, + And drove Him with curses of burden and goad, + These gentle ones watched where the Magi declared Him, + And often have spared Him the long desert road. + + "They crumble to dust; but we, watchers remaining, + Attest their endurance through centuries past, + Oh, fear! lest in future to Judgment attaining, + These woes, uncomplaining, confront you at last!" + +JULIA C. VERPLANCK. + + * * * * * + +SPEAK GENTLY. + + Speak gently! it is better far + To rule by love than fear: + Speak gently! let not harsh words mar + The good we might do here. + + Speak gently! 'tis a little thing, + Dropped in the heart's deep well, + The good, the joy, which it may bring, + Eternity shall tell. + + * * * * * + + O, it is excellent + To have a giant's strength; but it is tyrannous + To use it like a giant. + +_Measure for Measure_, Act 2, Sc. 2. + + * * * * * + +QUESTIONS. + + Is there not something in the pleading eye + Of the poor brute that suffers, which arraigns + The law that bids it suffer? Has it not + A claim for some remembrance in the book, + That fills its pages with the idle words + Spoken of man? Or is it only clay, + Bleeding and aching in the potter's hand, + Yet all his own to treat it as he will, + And when he will to cast it at his feet, + Shattered, dishonored, lost for evermore? + My dog loves me, but could he look beyond + His earthly master, would his love extend + To Him who--Hush! I will not doubt that He + Is better than our fears, and will not wrong + The least, the meanest of created things. + +O. W. HOLMES. + + * * * * * + +HEROES. + + The heroes are not all six feet tall, + Large souls, may dwell in bodies small, + The heart that will melt with sympathy + For the poor and the weak, whoe'er it be, + Is a thing of beauty, whether it shine + In a man of forty or lad of nine. + +_Scattered Seed._ + + * * * * * + +FOR THE SAKE OF THE INNOCENT ANIMALS. + + +During his march to conquer the world, Alexander, the Macedonian, came to a +people in Africa, who dwelt in a remote and secluded corner, in peaceful +huts, and knew neither war nor conqueror. They led him to the hut of their +chief, and placed before him golden dates, golden figs, and bread of gold. +"Do you eat gold in this country?" said Alexander. "I take it for granted," +replied the chief, "that thou wert able to find eatables in thine own +country. For what reason, then, art thou come among us?" "Your gold has +not tempted me hither," said Alexander; "but I would become acquainted with +your manner and customs." "So be it," rejoined the other; "sojourn among us +as long as it pleaseth thee." At, the close of this conversation two +citizens entered, as into their court of justice. The plaintiff said: "I +bought of this man a piece of land, and as I was making a deep drain +through it, I found a treasure. This is not mine, for I only bargained for +the land, and not for any treasure that might be concealed beneath it; and +yet the former owner of the land will not receive it." The defendant +answered: "I hope I have a conscience as well as my fellow-citizen. I sold +him the land with all its contingent, as well as existing advantages, and +consequently the treasure inclusively." + +The chief, who was also their supreme judge, recapitulated their words, in +order that the parties might see whether or not he understood them aright. +Then, after some reflection, he said, "Thou hast a son, friend, I believe?" +"Yes." "And thou (addressing the other) a daughter?" "Yes." "Well, then, +let thy son marry thy daughter, and bestow the treasure on the young couple +for a marriage portion." Alexander seemed surprised and perplexed. "Think +you my sentence unjust?" the chief asked him. "Oh, no!" replied Alexander; +"but it astonishes me." "And how, then," rejoined the chief, "would the +case have been decided in your country?" "To confess the truth," said +Alexander, "we should have taken both into custody, and have seized the +treasure for the king's use." "For the king's use!" exclaimed the chief. +"Does the sun shine on that country?" "Oh, yes." "Does it rain there?" +"Assuredly." "Wonderful! But are there tame animals in the country that +live on the grass and green herbs?" "Very many, and of many kinds." "Ay, +that must then be the cause," said the chief; "for the sake of those +innocent animals the all-gracious Being continues to let the sun shine and +the rain drop down on your own country, since its inhabitants are unworthy +of such blessings." + +UNKNOWN. + + * * * * * + +RING OUT. + + Ring out a slowly dying cause, + And ancient forms of party strife; + Ring in the nobler modes of life, + _With sweeter manners, purer laws._ + + Ring out false pride in place and blood, + The civic slander and the spite; + Ring in the love of truth and right, + _Ring in the common love of good._ + + Ring in the valiant man and free, + _The larger heart, the kindlier hand;_ + Ring out the darkness of the land, + Ring in the Christ that is to be. + +A. TENNYSON. + + * * * * * + +FAME AND DUTY. + + "What shall I do, lest life in silence pass?" + "And if it do, + And never prompt the bray of noisy brass, + What need'st thou rue? + Remember, aye the ocean-deeps are mute; + The shallows roar: + Worth is the ocean,--fame is but the bruit + Along the shore." + + "What shall I do to be forever known?" + "Thy duty ever." + "This did full many who yet slept unknown." + "Oh, never, never! + Think'st thou perchance that they remain unknown + Whom thou know'st not? + By angel trumps in heaven their praise is blown-- + Divine their lot." + + "What shall I do to gain eternal life?" + "Discharge aright + _The simple dues with which each day is rife, + Yea, with thy might_. + Ere perfect scheme of action thou devise, + Will life be fled, + Where he, who ever acts as conscience cries, + Shall live though dead." + +SCHILLER. + + * * * * * + +NO CEREMONY. + + No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, + Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, + The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, + Become them with one half so good a grace + As mercy does. If he had been as you, + And you as he, you would have slipt like him; + But he, like you, would not have been so stern. + +_Measure for Measure_, Act 2, Sc. 2. + + * * * * * + +TRUE LEADERS. + + Languor is not in your heart, + Weakness is not in your word, + Weariness not in your brow. + Ye alight in our van! at your voice. + Panic, despair flee away. + Ye move through the ranks, recall + The stragglers, refresh the outworn, + Praise, reinspire the brave. + + Order, courage return; + Eyes rekindling, and prayers + Follow your steps as you go. + Ye fill up the gaps in our files, + Strengthen the wavering line, + Stablish, continue our march, + On, to the bound of the waste, + On, to the City of God. + +MATTHEW ARNOLD. + + * * * * * + +BE KIND TO DUMB CREATURES. + +A SONG. + + Be kind to dumb creatures, be gentle, be true, + For food and protection they look up to you; + For affection and help to your bounty they turn. + Oh, do not their trusting hearts wantonly spurn! + + _Chorus:_ + Be kind to dumb creatures, nor grudge them your care, + God gave them their life, and your love they must share; + And He who the sparrow's fall tenderly heeds, + Will lovingly look on compassionate deeds. + + The brave are the tender,--then do not refuse + To carefully cherish the brutes you must use; + Make their life's labor sweet, not dreary and sad, + Their working and serving you, easy and glad. + _Chorus:_ "Be kind," etc. + + He made them and blessed them, the least are his care: + The swallow that wings her swift flight through the air, + The dog on your hearthstone, the horse in your barn, + The cow in your pasture, the sheep on your farm. + _Chorus:_ "Be kind," etc. + +_Our Dumb Animals._ + + * * * * * + +ACTION. + + Do something! do it soon! with all thy might; + An angel's wing would droop if long at rest, + And God inactive were no longer blest. + Some high or humble enterprise of good + Contemplate till it shall possess thy mind, + Become thy study, pastime, rest, and food, + And kindle in thy heart a flame refined: + Pray heaven for firmness thy whole soul to bind + To this high purpose: to begin, pursue, + With thoughts all fixed, and feelings purely kind; + Strength to complete, and with delight review, + And strength to give the praise where all is due. + +WILCOX. + + * * * * * + +"IN HIM WE LIVE." + + The measureless gulfs of air are full of Thee: + Thou art, and therefore hang the stars: they wait + And swim, and shine in God who bade them be, + And hold their sundering voids inviolate. + + A God concerned (veiled in pure light) to bless, + With sweet revealing of his love, the soul; + _Towards things piteous, full of piteousness; + The Cause, the Life, and the continuing Whole. + + He is more present to all things He made + Than anything unto itself can be; + Full-foliaged boughs of Eden could not shade + Afford, since God was also 'neath the tree._ + +JEAN INGELOW. + + * * * * * + +FIRM AND FAITHFUL. + + Be firm and be faithful; desert not the right; + The brave are the bolder, the darker the night; + Then up and be doing, though cowards may fail; + Thy duty pursuing, dare all, and prevail. + + If scorn be thy portion, if hatred and loss, + If stripes or a prison, remember the cross! + God watches above thee, and He will requite; + Stand firm and be faithful, desert not the right. + +NORMAN MCLEOD. + + * * * * * + +HEART SERVICE. + + Our hearts' pure service, Love, be thine, + Who clothest all with rights divine, + Whose great Soul burns, though ne'er so dim, + In all that walk, or fly, or swim. + + All Father! who on Mercy's throne + Hear'st thy dumb creatures' faintest moan,-- + Thy love be ours, and ours shall be + Returned in deeds to thine and Thee. + +REV. H. BERNARD CARPENTER. + + * * * * * + +EXULTING SINGS. + + Sweet morn! from countless cups of gold + Thou liftest reverently on high + More incense fine than earth can hold, + To fill the sky. + + _The lark by his own carol blest_, + From thy green harbors eager springs; + And his large heart in little breast + Exulting sings. + + The fly his jocund round unweaves, + _With choral strain the birds salute + The voiceful flocks_, and nothing grieves, + And naught is mute. + + To thousand tasks of fruitful hope, + With skill against his toil, man bends + And finds his work's determined scope + Where'er he wends. + + From earth, and earthly toil and strife, + To deathless aims his love may rise, + Each dawn may wake to better life, + With purer eyes. + +JOHN STERLING. + + * * * * * + +IN HOLY BOOKS. + + In holy books we read how God hath spoken + To holy men in many different ways; + But hath the present worked no sign nor token? + Is God quite silent in these latter days? + + The word were but a blank, a hollow sound, + If He that spake it were not speaking still; + If all the light and all the shade around + Were aught but issues of Almighty Will. + + So, then, _believe that every bird that sings_, + And every flower that stars the elastic sod, + And every thought the happy summer brings, + To the pure spirit is a word of God. + +HARTLEY COLERIDGE. + + * * * * * + +THE BELL OF ATRI. + + At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town + Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown, + One of those little places that have run + Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun, + And then sat down to rest, as if to say, + "I climb no farther upward, come what may,"-- + The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame, + So many monarchs since have borne the name, + Had a great bell hung in the market-place + Beneath a roof, projecting some small space, + By way of shelter from the sun and rain. + Then rode he through the streets with all his train, + And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long, + Made proclamation, that whenever wrong + Was done to any man, he should but ring + The great bell in the square, and he, the King, + Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon. + Such was the proclamation of King John. + + How swift the happy days in Atri sped, + What wrongs were righted, need not here be said. + Suffice it that, as all things must decay, + The hempen rope at length was worn away, + Unravelled at the end, and strand by strand, + Loosened and wasted in the ringer's hand, + Till one, who noted this in passing by, + Mended the rope with braids of briony, + So that the leaves and tendrils of the vine + Hung like a votive garland at a shrine. + + By chance it happened that in Atri dwelt + A knight, with spur on heel and sword in belt, + Who loved to hunt the wild-boar in the woods, + Who loved his falcons with their crimson hoods, + Who loved his hounds and horses, and all sports + And prodigalities of camps and courts;-- + Loved, or had loved them: for at last, grown old, + His only passion was the love of gold. + + He sold his horses, sold his hawks and hounds, + Rented his vineyards and his garden-grounds, + Kept but one steed, his favorite steed of all, + To starve and shiver in a naked stall, + And day by day sat brooding in his chair, + Devising plans how best to hoard and spare. + + At length he said: "What is the use or need + To keep at my own cost this lazy steed, + Eating his head off in my stables here, + When rents are low and provender is dear? + Let him go feed upon the public ways; + I want him only for the holidays." + So the old steed was turned into the heat + Of the long, lonely, silent, shadeless street; + And wandered in suburban lanes forlorn, + Barked at by dogs, and torn by brier and thorn. + + One afternoon, as in that sultry clime + It is the custom in the summer-time, + With bolted doors and window-shutters closed, + The inhabitants of Atri slept or dozed; + When suddenly upon their senses fell + The loud alarum of the accusing bell! + The Syndic started from his deep repose, + Turned on his couch, and listened, and then rose + And donned his robes, and with reluctant pace + Went panting forth into the market-place, + Where the great bell upon its cross-beam swung + Reiterating with persistent tongue, + In half-articulate jargon, the old song: + "Some one hath done a wrong, hath done a wrong!" + + But ere he reached the belfry's light arcade + He saw, or thought he saw, beneath its shade, + No shape of human form of woman born, + But a poor steed dejected and forlorn, + Who with uplifted head and eager eye + Was tugging at the vines of briony. + "Domeneddio!" cried the Syndic straight, + "This is the Knight of Atri's steed of state! + He calls for justice, being sore distressed, + And pleads his cause as loudly as the best." + + Meanwhile from street and lane a noisy crowd + Had rolled together like a summer cloud, + And told the story of the wretched beast + In five-and-twenty different ways at least, + With much gesticulation and appeal + To heathen gods, in their excessive zeal. + The Knight was called and questioned; in reply + Did not confess the fact, did not deny; + Treated the matter as a pleasant jest, + And set at naught the Syndic and the rest, + Maintaining, in an angry undertone, + That he should do what pleased him with his own. + + And thereupon the Syndic gravely read + The proclamation of the King; then said: + "Pride goeth forth on horseback grand and gay, + But cometh back on foot, and begs its way; + Fame is the fragrance of heroic deeds, + Of flowers of chivalry and not of weeds! + These are familiar proverbs; but I fear + They never yet have reached your knightly ear. + What fair renown, what honor, what repute + Can come to you from starving this poor brute? + He who serves well and speaks not, merits more + Then they who clamor loudest at the door. + Therefore the law decrees that, as this steed + Served you in youth, henceforth you shall take heed + To comfort his old age, and to provide + Shelter in stall, and food and field beside." + + The Knight withdrew abashed; the people all + Led home the steed in triumph to his stall. + The King heard and approved, and laughed in glee, + And cried aloud: "Right well it pleaseth me! + Church-bells at best but ring us to the door; + But go not in to mass; my bell doth more: + It cometh into court and pleads the cause + Of creatures dumb and unknown to the laws; + And this shall make, in every Christian clime, + The Bell of Atri famous for all time." + +_Tales of a Wayside Inn, second day, 1872._ + + * * * * * + +AMONG THE NOBLEST. + + "Yes, well your story pleads the cause + Of those dumb mouths that have no speech, + Only a cry from each to each + In its own kind, with its own laws; + Something that is beyond the reach + Of human power to learn or teach,-- + An inarticulate moan of pain, + Like the immeasurable main + Breaking upon an unknown beach." + + Thus spake the poet with a sigh; + Then added, with impassioned cry, + As one who feels the words he speaks, + The color flushing in his cheeks, + The fervor burning in his eye: + "Among the noblest in the land, + Though he may count himself the least, + That man I honor and revere + Who without favor, without fear, + In the great city dares to stand + The friend of every friendless beast, + And tames with his unflinching hand + The brutes that wear our form and face, + The were-wolves of the human race!" + +_Tales of a Wayside Inn, second day, 1872._ + + * * * * * + +THE FALLEN HORSE. + + +Mr. George Herbert's love to music was such that he went usually twice +every week, on certain appointed days, to the Cathedral Church in +Salisbury. When rector of Bemerton, in one of his walks to Salisbury, he +saw a poor man with a poorer horse, that was fallen under his load; they +were both in distress, and needed present help, which Mr. Herbert +perceiving, put off his canonical coat and helped the poor man to unload, +and after to load his horse. The poor man blessed him for it, and he +blessed the poor man; and was so like the good Samaritan, that he gave him +money to refresh both himself and his horse; and told him, "_That if he +loved himself_, HE SHOULD BE MERCIFUL TO HIS BEAST." + +Thus he left the poor man: and at his coming to his musical friends at +Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, who used to be so +trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed; but he +told them the occasion. And when one of the company told him "he had +disparaged himself by so dirty an employment," his answer was: "That the +thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight; and that +the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience, +whensoever he should pass by that place; for if I be bound to pray for all +that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far at it is in my +power, to practise what I pray for. And though I do not wish for a like +occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pass one day +of my life without comforting a sad soul, or showing mercy, and I praise +God for this occasion." + +IZAAK WALTON'S _Lives_. + + * * * * * + +THE HORSE. + + Hast thou given the horse strength? + Hast thou clothed his neck with his trembling mane? + Hast thou taught him to bound like the locust? + How majestic his snorting! how terrible! + He paweth in the valley; he exulteth in his strength, + And rusheth into the midst of arms. + He laugheth at fear; he trembleth not, + And turneth not back from the sword. + Against him rattle the quiver, + The flaming spear, and the lance. + With rage and fury he devoureth the ground; + He will not believe that the trumpet soundeth. + At every blast of the trumpet, he saith, Aha! + And snuffeth the battle afar off,-- + The thunder of the captains, and the war-shout. + +_Job, chap._ 39, NOYES' _Translation_. + + * * * * * + +THE BIRTH OF THE HORSE. + +FROM THE ARABIC. + + When Allah's breath created first + The noble Arab steed,-- + The conqueror of all his race + In courage and in speed,-- + + To the South-wind He spake: From thee + A creature shall have birth, + To be the bearer of my arms + And my renown on earth. + + Then to the perfect horse He spake: + Fortune to thee I bring; + Fortune, as long as rolls the earth, + Shall to thy forelock cling. + + Without a pinion winged thou art, + And fleetest with thy load; + Bridled art thou without a rein, + And spurred without a goad. + +BAYARD TAYLOR. + + * * * * * + +TO HIS HORSE. + + Come, my beauty! come, my desert darling! + On my shoulder lay thy glossy head! + Fear not, though the barley-sack be empty, + Here's the half of Hassan's scanty bread. + + Thou shalt have thy share of dates, my beauty! + And thou know'st my water-skin is free: + Drink and welcome, for the wells are distant, + And my strength and safety lie in thee. + + Bend thy forehead now, to take my kisses! + Lift in love thy dark and splendid eye: + Thou art glad when Hassan mounts the saddle,-- + Thou art proud he owns thee: so am I. + + Let the Sultan bring his boasted horses, + Prancing with their diamond-studded reins; + They, my darling, shall not match thy fleetness + When they course with thee the desert plains! + + We have seen Damascus, O my beauty! + And the splendor of the Pashas there; + What's their pomp and riches? why, I would not + Take them for a handful of thy hair! + +BAYARD TAYLOR. + + * * * * * + +SYMPATHY FOR HORSE AND HOUND. + + Yet pity for a horse o'erdriven, + And love in which my hound has part, + Can hang no weight upon my heart, + In its assumptions up to heaven: + + And I am so much more than these + As thou, perchance, art more than I, + And yet I would spare them sympathy, + And I would set their pains at ease. + +TENNYSON'S _In Memoriam._ + + * * * * * + +THE BLOOD HORSE. + + Gamarra is a dainty steed, + Strong, black, and of a noble breed, + Full of fire, and full of bone, + With all his line of fathers known; + Fine his nose, his nostrils thin, + But blown abroad by the pride within! + His mane is like a river flowing, + And his eyes like embers glowing + In the darkness of the night, + And his pace as swift as light. + + Look,--how 'round his straining throat + Grace and shining beauty float! + Sinewy strength is in his reins, + And the red blood gallops through his veins-- + Richer, redder, never ran + Through the boasting heart of man. + He can trace his lineage higher + Than the Bourbon dare aspire,-- + Douglas, Guzman, or the Guelph, + Or O'Brien's blood itself! + + He, who hath no peer, was born, + Here upon a red March morn; + But his famous fathers dead + Were Arabs all, and Arabs bred, + And the last of that great line + Trod like one of a race divine! + And yet,--he was but friend to one + Who fed him at the set of sun + By some lone fountain fringed with green; + With him, a roving Bedouin, + He lived (none else would he obey + Through all the hot Arabian day),-- + And died untamed upon the sands + Where Balkh amidst the desert stands! + +BARRY CORNWALL. + + * * * * * + +THE CID AND BAVIECA. + + The king looked on him kindly, as on a vassal true; + Then to the king Ruy Diaz spake, after reverence due, + "O king! the thing is shameful, that any man beside + The liege lord of Castile himself, should Bavieca ride. + + "For neither Spain nor Araby could another charger bring + So good as he, and certes, the best befits my king, + But, that you may behold him, and know him to the core, + I'll make him go as he was wont when his nostrils smelt the Moor." + + With that the Cid, clad as he was, in mantle furred and wide, + On Bavieca vaulting, put the rowel in his side; + And up and down, and round and round, so fierce was his career, + Streamed like a pennon on the wind, Ruy Diaz' minivere. + + And all that saw them praised them,--they lauded man and horse, + As matchéd well, and rivals for gallantry and force; + Ne'er had they looked on horsemen might to this knight come near, + Nor on other charger worthy of such a cavalier. + + Thus, to and fro a-rushing, the fierce and furious steed, + He snapped in twain his nether rein: "God pity now the Cid! + God pity Diaz!" cried the lords,--but when they looked again, + They saw Ruy Diaz ruling him with the fragment of his rein; + They saw him proudly ruling with gesture firm and calm, + Like a true lord commanding, and obeyed as by a lamb. + + And so he led him foaming and panting to the king, + But, "No," said Don Alphonso, "it were a shameful thing, + That peerless Bavieca should ever be bestrid + By any mortal but Bivar,--mount, mount again, my Cid!" + +LOCKHART'S _Spanish Ballads._ + + * * * * * + +THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE. + + Word was brought to the Danish king, + (Hurry!) + That the love of his heart lay suffering, + And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; + (Oh! ride as though you were flying!) + Better he loves each golden curl + On the brow of that Scandinavian girl + Than his rich crown-jewels of ruby and pearl; + And his Rose of the Isles is dying. + + Thirty nobles saddled with speed; + (Hurry!) + Each one mounted a gallant steed + Which he kept for battle and days of need; + (Oh! ride as though you were flying!) + Spurs were struck in the foaming flank; + Worn-out chargers staggered and sank; + Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst: + But ride as they would, the king rode first; + For his Rose of the Isles lay dying. + + His nobles are beaten, one by one; + (Hurry!) + They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone; + His little fair page now follows alone, + For strength and for courage trying, + The king looked back at that faithful child: + Wan was the face that answering smiled. + They passed the drawbridge with clattering din: + Then he dropped; and only the king rode in + Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying. + + The king blew a blast on his bugle horn; + (Silence!) + No answer came, but faint and forlorn + An echo returned on the cold gray morn, + Like the breath of a spirit sighing. + The castle portal stood grimly wide; + None welcomed the king from that weary ride; + For, dead in the light of the dawning day, + The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay, + Who had yearned for his voice while dying. + + The panting steed with a drooping crest + Stood weary. + The king returned from her chamber of rest, + The thick sobs choking in his breast; + And that dumb companion eying, + The tears gushed forth, which he strove to check; + He bowed his head on his charger's neck: + "O steed, that every nerve didst strain, + Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain, + To the halls where my love lay dying!" + +CAROLINE ELIZABETH NORTON. + + * * * * * + + Go forth under the open sky and list + To Nature's teachings. + +BRYANT. + + * * * * * + +DO YOU KNOW? + +"Yesterday we buried my pretty brown mare under the wild-cherry tree. End +of poor Bess." + + When a human being dies, + Seeming scarce so good or wise, + Scarce so high in scale of mind + As the horse he leaves behind, + "Lo," we cry, "the fleeting spirit + Doth a newer garb inherit; + Through eternity doth soar, + Growing, greatening, evermore." + But our beautiful dumb creatures + Yield their gentle, generous natures, + With their mute, appealing eyes, + Haunted by earth's mysteries, + Wistfully upon us cast, + Loving, trusting, to the last; + And we arrogantly say, + "They have had their little day; + Nothing of them but was clay." + + Has all perished? Was no mind + In that graceful form enshrined? + Can the love that filled those eyes + With most eloquent replies, + When the glossy head close pressing, + Grateful met your hand's caressing; + Can the mute intelligence, + Baffling oft our human sense + With strange wisdom, buried be + "Under the wild-cherry tree?" + Are these elements that spring + In a daisy's blossoming, + Or in long dark grasses wave + Plume-like o'er your favorite's grave? + Can they live in us, and fade + In all else that God has made! + Is there aught of harm believing + That, some newer form receiving, + They may find a wider sphere, + Live a larger life than here? + That the meek, appealing eyes, + Haunted by strange mysteries, + Find a more extended field, + To new destinies unsealed; + Or that in the ripened prime + Of some far-off summer time, + Ranging that unknown domain, + We may find our pets again? + +HELEN BARRON BOSTWICK. + + * * * * * + +THE BEDOUIN'S REBUKE. + + A Bedouin of true honor, good Nebar, + Possessed a horse whose fame was spread afar; + No other horse was half so proud and strong; + His feet were like the north wind swept along; + In his curved neck, and in his flashing eye, + You saw the harbingers of victory. + + So, many came to Nebar day by day, + And longed to take his noble horse away; + Large sums they offered, and with grace besought. + But, all in vain; the horse could not be bought. + + With these came Daher, of another tribe, + To see if he might not the owner bribe; + Yet purposeless,--no money, skill, nor breath + Could part the owner from his horse till death. + + Then Daher, who was subtle, mean, and sly, + Concluded, next, some stratagem to try; + So, clothed in rags, and masked in form and face, + He as a beggar walked with limping pace, + And, meeting Nebar with the horse one day, + He fell, and prostrate on the desert lay. + + The ruse succeeded; for, when Nebar found + A helpless man in sorrow on the ground, + He took him up, and on the noble steed + Gave him a place; but what a thankless deed! + For Daher shouted, laughed, and, giving rein, + Said, "You will never see your horse again!" + + "Take him," said Nebar, "but, for Mercy's sake, + Tell no man in what way you choose to take, + Lest others, seeing what has happened me, + Omit to do some needed charity." + Pierced by these words, the robber's keen remorse + Thwarted his plan, and he returned the horse, + Shame-faced and sorrowful; then slunk away + As if he feared the very light of day! + +ANON. + + * * * * * + +FROM "THE LORD OF BUTRAGO." + + Your horse is faint, my King, my lord! your gallant horse is sick,-- + His limbs are torn, his breast is gored, on his eye the film is thick; + Mount, mount on mine, O mount apace, I pray thee, mount and fly! + Or in my arms I'll lift your Grace,--their trampling hoofs are nigh! + + My King, my King! you're wounded sore,--the blood runs from your feet; + But only lay a hand before, and I'll lift you to your seat; + Mount, Juan, for they gather fast!--I hear their coming cry,-- + Mount, mount, and ride for jeopardy,--I'll save you, though I die! + + Stand, noble steed! this hour of need,--be gentle as a lamb; + I'll kiss the foam from off thy mouth,--thy master dear I am,-- + Mount, Juan, mount; whate'er betide, away the bridle fling, + Drive on, drive on with utmost speed,--My horse shall save my King! + +LOCKART'S _Spanish Ballads._ + + * * * * * + +"BAY BILLY."--(Extracts.) + + At last from out the centre fight + Spurred up a general's aid. + "That battery must silenced be!" + He cried, as past he sped. + Our colonel simply touched his cap, + And then, with measured tread, + + To lead the crouching line once more + The grand old fellow came. + No wounded man but raised his head + And strove to gasp his name, + And those who could not speak nor stir, + "God blessed him" just the same. + + This time we were not half-way up, + When, midst the storm of shell, + Our leader, with his sword upraised, + Beneath our bayonets fell. + And, as we bore him back, the foe + Set up a joyous yell. + + Just then before the laggard line + The colonel's horse we spied, + Bay Billy with his trappings on, + His nostrils swelling wide, + As though still on his gallant back + The master sat astride. + + Right royally he took the place + That was of old his wont, + And with a neigh that seemed to say, + Above the battle's brunt, + "How can the Twenty-second charge + If I am not in front?" + + No bugle-call could rouse us all + As that brave sight had done. + Down all the battered line we felt + A lightning impulse run. + Up! up! the hill we followed Bill, + And we captured every gun! + + And then the dusk and dew of night + Fell softly o'er the plain, + As though o'er man's dread work of death + The angels wept again, + And drew night's curtain gently round + A thousand beds of pain. + + At last the morning broke. The lark + Sang in the merry skies + As if to e'en the sleepers there + It bade awake, and rise! + Though naught but that last trump of all + Could ope their heavy eyes. + + And as in faltering tone and slow, + The last few names were said, + Across the field some missing horse + Toiled up with weary tread, + It caught the sergeant's eye, and quick + Bay Billy's name he read. + + Not all the shoulder-straps on earth + Could still our mighty cheer; + And ever from that famous day, + When rang the roll-call clear, + Bay Billy's name was read, and then + The whole line answered, "Here!" + +FRANK H. GASSAWAY. + + * * * * * + + We cannot kindle when we will, + The fire that in the heart resides; + But tasks in hours of insight willed, + Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled. + +M. ARNOLD. + + * * * * * + +THE RIDE OF COLLINS GRAVES.--(Extracts.) + +AN INCIDENT OF THE FLOOD IN MASSACHUSETTS, MAY 16, 1874. + + What was it, that passed like an ominous breath-- + Like a shiver of fear, or a touch of death? + What is it? The valley is peaceful still, + And the leaves are afire on top of the hill. + It was not a sound--nor a thing of sense-- + But a pain, like the pang of the short suspense + That thrills the being of those who see + At their feet the gulf of Eternity! + + The air of the valley has felt the chill: + The workers pause at the door of the mill; + The housewife, keen to the shivering air, + Arrests her foot on the cottage stair, + Instinctive taught by the mother-love, + And thinks of the sleeping ones above. + Why start the listeners? Why does the course + Of the mill-stream widen? Is it a horse-- + Hark to the sound of his hoofs, they say-- + That gallops so wildly Williamsburg way! + God! what was that, like a human shriek + From the winding valley? Will nobody speak? + Will nobody answer those women who cry + As the awful warnings thunder by? + + Whence come they? Listen! And now they hear + The sound of galloping horse-hoofs near; + They watch the trend of the vale, and see + The rider who thunders so menacingly, + With waving arms and warning scream + To the home-filled banks of the valley stream. + He draws no rein, but he shakes the street + With a shout and the ring of the galloping feet; + And this the cry he flings to the wind; + "To the hills for your lives! The flood is behind!" + + But onward still, + In front of the roaring flood is heard + The galloping horse and the warning word. + Thank God! the brave man's life is spared! + From Williamsburg town he nobly dared + To race with the flood and take the road + In front of the terrible swath it mowed. + For miles it thundered and crashed behind, + But he looked ahead with a steadfast mind; + "They must be warned!" was all he said, + As away on his terrible ride he sped. + +JOHN BOYLE O'REILLY. + + * * * * * + +PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. + + A hurry of hoofs in a village street, + A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, + And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark + Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: + That was all! and yet, through the gloom and the light, + The fate of a nation was riding that night; + And the spark struck out by that steed in his flight, + Kindled the land into flame with its heat. + + He has left the village and mounted the steep, + And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, + Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; + And under the alders, that skirt its edge, + Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, + Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. + + It was twelve by the village clock + When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. + He heard the crowing of the cock, + And the barking of the farmer's dog, + And felt the damp of the river fog, + That rises after the sun goes down. + + It was one by the village clock, + When he galloped into Lexington. + He saw the gilded weathercock + Swim in the moonlight as he passed, + And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, + Gaze at him with a spectral glare, + As if they already stood aghast + At the bloody work they would look upon. + + It was two by the village clock, + When he came to the bridge in Concord town + He heard the bleating of the flock, + And the twitter of birds among the trees, + And felt the breath of the morning breeze + Blowing over the meadows brown. + And one was safe and asleep in his bed + Who at the bridge would be first to fall, + Who that day would be lying dead, + Pierced by a British musket-ball. + + You know the rest. In the books you have read, + How the British Regulars fired and fled,-- + How the farmers gave them ball for ball, + From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, + Chasing the red-coats down the lane, + Then crossing the fields to emerge again + Under the trees at the turn of the road, + And only pausing to fire and load. + + So through the night rode Paul Revere; + And so through the night went his cry of alarm + To every Middlesex village and farm,-- + A cry of defiance and not of fear, + A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, + And a word that shall echo for evermore! + For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, + Through all our history, to the last, + In the hour of darkness and peril and need, + The people will waken and listen to hear + The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed, + And the midnight message of Paul Revere. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +SHERIDAN'S RIDE.--(Extracts.) + + Up from the South at break of day, + Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, + The affrighted air with a shudder bore, + Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door + The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, + Telling the battle was on once more, + And Sheridan twenty miles away. + + But there is a road from Winchester town, + A good broad highway leading down; + And there, through the flush of the morning light, + A steed as black as the steeds of night, + Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, + As if he knew the terrible need; + He stretched away with his utmost speed; + Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, + With Sheridan fifteen miles away. + + Under his spurning feet the road + Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, + And the landscape sped away behind + Like an ocean flying before the wind, + And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace fire, + Swept on, with his wild eye full of ire. + But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire; + He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, + With Sheridan only five miles away. + + The first that the general saw were the groups + Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops, + What was done? what to do? a glance told him both, + Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, + He dashed down the line, mid a storm of huzzas, + And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because + The sight of the master compelled it to pause. + With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; + By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, + He seemed to the whole great army to say, + "I have brought you Sheridan all the way + From Winchester down, to save the day!" + + Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! + Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! + And when their statues are placed on high, + Under the dome of the Union sky, + The American soldiers' Temple of Fame; + There with the glorious general's name, + Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, + "Here is the steed that saved the day, + By carrying Sheridan into the fight, + From Winchester, twenty miles away!" + +THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. + + * * * * * + +GOOD NEWS TO AIX.--(Extract.) + + I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris and he; + I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three; + "Good speed!" cried the watch as the gate-bolts undrew, + "Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through. + Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, + And into the midnight we galloped abreast. + + Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace,-- + Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; + I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, + Then shortened each stirrup and set the pique right, + Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, + Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. + + 'Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near + Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; + At Boom a great yellow star came out to see; + At Düffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be; + And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the half-chime,-- + So Joris broke silence with "Yet there is time!" + + At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, + And against him the cattle stood, black every one, + To stare through the mist at us galloping past, + And I saw my stout galloper, Roland, at last, + With resolute shoulders, each butting away + The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray. + * * * * * + +(But "Roos" and the "Roan" fell dead on the way; the latter, when Aix was +in sight!) + + And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight + Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, + With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, + And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. + + Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, + Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, + Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, + Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; + Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, + Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. + + And all I remember is, friends flocking round + As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground, + And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, + As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, + Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) + Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. + +ROBERT BROWNING. + + * * * * * + +DYING IN HARNESS. + + Only a fallen horse, stretched out there on the road, + Stretched in the broken shafts, and crushed by the heavy load; + Only a fallen horse, and a circle of wondering eyes + Watching the 'frighted teamster goading the beast to rise. + + Hold! for his toil is over--no more labor for him; + See the poor neck outstretched, and the patient eyes grow dim; + See on the friendly stones now peacefully rests his head-- + Thinking, if dumb beasts think, how good it is to be dead; + After the burdened journey, how restful it is to lie + With the broken shafts and the cruel load--waiting only to die. + + Watchers, he died in harness--died in the shafts and straps-- + Fell, and the great load killed him; one of the day's mishaps-- + One of the passing wonders marking the city road-- + A toiler dying in harness, heedless of call or goad. + + Passers, crowding the pathway, staying your steps awhile, + What is the symbol? "Only death? why should you cease to smile + At death for a beast of burden?" On through the busy street + That is ever and ever echoing the tread of the hurrying feet! + + What was the sign? A symbol to touch the tireless will. + Does he who taught in parables speak in parables still? + The seed on the rock is wasted--on heedless hearts of men, + That gather and sow and grasp and lose--labor and sleep--and then-- + Then for the prize! A crowd in the street of ever-echoing tread-- + The toiler, crushed by the heavy load, is there in his harness--dead. + +JOHN BOYLE + + * * * * * + +PLUTARCH'S HUMANITY. + + +For my part, I cannot but charge his using his servants like so many beasts +of burden, and turning them off, or selling them when they grew old, to the +account of a mean and ungenerous spirit which thinks that the sole tie +between man and man is interest or necessity. But goodness moves in a +larger sphere than justice. The obligations of law and equity reach only to +mankind, but kindness and beneficence should be extended to creatures of +every species; and these still flow from the breast of a well-natured man, +as streams that issue from the living fountain. A good man will take care +of his horses and dogs, not only while they are young, but when old and +past service. Thus the people of Athens, when they had finished the temple +called Hecatompedon, set at liberty the beasts of burden that had been +chiefly employed in the work, suffering them to pasture at large, free from +any other service. It is said that one of these afterwards came of its own +accord to work, and, putting itself at the head of the laboring cattle, +marched before them to the citadel. This pleased the people, and they made +a decree that it should be kept at the public charge so long as it lived. +The graves of Cimon's mares, with which he thrice conquered at the Olympic +games, are still to be seen near his own tomb. Many have shown particular +marks of regard, in burying the dogs which they had cherished and been fond +of; and amongst the rest Xantippus of old, whose dog swam by the side of +his galley to Salamis, when the Athenians were forced to abandon their +city, and was afterwards buried by him upon a promontory, which to this day +is called the Dog's Grave. We certainly ought not to treat living creatures +like shoes or household goods, which, when worn out with use, we throw +away; and were it only to learn benevolence to humankind, we should be +merciful to other creatures. For my own part, I would not sell even an old +ox that had labored for me; much less would I remove, for the sake of a +little money, a man grown old in my service, from his usual lodgings and +diet; for to him, poor man! it would be as bad as banishment, since he +could be of no more use to the buyer than he was to the seller. But Cato, +as if he took a pride in these things, tells us, that when consul, he left +his war-horse in Spain to save the public the charge of his conveyance. +Whether such things as these are instances of greatness or littleness of +soul, let the reader judge for himself. + +_From "Cato the Censor," in the "Lives."_ + + * * * * * + +THE HORSES OF ACHILLES. + + +The gentleness of chivalry, properly so called, depends on the recognition +of the order and awe of lower and loftier animal life, first clearly +taught in the myth of Chiron, and in his bringing up of Jason, Æsculapius, +and Achilles, but most perfectly by Homer, in the fable of the horses of +Achilles, and the part assigned to them, in relation to the death of his +friend, and in prophecy of his own. There is, perhaps, in all the "Iliad," +nothing more deep in significance--there is nothing in all literature more +perfect in human tenderness, and honor for the mystery of inferior +life--than the verses that describe the sorrow of the divine horses at the +death of Patroclus, and the comfort given them by the greatest of gods. + +RUSKIN. + + * * * * * + +THE WAR HORSE. + + +Sir Robert Clayton, a British cavalry officer, says of some war horses +which had been humanely turned out to perpetual pasture, that while the +horses were grazing on one occasion, a violent thunderstorm arose; at once +the animals fell into line and faced the blazing lightning under an +impression that it was the flash of artillery and the fire of battle. + + * * * * * + +PEGASUS IN POUND. + + Once into a quiet village, + Without haste and without heed, + In the golden prime of morning, + Strayed the poet's wingèd steed. + + It was Autumn, and incessant + Piped the quails from shocks and sheaves, + And, like living coals, the apples + Burned among the withering leaves. + + Loud the clamorous bell was ringing + From its belfry gaunt and grim; + 'Twas the daily call to labor, + Not a triumph meant for him. + + Not the less he saw the landscape, + In its gleaming vapor veiled; + Not the less he breathed the odors + That the dying leaves exhaled. + + Thus, upon the village common, + By the school-boys he was found; + And the wise men, in their wisdom, + Put him straightway into pound. + + Then the sombre village crier, + Ringing loud his brazen bell, + Wandered down the street proclaiming: + There was an estray to sell. + + And the curious country people, + Rich and poor, and young and old, + Came in haste to see the wondrous + Wingèd steed with mane of gold. + + Thus the day passed, and the evening + Fell, with vapors cold and dim; + But it brought no food nor shelter, + Brought no straw nor stall, for him. + + Patiently, and still expectant, + Looked he through the wooden bars, + Saw the moon rise o'er the landscape. + Saw the tranquil, patient stars; + + Till at length the bell at midnight + Sounded from its dark abode, + And, from out a neighboring farm-yard, + Loud the cock Alectryon crowed. + + Then, with nostrils wide distended, + Breaking from his iron chain, + And unfolding far his pinions, + To those stars he soared again. + + On the morrow, when the village + Woke to all its toil and care, + Lo! the strange steed had departed, + And they knew not when nor where. + + But they found, upon the greensward + Where his struggling hoofs had trod, + Pure and bright, a fountain flowing + From the hoof-marks in the sod. + + From that hour, the fount unfailing + Gladdens the whole region round, + Strengthening all who drink its waters, + While it soothes them with its sound. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +THE HORSE. + + +Nay, the man hath no wit, that cannot, from the rising of the lark to the +lodging of the lamb, vary deserved praise on my palfrey; it is a theme as +fluent as the sea; turn the sands into eloquent tongues, and my horse is +argument for them all; 'tis a subject for a sovereign to reason on, and for +a sovereign's sovereign to ride on; and for the world (familiar to us and +unknown), to lay apart their particular functions and wonder at him. + +_Henry V._ Act 3, Sec. 7. + + * * * * * + +FROM "THE FORAY." + + Our steeds are impatient! I hear my blithe Gray! + There is life in his hoof-clang, and hope in his neigh; + Like the flash of a meteor, the glance of his mane + Shall marshal your march through the darkness and rain. + +WALTER SCOTT. + + * * * * * + +ON LANDSEER'S PICTURE, "WAITING FOR MASTER." + + The proud steed bends his stately neck + And patient waits his master's word, + While Fido listens for his step, + Welcome, whenever heard. + King Charlie shakes his curly ears, + Secure his home, no harm he fears; + Above the peaceful pigeons coo + Their happy hymn, the long day through. + + What means this scene of quiet joy, + This peaceful scene without alloy! + Kind words, kind care, and tender thought + This picture beautiful have wrought. + Its lesson tells of care for all + God's creatures, whether great or small, + And they who love "the least of these," + Are sure a loving God to please. + +_Our Dumb Animals._ + + * * * * * + +THE BIRDS. + + * * * * * + +THE WATERFOWL. + + Whither, 'midst falling dew, + While glow the heavens with the last steps of day + Far through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue + Thy solitary way? + + Vainly the fowler's eye + Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, + As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, + Thy figure floats along. + + Seek'st thou the plashy brink + Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, + Or where the rocking billows rise and sink + On the chafed ocean side? + + There is a Power whose care + Teaches thy way along that pathless coast,-- + The desert and illimitable air,-- + Lone wandering, but not lost. + + All day thy wings have fanned, + At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere; + Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, + Though the dark night is near. + + And soon that toil shall end; + Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest + And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend + Some o'er thy sheltered nest. + + Thou'rt gone--the abyss of heaven + Hath swallowed up thy form--yet on my heart + Deeply hath sunk the lesson thou hast given, + And shall not soon depart. + + He, who from zone to zone + Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, + In the long way that I must tread alone + Will lead my steps aright. + +W. C. BRYANT. + + * * * * * + +SEA FOWL. + + Through my north window, in the wintry weather,-- + My airy oriel on the river shore,-- + I watch the sea-fowl as they flock together + Where late the boatman flashed his dripping oar. + + I see the solemn gulls in council sitting + On some broad ice-floe, pondering long and late, + While overhead the home-bound ducks are flitting, + And leave the tardy conclave in debate, + + Those weighty questions in their breasts revolving, + Whose deeper meaning science never learns, + Till at some reverend elder's look dissolving, + The speechless senate silently adjourns. + + He knows you! "sportsman" from suburban alleys, + Stretched under seaweed in the treacherous punt; + Knows every lazy, shiftless lout that sallies + Forth to waste powder--as _he_ says, to "hunt." + + I watch you with a patient satisfaction, + Well pleased to discount your predestined luck; + The float that figures in your sly transaction + Will carry back a goose, but not a duck. + + Shrewd is our bird; not easy to outwit him! + Sharp is the outlook of those pin-head eyes; + Still, he is mortal and a shot may hit him; + One cannot always miss him if he tries! + + O Thou who carest for the falling sparrow, + Canst Thou the sinless sufferer's pang forget? + Or is thy dread account-book's page so narrow + Its one long column scores thy creature's debt? + + Poor, gentle guest, by nature kindly cherished, + A world grows dark with thee in blinding death; + One little gasp,--thy universe has perished, + Wrecked by the idle thief who stole thy breath! + +_From "My Aviary," by_ O. W. HOLMES. + + * * * * * + +THE SANDPIPER. + + Across the narrow beach we flit, + One little sandpiper and I, + And fast I gather, bit by bit, + The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. + The wild waves reach their hands for it, + The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, + As up and down the beach we flit,-- + One little sandpiper and I. + + Above our heads the sullen clouds + Scud black and swift across the sky; + Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds + Stand out the white lighthouses high. + Almost as far as eye can reach, + I see the close-reefed vessels fly, + As fast we flit along the beach,-- + One little sandpiper and I. + + I watch him as he skims along, + Uttering his sweet and mournful cry. + He starts not at my fitful song, + Or flash of fluttering drapery. + He has no thought of any wrong; + He scans me with a fearless eye. + Staunch friends are we, well tried and strong, + The little sandpiper and I. + + Comrade, where wilt thou be to-night, + When the loosed storm breaks furiously? + My driftwood fire will burn so bright! + To what warm shelter canst thou fly? + I do not fear for thee, though wroth + The tempest rushes through the sky: + For are we not God's children both, + Thou, little sandpiper, and I? + +CELIA THAXTER. + + * * * * * + +THE BIRDS OF KILLINGWORTH. + + The robin and the bluebird, piping loud, + Filled all the blossoming orchards with their glee; + The sparrows chirped as if they still were proud + Their race in Holy Writ should mentioned be; + And hungry crows, assembled in a crowd, + Clamored their piteous prayer incessantly, + Knowing who hears the ravens cry, and said: + "Give us, O Lord, this day our daily bread!" + + * * * * * + + Thus came the jocund Spring in Killingworth, + In fabulous days, some hundred years ago; + And thrifty farmers, as they tilled the earth, + Heard with alarm the cawing of the crow, + That mingled with the universal mirth, + Cassandra-like, prognosticating woe; + They shook their heads, and doomed with dreadful words + To swift destruction the whole race of birds. + + And a town-meeting was convened straightway + To set a price upon the guilty heads + Of these marauders, who, in lieu of pay, + Levied black-mail upon the garden beds + And cornfields, and beheld without dismay + The awful scarecrow, with his fluttering shreds; + The skeleton that waited at their feast, + Whereby their sinful pleasure was increased. + + * * * * * + + Rose the Preceptor,... + To speak out what was in him, clear and strong. + + * * * * * + + "Plato, anticipating the Reviewers, + From his Republic banished without pity + The Poets; in this little town of yours, + You put to death, by means of a Committee, + The ballad-singers and the troubadours, + The street-musicians of the heavenly city, + The birds who make sweet music for us all + In our dark hours, as David did for Saul. + + THEIR SONGS. + + "The thrush that carols at the dawn of day + From the green steeples of the piny wood; + The oriole in the elm; the noisy jay, + Jargoning like a foreigner at his food; + The bluebird balanced on some topmost spray, + Flooding with melody the neighborhood; + Linnet and meadow-lark, and all the throng + That dwell in nests, and have the gift of song. + + "You slay them all! and wherefore? for the gain + Of a scant handful more or less of wheat, + Or rye, or barley, or some other grain, + Scratched up at random by industrious feet, + Searching for worm or weevil after rain! + Or a few cherries, that are not so sweet + As are the songs these uninvited guests + Sing at their feast with comfortable breasts. + + "Do you ne'er think what wondrous beings these? + Do you ne'er think who made them, and who taught + The dialect they speak, where melodies + Alone are the interpreters of thought? + Whose household words are songs in many keys, + Sweeter than instrument of man e'er caught! + Whose habitations in the tree-tops even + Are half-way houses on the road to heaven! + + "Think, every morning when the sun peeps through + The dim, leaf-latticed windows of the grove, + How jubilant the happy birds renew + Their old melodious madrigals of love! + And when you think of this, remember too + 'Tis always morning somewhere, and above + The awakening continents, from shore to shore, + Somewhere the birds are singing evermore. + + THEIR SERVICE TO MAN. + + "Think of your woods and orchards without birds! + Of empty nests that cling to boughs and beams + As in an idiot's brain remembered words + Hang empty 'mid the cobwebs of his dreams! + Will bleat of flocks or bellowing of herds + Make up for the lost music, when your teams + Drag home the stingy harvest, and no more + The feathered gleaners follow to your door? + + "What! would you rather see the incessant stir + Of insects in the windrows of the hay, + And hear the locust and the grasshopper + Their melancholy hurdy-gurdies play? + Is this more pleasant to you than the whir + Of meadow-lark, and her sweet roundelay, + Or twitter of little field-fares, as you take + Your nooning in the shade of bush and brake? + + "You call them thieves and pillagers; but know, + They are the winged wardens of your farms, + Who from the cornfields drive the insidious foe, + And from your harvest keep a hundred harms. + Even the blackest of them all, the crow, + Renders good service as your man-at-arms, + Crushing the beetle in his coat-of-mail, + And crying havoc on the slug and snail. + + THE CLAIMS OF GENTLENESS AND REVERENCE. + + "How can I teach your children gentleness, + And mercy to the weak, and reverence + For Life, which, in its weakness or excess, + Is still a gleam of God's omnipotence, + Or Death, which, seeming darkness, is no less + The selfsame light, although averted hence, + When by your laws, your actions, and your speech, + You contradict the very things I teach?" + + * * * * * + + The birds were doomed; and, as the record shows, + A bounty offered for the heads of crows. + + * * * * * + + THE RESULT OF THEIR DESTRUCTION. + + Devoured by worms, like Herod, was the town, + Because, like Herod, it had ruthlessly + Slaughtered the Innocents. From the trees spun down + The canker-worms upon the passers-by, + Upon each woman's bonnet, shawl, and gown, + Who shook them off with just a little cry; + They were the terror of each favorite walk, + The endless theme of all the village talk. + + The farmers grew impatient, but a few + Confessed their error, and would not complain, + For after all, the best thing one can do + When it is raining, is to let it rain. + Then they repealed the law, although they knew + It would not call the dead to life again; + As school-boys, finding their mistake too late, + Draw a wet sponge across the accusing slate. + + That year in Killingworth the Autumn came + Without the light of his majestic look, + The wonder of the falling tongues of flame, + The illumined pages of his Doom's-Day book. + A few lost leaves blushed crimson with their shame, + And drowned themselves despairing in the brook, + While the wild wind went moaning everywhere, + Lamenting the dead children of the air! + + THE RETURN OF THE BIRDS. + + But the next Spring a stranger sight was seen, + A sight that never yet by bard was sung, + As great a wonder as it would have been + If some dumb animal had found a tongue! + A wagon, overarched with evergreen, + Upon whose boughs were wicker cages hung, + All full of singing birds, came down the street, + Filling the air with music wild and sweet. + + From all the country round these birds were brought, + By order of the town, with anxious quest, + And, loosened from their wicker prisons, sought + In woods and fields the places they loved best, + Singing loud canticles, which many thought + Were satires to the authorities addressed, + While others, listening in green lanes, averred + Such lovely music never had been heard! + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +THE MAGPIE. + + "Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally justice + Triumphs; and well I remember a story, that often consoled me, + When as a captive I lay in the old French fort at Port Royal." + This was the old man's favorite tale, and he loved to repeat it + When his neighbors complained that any injustice was done them. + "Once in an ancient city, whose name I no longer remember, + Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of Justice + Stood in the public square, upholding the scales in his left hand, + And in its right a sword, as an emblem that justice presided + Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and homes of the people. + Even the birds had built their nests in the scales of the balance, + Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the sunshine above them. + But in course of time the laws of the land were corrupted; + Might took the place of right, and the weak were oppressed, and the + mighty + Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a nobleman's palace + That a necklace of pearls was lost, and erelong a suspicion + Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in the household. + She, after form of trial condemned to die on the scaffold, + Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue of Justice. + As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit ascended, + Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose; and the bolts of the thunder + Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in wrath from its left hand + Down on the pavement below the clattering scales of the balance, + And in the hollow thereof was found the nest of a magpie, + Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of pearls was inwoven." + +H. W. LONGFELLOW, in _Evangeline_. + + * * * * * + +THE MOCKING-BIRD. + + Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking-bird, wildest of singers, + Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung o'er the water, + Shook from his little throat such floods of delirious music, + That the whole air and the woods and the waves seemed silent to listen. + Plaintive at first were the tones and sad; then soaring to madness + Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of frenzied Bacchantes. + Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, low lamentation; + Till, having gathered them all, he flung them abroad in derision, + As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through the tree-tops + Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal shower on the branches. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW, in _Evangeline_. + + * * * * * + +EARLY SONGS AND SOUNDS. + + To hear the lark begin his flight, + And singing startle the dull night + From his watch-tower in the skies + Till the dappled dawn doth rise; + Then to come, in spite of sorrow, + And at my window bid good-morrow + Through the sweet-briar, or the vine, + Or the twisted eglantine; + While the cock with lively din + Scatters the rear of darkness thin; + And to the stack, or the barn door, + Stoutly struts his dames before; + Oft listening how the hounds and horn + Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn + From the side of some hoar hill, + Through the high wood echoing shrill. + +JOHN MILTON. + + * * * * * + +THE SPARROW'S NOTE. + + I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, + Singing at dawn on the alder bough; + I brought him home, in his nest, at even, + He sings the song, but it pleases not now, + For I did not bring home the river and sky; + He sang to my ear, they sang to my eye. + +R. W. EMERSON. + + * * * * * + +THE GLOW-WORM. + + Nor crush a worm, whose useful light + Might serve, however small, + To show a stumbling-stone by night, + And save man from a fall. + +COWPER. + + * * * * * + +ST. FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS. + + Up soared the lark into the air, + A shaft of song, a wingèd prayer, + As if a soul, released from pain, + Were flying back to heaven again. + + St. Francis heard; it was to him + An emblem of the Seraphim; + The upward motion of the fire, + The light, the heat, the heart's desire. + + Around Assisi's convent gate + The birds, God's poor who cannot wait, + From moor and mere and darksome wood + Came flocking for their dole of food. + + "O brother birds," St. Francis said, + "Ye come to me and ask for bread, + But not with bread alone to-day + Shall ye be fed and sent away. + + "Ye shall be fed, ye happy birds, + With manna of celestial words; + Not mine, though mine they seem to be, + Not mine, though they be spoken through me. + + "Oh, doubly are ye bound to praise + The great Creator in your lays; + He giveth you your plumes of down, + Your crimson hoods, your cloaks of brown. + + "He giveth you your wings to fly + And breathe a purer air on high, + And careth for you everywhere, + Who for yourselves so little care!" + + With flutter of swift wings and songs + Together rose the feathered throngs, + And singing scattered far apart; + Deep peace was in St. Francis' heart. + + He knew not if the brotherhood + His homily had understood; + He only knew that to one ear + The meaning of his words was clear. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +WORDSWORTH'S SKYLARK. + + Ethereal Minstrel! Pilgrim of the sky! + Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound? + Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye + Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? + Thy nest which thou canst drop into at will, + Those quivering wings composed, that music still! + + To the last point of vision, and beyond, + Mount, daring warbler! that love-prompted strain, + ('Twixt thee and thine a never-failing bond) + Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain: + Yet might'st thou seem, proud privilege! to sing + All independent of the leafy spring. + + Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; + A privacy of glorious light is thine; + Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood + Of harmony, with instinct more divine; + Type of the wise who soar, but never roam; + True to the kindred points of heaven and home! + +WORDSWORTH. + + * * * * * + +SHELLEY'S SKYLARK.--(Extracts.) + + Hail to thee, blithe spirit! + Bird thou never wert, + That from heaven, or near it, + Pourest thy full heart + In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. + + Higher still and higher + From the earth thou springest, + Like a cloud of fire, + The blue deep thou wingest, + And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. + + Teach us, sprite or bird, + What sweet thoughts are thine: + I have never heard + Praise of love or wine + That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. + + Chorus hymeneal + Or triumphal chant + Matched with thine, would be all + But an empty vaunt-- + A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. + + What objects are the fountains + Of thy happy strain? + What fields, or waves, or mountains? + What shapes of sky or plain? + What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain? + + Better than all measures + Of delightful sound, + Better than all treasures + That in books are found, + Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! + + Teach me half the gladness + That thy brain must know, + Such harmonious madness + From my lips would flow + The world should listen then, as I am listening now! + +P. B. SHELLEY. + + * * * * * + +HOGG'S SKYLARK. + + Bird of the wilderness, + Blithesome and cumberless, + Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! + Emblem of happiness, + Blest is thy dwelling-place,-- + Oh to abide in the desert with thee! + Wild is the day and loud + Far in the downy cloud, + Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. + Where, on thy dewy wing, + Where art thou journeying? + Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. + O'er fell and mountain sheen, + O'er moor and mountain green, + O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, + Over the cloudlet dim, + Over the rainbow's rim, + Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! + Then, when the gloaming comes, + Low in the heather blooms + Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! + Emblem of happiness, + Blest is thy dwelling-place, + Oh to abide in the desert with thee! + +JAMES HOGG. + + * * * * * + + A skylark wounded on the wing + Doth make a cherub cease to sing. + + He who shall hurt a little wren + Shall never be beloved by men. + +W. BLAKE. + + * * * * * + +THE SWEET-VOICED QUIRE. + + Lord, should we oft forget to sing + A thankful evening hymn of praise, + This duty, they to mind might bring, + Who chirp among the bushy sprays. + + For in their perches they retire, + When first the twilight waxeth dim; + And every night the sweet-voiced quire + Shuts up the daylight with a hymn. + + Ten thousand fold more cause have we + To close each day with praiseful voice, + To offer thankful hearts to Thee, + And in thy mercies to rejoice. + +GEORGE WITHER, 1628. + + * * * * * + +A CAGED LARK. + + A cruel deed + It is, sweet bird, to cage thee up + Prisoner for life, with just a cup + And a box of seed, + And sod to move on barely one foot square, + Hung o'er dark street, midst foul and murky air. + + From freedom brought, + And robbed of every chance of wing, + Thou couldst have had no heart to sing, + One would have thought. + But though thy song is sung, men little know + The yearning source from which those sweet notes flow. + + Poor little bird! + As often as I think of thee, + And how thou longest to be free, + My heart is stirred, + And, were my strength but equal to my rage, + Methinks thy cager would be in his cage. + + The selfish man! + To take thee from thy broader sphere, + Where thousands heard thy music clear, + On Nature's plan; + And where the listening landscape far and wide + Had joy, and thou thy liberty beside. + + A singing slave + Made now; with no return but food; + No mate to love, nor little brood + To feed and save; + No cool and leafy haunts; the cruel wires + Chafe thy young life and check thy just desires. + + Brave little bird! + Still striving with thy sweetest song + To melt the hearts that do thee wrong, + I give my word + To stand with those who for thy freedom fight, + Who claim for thee that freedom as thy right. + +_Chambers's Journal._ + + + * * * * * + +THE WOODLARK. + + I have a friend across the street, + We never yet exchanged a word, + Yet dear to me his accents sweet-- + I am a woman, he a bird. + + And here we twain in exile dwell, + Far from our native woods and skies, + And dewy lawns with healthful smell, + Where daisies lift their laughing eyes. + + Never again from moss-built nest + Shall the caged woodlark blithely soar; + Never again the heath be pressed + By foot of mine for evermore! + + Yet from that feathered, quivering throat + A blessing wings across to me; + No thrall can hold that mellow note, + Or quench its flame in slavery. + + When morning dawns in holy calm, + And each true heart to worship calls, + Mine is the prayer, but his the psalm, + That floats about our prison walls. + + And as behind the thwarting wires + The captive creature throbs and sings, + With him my mounting soul aspires + On Music's strong and cleaving wings. + + My chains fall off, the prison gates + Fly open, as with magic key; + And far from life's perplexing straits, + My spirit wanders, swift and free. + + Back to the heather, breathing deep + The fragrance of the mountain breeze, + I hear the wind's melodious sweep + Through tossing boughs of ancient trees. + + Beneath a porch where roses climb + I stand as I was used to stand, + Where cattle-bells with drowsy chime + Make music in the quiet land. + + Fast fades the dream in distance dim, + Tears rouse me with a sudden shock; + Lo! at my door, erect and trim, + The postman gives his double knock. + + And a great city's lumbering noise + Arises with confusing hum, + And whistling shrill of butchers' boys; + My day begins, my bird is dumb. + +_Temple Bar._ + + * * * * * + +KEATS'S NIGHTINGALE. + + Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! + No hungry generations tread thee down: + The voice I heard this passing night was heard + In ancient days by emperor and clown: + Perhaps the self-same song that found a path + Through the sad heart of Ruth, when sick for home, + She stood in tears amid the alien corn; + The same that ofttimes hath + Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam + Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. + + Forlorn! the very word is like a bell + To toll me back from thee to my sole self! + Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well + As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. + Adieu! Adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades + Past the near meadows, over the still stream, + Up the hill-side: and now 'tis buried deep + In the next valley-glades + Was it a vision, or a waking dream? + Fled is that music:--do I wake or sleep? + +J. KEATS. + + * * * * * + +LARK AND NIGHTINGALE. + + Color and form may be conveyed by words, + But words are weak to tell the heavenly strains + That from the throats of these celestial birds + Rang through the woods and o'er the echoing plains; + There was the meadow-lark with voice as sweet, + But robed in richer raiment than our own; + And as the moon smiled on his green retreat, + The painted nightingale sang out alone. + + Words cannot echo music's wingèd note, + One voice alone exhausts their utmost power; + 'Tis that strange bird, whose many-voicèd throat + Mocks all his brethren of the woodlawn bower, + To whom, indeed, the gift of tongues is given, + The musical, rich tongues that fill the grove; + Now, like the lark, dropping his notes from heaven, + Now cooing the soft notes of the dove. + + Oft have I seen him, scorning all control, + Winging his arrowy flight, rapid and strong, + As if in search of his evanished soul, + Lost in the gushing ecstasy of song; + And as I wandered on and upward gazed, + Half lost in admiration, half in fear, + I left the brothers wondering and amazed, + Thinking that all the choir of heaven was near. + +DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. + + * * * * * + +FLIGHT OF THE BIRDS. + + Meanwhile the tepid caves, and fens, and shores, + Their brood as numerous hatch from the egg that soon + Bursting with kindly rupture, forth disclosed + Their callow young; but feathered soon and fledge + They summed their pens; and, soaring the air sublime, + With clang despised the ground, under a cloud + In prospect: there the eagle and the stork + On cliffs and cedar-tops their eyries build; + Part loosely wing the region; part, more wise, + In common ranged in figure, wedge their way, + Intelligent of seasons, and set forth + Their aery caravan, high over seas + Flying, and over lands, with mutual wing + Easing their flight; so steers the prudent crane + Her annual voyage, borne on winds; the air + Floats as they pass, fanned with unnumbered plumes: + From branch to branch the smaller birds with song + Solaced the woods, and spread their painted wings + Till even; nor then the solemn nightingale + Ceased warbling, but all night tuned her soft lays: + Others, on silver lakes and rivers, bathed + Their downy breasts; the swan with archèd neck + Between her white wings, mantling proudly, rows + Her state with oary feet; yet oft they quit + The dank, and, rising on stiff pennons, tower + The mid aerial sky: others on ground + Walked firm; the crested cock, whose clarion sounds + The silent hours; and the other, whose gay train + Adorns him, colored with the florid hue + Of rainbows and starry eyes. + +MILTON: _Paradise Lost_, book 7. + + * * * * * + +A CHILD'S WISH. + + I would I were a note + From a sweet bird's throat! + I'd float on forever, + And melt away never! + I would I were a note + From a sweet bird's throat! + + But I am what I am! + As content as a lamb. + No new state I'll covet; + For how long should I love it? + No, I'll be what I am,-- + As content as a lamb! + +_Poetry for Children._ + + * * * * * + +THE HUMMING-BIRD. + + Emerald-plumèd, ruby-throated, + Flashing like a fair star + Where the humid, dew-becoated, + Sun-illumined blossoms are-- + See the fleet humming-bird! + Hark to his humming, heard + Loud as the whirr of a fairy king's car! + Sightliest, sprightliest, lightest, and brightest one, + Child of the summer sun, + Shining afar! + + Brave little humming-bird! + Every eye blesses thee; + Sunlight caresses thee, + Forest and field are the fairer for thee. + Blooms, at thy coming stirred, + Bend on each brittle stem, + Nod to the little gem, + Bow to the humming-bird, frolic and free. + Now around the woodbine hovering, + Now the morning-glory covering, + Now the honeysuckle sipping, + Now the sweet clematis tipping, + Now into the bluebell dipping; + Hither, thither, flashing, bright'ning, + Like a streak of emerald lightning: + Round the box, with milk-white plox; + Round the fragrant four-o'-clocks; + O'er the crimson quamoclit, + Lightly dost thou wheel and flit; + Into each tubèd throat + Dives little Ruby-throat. + + Bright-glowing airy thing, + Light-going fairy thing, + Not the grand lyre-bird + Rivals thee, splendid one!-- + Fairy-attended one, + Green-coated fire-bird! + Shiniest fragile one, + Tiniest agile one, + Falcon and eagle tremble before thee! + Dim is the regal peacock and lory, + And the pheasant, iridescent, + Pales before the gleam and glory + Of the jewel-change incessant, + When the sun is streaming o'er thee! + + Hear thy soft humming, + Like a sylph's drumming! + +_Californian._ + + * * * * * + +THE HUMMING-BIRD'S WEDDING + + A little brown mother-bird sat in her nest, + With four sleepy birdlings tucked under her breast, + And her querulous chirrup fell ceaseless and low, + While the wind rocked the lilac-tree nest to and fro. + + "Lie still, little nestlings! lie still while I tell, + For a lullaby story, a thing that befell + Your plain little mother one midsummer morn, + A month ago, birdies--before you were born. + + "I'd been dozing and dreaming the long summer night, + Till the dawn flushed its pink through the waning moonlight; + When--I wish you could hear it once!--faintly there fell + All around me the silvery sound of a bell. + + "Then a chorus of bells! So, with just half an eye, + I peeped from the nest, and those lilies close by, + With threads of a cobweb, were swung to and fro + By three little rollicking midgets below. + + "Then the air was astir as with humming-birds' wings! + And a cloud of the tiniest, daintiest things + That ever one dreamed of, came fluttering where + A cluster of trumpet-flowers swayed in the air. + + "As I sat all a-tremble, my heart in my bill-- + 'I will stay by the nest,' thought I, 'happen what will;' + So I saw with these eyes by that trumpet-vine fair, + A whole fairy bridal train poised in the air. + + "Such a bit of a bride! Such a marvel of grace! + In a shimmer of rainbows and gossamer lace; + No wonder the groom dropped his diamond-dust ring, + Which a little elf-usher just caught with his wing. + + "Then into a trumpet-flower glided the train, + And I thought (for a dimness crept over my brain, + And I tucked my head under my wing), 'Deary me! + What a sight for a plain little mother like me!'" + +MARY A. LATHBURY. + + * * * * * + +THE HEN AND THE HONEY-BEE. + + A lazy hen, the story goes, + Loquacious, pert, and self-conceited, + Espied a bee upon a rose, + And thus the busy insect greeted: + + "I've marked you well for many a day, + In garden blooms and meadow clover; + Now here, now there, in wanton play, + From morn till night an idle rover. + + "While I discreetly bide at home, + A faithful wife, the best of mothers, + About the fields you idly roam, + Without the least regard for others. + + "While I lay eggs and hatch them out, + You seek the flowers most sweet and fragrant; + And, sipping honey, stroll about, + At best a good for nothing vagrant." + + "Nay," said the bee, "you do me wrong: + I'm useful, too,--perhaps you doubt it: + Because, though toiling all day long, + I scorn to make a fuss about it. + + "Come now with me and see my hive, + And note how folks may work in quiet; + To useful arts much more alive + Than you with all your cackling riot!" + +JOHN G. SAXE. + + * * * * * + +SONG OF THE ROBIN. + + When the willows gleam along the brooks, + And the grass grows green in sunny nooks, + In the sunshine and the rain + I hear the robin in the lane + Singing "Cheerily, + Cheer up, cheer up; + Cheerily, cheerily, + Cheer up." + + But the snow is still + Along the walls and on the hill. + The days are cold, the nights forlorn, + For one is here and one is gone. + "Tut, tut. Cheerily, + Cheer up, cheer up; + Cheerily, cheerily, + Cheer up." + + When spring hopes seem to wane, + I hear the joyful strain-- + A song at night, a song at morn, + A lesson deep to me is borne, + Hearing, "Cheerily, + Cheer up, cheer up; + Cheerily, cheerily, + Cheer up." + +_Masque of Poets._ + + * * * * * + +SIR ROBIN. + + Rollicking Robin is here again. + What does he care for the April rain? + Care for it? Glad of it. Doesn't he know + That the April rain carries off the snow, + And coaxes out leaves to shadow his nest, + And washes his pretty red Easter vest, + And makes the juice of the cherry sweet, + For his hungry little robins to eat? + "Ha! ha! ha!" hear the jolly bird laugh. + "That isn't the best of the story, by half!" + + Gentleman Robin, he walks up and down, + Dressed in orange-tawney and black and brown. + Though his eye is so proud and his step so firm, + He can always stoop to pick up a worm. + With a twist of his head, and a strut and a hop, + To his Robin-wife, in the peach-tree top, + Chirping her heart out, he calls: "My dear + You don't earn your living! Come here! Come here! + Ha! ha! ha! Life is lovely and sweet; + But what would it be if we'd nothing to eat?" + + Robin, Sir Robin, gay, red-vested knight, + Now you have come to us, summer's in sight. + You never dream of the wonders you bring,-- + Visions that follow the flash of your wing. + How all the beautiful By-and-by + Around you and after you seems to fly! + Sing on, or eat on, as pleases your mind! + Well have you earned every morsel you find. + "Aye! Ha! ha! ha!" whistles robin. "My dear, + Let us all take our own choice of good cheer!" + +LUCY LARCOM. + + * * * * * + +THE DEAR OLD ROBINS. + + There's a call upon the housetop, an answer from the plain, + There's a warble in the sunshine, a twitter in the rain. + And through my heart, at sound of these, + There comes a nameless thrill, + As sweet as odor to the rose, + Or verdure to the hill; + And all the joyous mornings + My heart pours forth this strain: + "God bless the dear old robins + Who have come back again." + + For they bring a thought of summer, of dreamy, precious days, + Of king-cups in the summer, making a golden haze; + A longing for the clover blooms, + For roses all aglow, + For fragrant blossoms where the bees + With droning murmurs go; + I dream of all the beauties + Of summer's golden reign, + And sing: "God keep the robins + Who have come back again." + +ANON. + + * * * * * + +ROBINS QUIT THE NEST. + + "Now, robins, my darlings, I think it is best," + Said old mother bird, "that you all quit the nest. + You've grown very plump, and the nest is so small + That really there isn't quite room for you all. + + "The day is so fair and the sun is so bright, + I think I can teach you to fly before night: + And, when you have learned, you can go where you please, + As high as the gable,--yes! high as the trees. + + "Come, Dickey, hop out, and stand up here by me; + The rest of you stand on the branch of the tree; + Don't be frightened, my dears; there's no danger at all, + For mother will not let her dear birdies fall. + + "Now all spread your wings. Ah! but that is too high; + Just see how _I_ do it. Now, all again try! + Ah! that is much better. Now try it once more. + Bravo! much better than ever before! + + "Now flutter about, up and down, here and there: + My dears, you'll be flying before you're aware. + Now carefully drop from the tree to the ground; + There's nothing to fear, for there's grass all around. + + "All starting but Robbie. 'Afraid you shall fall?' + Ah! don't be a craven, be bravest of all. + Now up and now down, now away to yon spire: + Go on: don't be frightened: fly higher and higher." + + * * * * * + + "I've waited one hour, right here on the tree: + Not one of my robins has come back to me. + How soon they forget all the trouble they bring! + Never mind: I'll fly up on the tree-top and sing." + +MRS. C. F. BERRY. + + * * * * * + +LOST--THREE LITTLE ROBIN'S. + + Oh, where is the boy, dressed in jacket of gray, + Who climbed up a tree in the orchard to-day, + And carried my three little birdies away? + They hardly were dressed, + When he took from the nest + My three little robins, and left me bereft. + + O wrens! have you seen, in your travels to-day, + A very small boy, dressed in jacket of gray, + Who carried my three little robins away? + He had light-colored hair, + And his feet were both bare. + Ah me! he was cruel and mean, I declare. + + O butterfly! stop just one moment, I pray: + Have you seen a boy dressed in jacket of gray, + Who carried my three little birdies away? + He had pretty blue eyes, + And was small of his size. + Ah! he must be wicked, and not very wise. + + O bees! with your bags of sweet nectarine, stay; + Have you seen a boy dressed in jacket of gray, + And carrying three little birdies away? + Did he go through the town, + Or go sneaking aroun' + Through hedges and byways, with head hanging down? + + O boy with blue eyes, dressed in jacket of gray! + If you will bring back my three robins to-day, + With sweetest of music the gift I'll repay; + I'll sing all day long + My merriest song, + And I will forgive you this terrible wrong. + + Bobolinks! did you see my birdies and me-- + How happy we were on the old apple-tree? + Until I was robbed of my young, as you see? + Oh, how can I sing, + Unless he will bring + My three robins back, to sleep under my wing? + +MRS. C. F. BERRY: _Songs for Our Darlings_. + + * * * * * + +THE TERRIBLE SCARECROW AND ROBINS. + + The farmer looked at his cherry-tree, + With thick buds clustered on every bough. + "I wish I could cheat the robins," said he. + "If somebody only would show me how! + + "I'll make a terrible scarecrow grim, + With threatening arms and with bristling head; + And up in the tree I'll fasten him, + To frighten them half to death," he said. + + He fashioned a scarecrow all tattered and torn,-- + Oh, 'twas a horrible thing to see! + And very early, one summer morn, + He set it up in his cherry-tree. + + The blossoms were white as the light sea-foam, + The beautiful tree was a lovely sight; + But the scarecrow stood there so much at home + That the birds flew screaming away in fright. + + But the robins, watching him day after day, + With heads on one side and eyes so bright, + Surveying the monster, began to say, + "Why should this fellow our prospects blight? + + "He never moves round for the roughest weather, + He's a harmless, comical, tough old fellow. + Let's all go into the tree together, + For he won't budge till the fruit is mellow!" + + So up they flew; and the sauciest pair + 'Mid the shady branches peered and perked, + Selected a spot with the utmost care, + And all day merrily sang and worked. + + And where do you think they built their nest? + In the scarecrow's pocket, if you please, + That, half-concealed on his ragged breast, + Made a charming covert of safety and ease! + + By the time the cherries were ruby-red, + A thriving family hungry and brisk, + The whole long day on the ripe food fed. + 'Twas so convenient! they saw no risk! + + Until the children were ready to fly, + All undisturbed they lived in the tree; + For nobody thought to look at the guy + For a robin's flourishing family! + +CELIA THAXTER. + + * * * * * + +THE SONG SPARROW. + + A little gray bird with a speckled breast, + Under my window has built his nest; + He sits on at twig and singeth clear + A song that overfloweth with cheer: + "Love! Love! Love! + Let us be happy, my love. + Sing of cheer." + + Sweet and true are the notes of his song; + Sweet--and yet always full and strong, + True--and yet they are never sad, + Serene with that peace that maketh glad: + "Life! Life! Life! + Oh, what a blessing is life; + Life is glad!" + + Of all the birds, I love thee best, + Dear Sparrow, singing of joy and rest; + Rest--but life and hope increase, + Joy--whose spring is deepest peace: + "Joy! Life! Love! + Oh, to love and live is joy,-- + Joy and peace." + +MISS HARRIET E. PAINE: _Bird Songs of New England._ + + * * * * * + +THE FIELD SPARROW. + + A bubble of music floats + The slope of the hillside over-- + A little wandering sparrow's notes-- + On the bloom of yarrow and clover. + And the smell of sweet-fern and the bayberry-leaf + On his ripple of song are stealing; + For he is a chartered thief, + The wealth of the fields revealing. + + One syllable, clear and soft + As a raindrop's silvery patter, + Or a tinkling fairy-bell, heard aloft, + In the midst of the merry chatter + Of robin and linnet and wren and jay, + One syllable, oft-repeated: + He has but a word to say, + And of that he will not be cheated. + + The singer I have not seen; + But the song I arise and follow + The brown hills over, the pastures green, + And into the sunlit hollow. + With the joy of a lowly heart's content + I can feel my glad eyes glisten, + Though he hides in his happy tent, + While I stand outside and listen. + + This way would I also sing, + My dear little hillside neighbor! + A tender carol of peace to bring + To the sunburnt fields of labor, + Is better than making a loud ado. + Trill on, amid clover and yarrow: + There's a heart-beat echoing you, + And blessing you, blithe little sparrow! + +LUCY LARCOM. + + * * * * * + +THE SPARROW. + + Glad to see you, little bird; + 'Twas your little chirp I heard: + What did you intend to say? + "Give me something this cold day?" + + That I will, and plenty too; + All the crumbs I saved for you. + Don't be frightened: here's a treat. + I will wait and see you eat. + + Shocking tales I hear of you; + Chirp, and tell me, are they true? + Robbing all the summer long; + Don't you think it very wrong? + + Thomas says you steal his wheat; + John complains his plums you eat, + Choose the ripest for your share, + Never asking whose they are? + + But I will not try to know + What you did so long ago: + There's your breakfast; eat away; + Come and see me every day. + +_Child's Book of Poetry._ + + * * * * * + +PICCOLA AND SPARROW. + + Poor, sweet Piccola! Did you hear + What happened to Piccola, children dear? + 'Tis seldom Fortune such favor grants + As fell to this little maid of France. + + 'Twas Christmas-time, and her parents poor + Could hardly drive the wolf from the door, + Striving with poverty's patient pain + Only to live till summer again. + + No gifts for Piccola! Sad were they + When dawned the morning of Christmas Day; + Their little darling no joy might stir, + St. Nicholas nothing would bring to her! + + But Piccola never doubted at all + That something beautiful must befall + Every child upon Christmas Day, + And so she slept till the dawn was gray. + + And, full of faith, when at last she woke, + She stole to her shoe as the morning broke; + Such sounds of gladness tilled all the air, + 'Twas plain St. Nicholas had been there! + + In rushed Piccola sweet, half wild: + Never was seen such a joyful child. + "See what the good saint brought!" she cried, + And mother and father must peep inside. + + Now such a story who ever heard? + There was a little shivering bird! + A sparrow, that in at the window flew, + Had crept into Piccola's tiny shoe! + + "How good Piccola must have been!" + She cried as happy as any queen, + While the starving sparrow she fed and warmed, + And danced with rapture, she was so charmed. + + Children, this story I tell to you, + Of Piccola sweet and her bird, is true. + In the far-off land of France, they say, + Still do they live to this very day. + +CELIA THAXTER. + + * * * * * + +LITTLE SPARROW. + + Touch not the little sparrow who doth build + His home so near us. He doth follow us, + From spot to spot, amidst the turbulent town, + And ne'er deserts us. To all other birds + The woods suffice, the rivers, the sweet fields, + And Nature in her aspect mute and fair; + But he doth herd with men. Blithe servant! live, + Feed, and grow cheerful! on my window's ledge + I'll leave thee every morning some fit food + In payment for thy service. + +BARRY CORNWALL. + + * * * * * + +THE SWALLOW. + + A swallow in the spring + Came to our granary, and beneath the eaves + Essayed to make a nest, and there did bring + Wet earth and straw and leaves. + + Day after day she toiled + With patient art; but, ere her work was crowned, + Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled, + And dashed it to the ground. + + She found the ruin wrought; + But, not cast down, forth from the place she flew, + And, with her mate, fresh earth and grasses brought, + And built her nest anew. + + But scarcely had she placed + The last soft feather on its ample floor, + When wicked hands, on chance, again laid waste, + And wrought the ruin o'er. + + But still her heart she kept, + And toiled again; and last night, hearing calls, + I looked,--and, lo! three little swallows slept + Within the earth-made walls. + + What truth is here, O man! + Hath hope been smitten in its early dawn? + Have clouds o'ercast thy purpose, truth, or plan? + Have faith, and struggle on! + +R. S. ANDROS. + + * * * * * + +THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST. + + Once the Emperor Charles of Spain, + With his swarthy, grave commanders, + I forget in what campaign, + Long besieged, in mud and rain, + Some old frontier town of Flanders. + + Up and down the dreary camp, + In great boots of Spanish leather, + Striding with a measured tramp, + These Hidalgos, dull and damp, + Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather. + + Thus as to and fro they went, + Over upland and through hollow, + Giving their impatience vent, + Perched upon the Emperor's tent, + In her nest, they spied a swallow. + + Yes, it was a swallow's nest, + Built of clay and hair of horses, + Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest, + Found on hedge-rows east and west, + After skirmish of the forces. + + Then an old Hidalgo said, + As he twirled his gray mustachio, + "Sure this swallow overhead + Thinks the Emperor's tent a shed, + And the Emperor but a Macho!" + + Hearing his imperial name + Coupled with those words of malice, + Half in anger, half in shame, + Forth the great campaigner came + Slowly from his canvas palace. + + "Let no hand the bird molest," + Said he solemnly, "nor hurt her!" + Adding then, by way of jest, + "Golondrina is my guest, + 'Tis the wife of some deserter!" + + Swift as bowstring speed, a shaft, + Through the camp was spread the rumor, + And the soldiers, as they quaffed + Flemish beer at dinner, laughed + At the Emperor's pleasant humor. + + So unharmed and unafraid + Sat the swallow still and brooded, + Till the constant cannonade + Through the walls a breach had made, + And the siege was thus concluded. + + Then the army, elsewhere bent, + Struck its tents as if disbanding, + Only not the Emperor's tent, + For he ordered, ere he went, + Very curtly, "Leave it standing!" + + So it stood there all alone, + Loosely flapping, torn and tattered, + Till the brood was fledged and flown, + Singing o'er those walls of stone + Which the cannon-shot had shattered. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +TO A SWALLOW BUILDING UNDER OUR EAVES. + + Thou too hast travelled, little fluttering thing-- + Hast seen the world, and now thy weary wing + Thou too must rest. + But much, my little bird, couldst thou but tell, + I'd give to know why here thou lik'st so well + To build thy nest. + + For thou hast passed fair places in thy flight; + A world lay all beneath thee where to light; + And, strange thy taste, + Of all the varied scenes that met thine eye-- + Of all the spots for building 'neath the sky-- + To choose this waste. + + Did fortune try thee? was thy little purse + Perchance run low, and thou, afraid of worse, + Felt here secure? + Ah no! thou need'st not gold, thou happy one! + Thou know'st it not. Of all God's creatures, man + Alone is poor. + + What was it, then? some mystic turn of thought, + Caught under German eaves, and hither brought, + Marring thine eye + For the world's loveliness, till thou art grown + A sober thing that dost but mope and moan, + Not knowing why? + + Nay, if thy mind be sound, I need not ask, + Since here I see thee working at thy task + With wing and beak. + A well-laid scheme doth that small head contain, + At which thou work'st, brave bird, with might and main, + Nor more need'st seek. + + In truth, I rather take it thou hast got + By instinct wise much sense about thy lot, + And hast small care + Whether an Eden or a desert be + Thy home, so thou remain'st alive, and free + To skim the air. + + God speed thee, pretty bird; may thy small nest + With little ones all in good time be blest. + I love thee much; + For well thou managest that life of thine, + While I! oh, ask not what I do with mine! + Would I were such! + +MRS. THOMAS CARLYLE. + + * * * * * + +THE SWALLOW, THE OWL, AND THE COCK'S SHRILL CLARION IN THE "ELEGY." + + The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, + The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, + The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, + And leaves the world to darkness and to me. + + Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, + And all the air a solemn stillness holds, + Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, + And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds. + + Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower + The moping owl does to the moon complain + Of such as, wandering near her secret bower, + Molest her ancient, solitary reign. + + Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, + Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, + Each in his narrow cell forever laid, + The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. + + The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, + The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, + The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, + No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. + +GRAY. + + * * * * * + +THE STATUE OVER THE CATHEDRAL DOOR. + + Forms of saints and kings are standing + The cathedral door above; + Yet I saw but one among them + Who hath soothed my soul with love. + + In his mantle,--wound about him, + As their robes the sowers wind,-- + Bore he swallows and their fledglings, + Flowers and weeds of every kind. + + And so stands he calm and child-like, + High in wind and tempest wild; + Oh, were I like him exalted, + I would be like him, a child! + + And my songs,--green leaves and blossoms,-- + To the doors of heaven would bear, + Calling, even in storm and tempest, + Round me still these birds of air. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +THE BIRD LET LOOSE. + + The bird let loose in eastern skies, + When hastening fondly home, + Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies + Where idle warblers roam; + + But high she shoots through air and light, + Above all low delay, + Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, + Nor shadow dims her way. + + So grant me, God, from every care + And stain of passion free, + Aloft, through Virtue's purer air, + To hold my course to thee! + + No sin to cloud, no lure to stay + My soul, as home she springs;-- + Thy sunshine on her joyful way, + Thy freedom in her wings! + +T. MOORE. + + * * * * * + +THE BROWN THRUSH. + + There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree. + "He's singing to me! He's singing to me!" + And what does he say, little girl, little boy? + "Oh, the world's running over with joy! + Don't you hear? Don't you see? + Hush! Look! In my tree + I'm as happy as happy can be!" + + And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see, + And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper-tree? + Don't meddle! don't touch! little girl, little boy, + Or the world will lose some of its joy! + Now I'm glad! now I'm free! + And always shall be, + If you never bring sorrow to me." + + So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, + To you and to me, to you and to me; + And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, + "Oh, the world's running over with joy! + Don't you know? don't you see? + But long it won't be, + Unless we are as good as can be?" + +LUCY LARCOM. + + * * * * * + +THE GOLDEN-CROWNED THRUSH. + + In the hot midsummer noontide, + When all other birds are sleeping, + Still one in the silent forest, + Like a sentry, watch in keeping, + Singing in the pine-tops spicy: + "I see, _I_ see, _I SEE_, _I_ SEE." + + No one ever sees _you_, atom! + You are hidden too securely. + I have sought for hours to find you. + It is but to tease us, surely, + That you sing in pine-tops spicy: + "I see, _I_ see, _I SEE_, _I_ SEE." + +HARRIET E. PAINE: _Bird Songs of New England._ + + * * * * * + +THE THRUSH. + + Beside the cottage in which Ellen dwelt + Stands a tall ash-tree; to whose topmost twig + A thrush resorts, and annually chants, + At morn and evening from that naked perch, + While all the undergrove is thick with leaves, + A time-beguiling ditty, for delight + Of his fond partner, silent in the nest. + "Ah why," said Ellen, sighing to herself, + "Why do not words, and kiss, and solemn pledge, + And nature that is kind in woman's breast, + And reason that in man is wise and good, + And fear of Him who is a righteous Judge,-- + Why do not these prevail for human life, + To keep two hearts together, that began + Their spring-time with one love, and that have need + Of mutual pity and forgiveness, sweet + To grant, or be received; while that poor bird,-- + Oh come and hear him! Thou who hast to me + Been faithless, hear him, _though a lowly creature, + One of God's simple children that yet know not + The universal Parent, how he sings + As if he wished the firmament of heaven + Should listen, and give back to him the voice + Of his triumphant constancy and love;_ + The proclamation that he makes, how far + His darkness doth transcend our fickle light!" + +WORDSWORTH. + + * * * * * + +THE AZIOLA. + + "Do you not hear the Aziola cry? + Methinks she must be nigh," + Said Mary, as we sate + In dusk, ere stars were lit or candles brought, + And I, who thought, + This Aziola was some tedious woman, + Asked, "Who is Aziola?" How elate + I felt to know that it was nothing human, + No mockery of myself to fear or hate; + And Mary saw my soul, + And laughed and said, "Disquiet yourself not, + 'Tis nothing but a little downy owl." + + Sad Aziola! many an eventide + Thy music I had heard + By wood and stream, meadow and mountain-side, + And fields and marshes wide, + Such as nor voice, nor lute, nor wind, nor bird, + The soul ever stirred; + Unlike and far sweeter than them all. + Sad Aziola! from that moment I + Loved thee and thy sad cry. + +SHELLEY. + + * * * * * + +THE MARTEN. + + This guest of summer, + The temple-haunting martlet, does approve, + By his loved mansionry, that the heaven's breath + Smells wooingly here. No jutty, frieze, + Buttress, nor coigne of vantage, but this bird + Hath made his pendent bed, and procreant cradle. + Where they most breed and haunt, I have observed + The air is delicate. + +_Macbeth_, Act 1, Sc. 6. + + * * * * * + +JUDGE YOU AS YOU ARE? + + How would you be + If He which is the top of Judgment should + But judge you as you are? Oh, think on that, + And Mercy then will breathe within your lips + Like man new made. + +_Measure for Measure_, Act 2, Sc. 2. + + * * * * * + +ROBERT OF LINCOLN. + + Merrily singing on briar and weed, + Near to the nest of his little dame, + Over the mountain-side or mead, + Robert of Lincoln is telling his name. + Bob-o'-link, Bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + Snug and safe in that nest of ours, + Hidden among the summer flowers; + Chee, chee, chee. + + Robert of Lincoln is gayly drest, + Wearing a bright-black wedding coat; + White are his shoulders, and white his crest, + Hear him call his merry note: + Bob-o'-link, Bob-o'-link, + Spink, spank, spink; + Look what a nice new coat is mine, + Sure there was never a bird so fine; + Chee, chee, chee. + + Six white eggs on a bed of hay, + Freckled with purple, a pretty sight! + There as the mother sits all day, + Robert is singing with all his might. + Nice good wife, that never goes out, + Keeping house while I frolic about. + + Summer wanes,--the children are grown; + Fun and frolic no more he knows, + Robert of Lincoln's a humdrum crone: + Off he flies, and we sing as he goes,-- + "When you can pipe in that merry old strain, + Robert of Lincoln come back again." + +W. C. BRYANT. + + * * * * * + +MY DOVES. + + My little doves have left a nest + Upon an Indian tree, + Whose leaves fantastic take their rest + Or motion from the sea; + For, ever there, the sea-winds go + With sunlit paces to and fro. + + The tropic flowers looked up to it, + The tropic stars looked down, + And there my little doves did sit, + With feathers softly brown, + And glittering eyes that showed their right + To general Nature's deep delight. + + My little doves were ta'en away + From that glad nest of theirs, + Across an ocean rolling gray, + And tempest clouded airs. + My little doves,--who lately knew + The sky and wave by warmth and blue! + + And now, within the city prison, + In mist and dullness pent, + With sudden upward look they listen + For sounds of past content-- + For lapse of water, swell of breeze, + Or nut-fruit falling from the trees. + + Soft falls their chant as on the nest + Beneath the sunny zone; + For love that stirred it in their breast + Has not aweary grown, + And 'neath the city's shade can keep + The well of music clear and deep. + + So teach ye me the wisest part, + My little doves! to move + Along the city-ways with heart + Assured by holy love, + And vocal with such songs as own + A fountain to the world unknown. + +MRS. BROWNING. + + * * * * * + +THE DOVES OF VENICE. + + I stood in the quiet piazza, + Where come rude noises never; + But the feet of children, the wings of doves, + Are sounding on forever. + + And the cooing of their soft voices, + And the touch of the rippling sea, + And the ringing clock of the armèd knight, + Came through the noon to me. + + While their necks with rainbow gleaming, + 'Neath the dark old arches shone, + And the campanile's shadow long, + Moved o'er the pavement stone. + + And from every "coigne of vantage," + Where lay some hidden nest, + They fluttered, peeped, and glistened forth, + Sacred, serene, at rest. + + I thought of thy saint, O Venice! + Who said in his tenderness, + "I love thy birds, my Father dear, + Our lives they cheer and bless! + + "For love is not for men only; + To the tiniest little things + Give room to nestle in our hearts; + Give freedom to all wings!" + + And the lovely, still piazza, + Seemed with his presence blest, + And I, and the children, and the doves, + Partakers of his rest. + +LAURA WINTHROP JOHNSON. + + * * * * * + +SONG OF THE DOVE. + + There sitteth a dove so white and fair, + All on the lily spray, + And she listeneth how, to Jesus Christ, + The little children pray. + + Lightly she spreads her friendly wings, + And to heaven's gate hath sped, + And unto the Father in heaven she bears + The prayers which the children have said. + + And back she comes from heaven's gate, + And brings--that dove so mild-- + From the Father in heaven, who hears her speak, + A blessing for every child. + + Then, children, lift up a pious prayer, + It hears whatever you say, + That heavenly dove, so white and fair, + That sits on the lily spray. + +FREDERIKA BREMER. + + * * * * * + +WHAT THE QUAIL SAYS. + + Whistles the quail from the covert, + Whistles with all his might, + High and shrill, day after day, + "Children, tell me, what does he say?" + _Ginx_--(the little one, bold and bright, + Sure that he understands aright)-- + "He says, 'Bob White! Bob White!'" + + Calls the quail from the cornfield, + Thick with stubble set; + Misty rain-clouds floating by + Hide the blue of the August sky. + "What does he call now, loud and plain?" + _Gold Locks_--"That's a sign of rain! + He calls 'More wet! more wet!'" + + Pipes the quail from the fence-top, + Perched there full in sight, + Quaint and trim, with quick, bright eye, + Almost too round and plump to fly, + Whistling, calling, piping clear, + "What do _I_ think he says? My dear, + He says 'Do right! do right!'" + +MRS. CLARA DOTY BATES. + + * * * * * + +CHICK-A-DEE-DEE. + + The snowflakes are drifting round windows and door; + The chilly winds whistle "Remember the poor;" + Remember the birds, too, out on yonder tree; + I hear one just singing a Chick-a-dee-dee. + + Throw out a few crumbs! you've enough and to spare; + They need through the winter your kindness and care; + And they will repay you with heartiest glee, + By constantly singing a Chick-a-dee-dee. + + Each morning you'll see them go hopping around, + Though little they find on the cold frozen ground; + Yet never disheartened! on each bush and tree, + They merrily carol a Chick-a-dee-dee. + + Oh! sweet little songster; so fearless and bold! + Your little pink feet--do they never feel cold? + Have you a warm shelter at night for your bed, + Where under your wing you can tuck your brown head? + + Though cold grows the season you seem not to care, + But cheerily warble though frosty the air; + Though short are the days, and the nights are so long, + And most of your playmates are scattered and gone. + + The snowflakes are drifting round window and door, + And chilly winds whistle behind and before, + Yet never discouraged, on each bush and tree, + You'll hear the sweet carol of Chick-a-dee-dee. + +MRS. C. F. BERRY. + + * * * * * + +THE LINNET. + + What is the happiest morning song? + The Linnet's. He warbles, blithe and free, + In the sunlit top of the old elm-tree, + Joyous and fresh, and hopeful and strong. + + The trees are not high enough, little bird; + You mount and wheel, and eddy and soar, + And with every turn yet more and more + Your wonderful, ravishing music is heard. + + A crimson speck in the bright blue sky, + Do you search for the secret of heaven's deep glow? + Is not heaven _within_, when you carol so? + Then why, dear bird, must you soar so high? + + He answers nothing, but soars and sings; + He heeds no doubtful question like this. + He only bubbles over with bliss, + And sings, and mounts on winning wings. + +HARRIET E. PAINE: _Bird Songs of New England._ + + * * * * * + +HEAR THE WOODLAND LINNET. + + Books! 'tis a dull and endless strife: + Come, hear the woodland Linnet, + How sweet his music! on my life, + There's more of wisdom in it. + + And hark! how blithe the Throstle sings! + He, too, is no mean preacher: + Come forth into the light of things, + Let Nature be your teacher. + + Sweet is the love which Nature brings: + Our meddling intellect + Misshapes the beauteous forms of things: + We murder to dissect. + + Enough of Science and of Art: + Close up these barren leaves: + Come forth, and bring with you a heart + That watches and receives. + +W. WORDSWORTH. + + * * * * * + +THE PARROT. + +A TRUE STORY. + + The deep affections of the breast + That heaven to living things imparts, + Are not exclusively possessed + By human hearts. + + A Parrot, from the Spanish main, + Full young and early caged came o'er, + With bright wings, to the bleak domain + Of Mulla's shore. + + To spicy groves where he had won + His plumage of resplendent hue, + His native fruits, and skies, and sun, + He bade adieu. + + For these he changed the smoke of turf, + A heathery land and misty sky, + And turned on rocks and raging surf + His golden eye. + + But petted in our climate cold, + He lived and chattered many a day: + Until with age, from green and gold + His wings grew gray. + + At last when blind, and seeming dumb, + He scolded, laughed, and spoke no more, + A Spanish stranger chanced to come + To Mulla's shore; + + He hailed the bird in Spanish speech, + The bird in Spanish speech replied; + Flapped round the cage with joyous screech, + Dropt down, and died. + +T. CAMPBELL. + + * * * * * + +THE COMMON QUESTION. + + Behind us at our evening meal + The gray bird ate his fill, + Swung downward by a single claw, + And wiped his hookèd bill. + + He shook his wings and crimson tail, + And set his head aslant, + And, in his sharp, impatient way, + Asked, "What does Charlie want?" + + "Fie, silly bird!" I answered, "tuck + Your head beneath your wing, + And go to sleep;"--but o'er and o'er + He asked the selfsame thing. + + Then, smiling, to myself I said:--How + like are men and birds! + We all are saying what he says, + In actions or in words. + + The boy with whip and top and drum, + The girl with hoop and doll, + And men with lands and houses, ask + The question of Poor Poll. + + However full, with something more + We fain the bag would cram; + We sigh above our crowded nets + For fish that never swam. + + No bounty of indulgent Heaven + The vague desire can stay; + Self-love is still a Tartar mill + For grinding prayers alway. + + The dear God hears and pities all; + He knoweth all our wants; + And what we blindly ask of Him + His love withholds or grants. + + And so I sometimes think our prayers + Might well be merged in one; + And nest and perch and hearth and church + Repeat, "Thy will be done." + +JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER. + + * * * * * + +WHY NOT DO IT, SIR, TO-DAY? + + "Why, so I will, you noisy bird, + This very day I'll advertise you, + Perhaps some busy ones may prize you. + A fine-tongued parrot as was ever heard, + I'll word it thus--set forth all charms about you, + And say no family should be without you." + + Thus far a gentleman addressed a bird; + Then to his friend: "An old procrastinator, + Sir, I am: do you wonder that I hate her? + Though she but seven words can say, + Twenty and twenty times a day + She interferes with all my dreams, + My projects, plans, and airy schemes, + Mocking my foible to my sorrow: + I'll advertise this bird to-morrow." + + To this the bird seven words did say: + "Why not do it, sir, to-day?" + +CHARLES AND MARY LAMB. + + * * * * * + +TO A REDBREAST. + + Little bird, with bosom red, + Welcome to my humble shed! + Courtly domes of high degree + Have no room for thee and me; + Pride and pleasure's fickle throng + Nothing mind an idle song. + Daily near my table steal, + While I pick my scanty meal:-- + Doubt not, little though there be, + But I'll cast a crumb to thee; + Well rewarded, if I spy + Pleasure in thy glancing eye; + See thee, when thou'st eat thy fill, + Plume thy breast and wipe thy bill. + Come, my feathered friend, again? + Well thou know'st the broken pane:-- + Ask of me thy daily store. + +J. LANGHORNE. + + * * * * * + +PHOEBE. + + Ere pales in heaven the morning star, + A bird, the loneliest of its kind, + Hears dawn's faint footfall from afar, + While all its mates are dumb and blind. + + It is a wee, sad-colored thing, + As shy and secret as a maid, + That, ere in choir the robins ring, + Pipes its own name like one afraid. + + It seems pain-prompted to repeat + The story of some ancient ill, + But Phoebe! Phoebe! sadly sweet, + Is all it says, and then is still. + + It calls and listens: earth and sky, + Hushed by the pathos of its fate, + Listen: no whisper of reply + Comes from the doom-dissevered mate. + + Phoebe! it calls and calls again, + And Ovid, could he but have heard, + Had hung a legendary pain + About the memory of the bird; + + A pain articulate so long + In penance of some mouldered crime, + Whose ghost still flies the furies' thong + Down the waste solitudes of time; + + * * * * * + + Phoebe! is all it has to say + In plaintive cadence o'er and o'er, + Like children that have lost their way + And know their names, but nothing more. + + Is it in type, since Nature's lyre + Vibrates to every note in man, + Of that insatiable desire + Meant to be so, since life began? + + I, in strange lands at gray of dawn, + Wakeful, have heard that fruitless plaint + Through memory's chambers deep withdrawn + Renew its iterations faint. + + So nigh! yet from remotest years + It seems to draw its magic, rife + With longings unappeased, and tears + Drawn from the very source of life. + +JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL: in _Scribner_. + + * * * * * + +TO THE STORK. + + Welcome, O Stork! that dost wing + Thy flight from the far-away! + Thou hast brought us the signs of Spring, + Thou hast made our sad hearts gay. + + Descend, O Stork! descend + Upon our roof to rest; + In our ash-tree, O my friend, + My darling, make thy nest. + + To thee, O Stork, I complain, + O Stork, to thee I impart + The thousand sorrows, the pain + And aching of my heart. + + When thou away didst go, + Away from this tree of ours, + The withering winds did blow, + And dried up all the flowers. + + Dark grew the brilliant sky, + Cloudy and dark and drear; + They were breaking the snow on high, + And winter was drawing near. + + From Varaca's rocky wall, + From the rock of Varaca unrolled, + The snow came and covered all, + And the green meadow was cold. + + O Stork, our garden with snow + Was hidden away and lost, + And the rose-trees that in it grow + Were withered by snow and frost. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +THE STORKS OF DELFT. + + +The tradition of the storks at Delft (Holland), is, however, still alive, +and no traveller writes about the city without remembering them. + +The fact occurred at the time of the great fire which ruined almost all the +city. There were in Delft innumerable storks' nests. It must be understood +that the stork is the favorite bird of Holland; the bird of good fortune, +like the swallow; welcome to all, because it makes war upon toads and +frogs; that the peasants plant poles with circular floor of wood on top to +attract them to make their nests, and that in some towns they may be seen +walking in the streets. At Delft they were in great numbers. When the fire +broke out, which was on the 3d May, the young storks were fledged, but +could not yet fly. Seeing the fire approach, the parent storks attempted to +carry their young out of danger; but they were too heavy; and, after having +tried all sorts of desperate efforts, the poor birds were forced to give it +up. + +They might have saved themselves and have abandoned the little ones to +their fate, as human creatures often do under similar circumstances. But +they stayed upon their nests, gathered their little ones about them, +covered them with their wings, as if to retard, as long as possible, the +fatal moment, and so awaited death, in that loving and noble attitude. + +And who shall say if, in the horrible dismay and flight from the flames, +that example of self-sacrifice, that voluntary maternal martyrdom, may not +have given strength and courage to some weak soul who was about to abandon +those who had need of him. + +DE AMICIS' _Holland_. + + * * * * * + +THE PHEASANT. + + See! from the brake the whirring pheasant springs + And mounts exulting on triumphant wings. + Short is his joy; he feels the fiery wound, + Flutters in blood, and panting beats the ground. + Ah! what avail his glossy, varying dyes, + His purple crest, and scarlet-circled eyes, + The vivid green his shining plumes unfold, + His painted wings, and breast that flames with gold! + +POPE. + + * * * * * + +THE HERONS OF ELMWOOD. + + Silent are all the sounds of day; + Nothing I hear but the chirp of crickets, + And the cry of the herons winging their way + O'er the poet's house in the Elmwood thickets. + + Call to him, herons, as slowly you pass + To your roosts in the haunts of the exiled thrushes, + Sing him the song of the green morass, + And the tides that water the reeds and rushes. + + Sing him the mystical song of the Hern, + And the secret that baffles our utmost seeking; + For only a sound of lament we discern, + And cannot interpret the words you are speaking. + + Sing of the air, and the wild delight + Of wings that uplift and winds that uphold you, + The joy of freedom, the rapture of flight + Through the drift of the floating mists that enfold you; + + Of the landscape lying so far below, + With its towns and rivers and desert places; + And the splendor of light above, and the glow + Of the limitless, blue, ethereal spaces. + + Ask him if songs of the Troubadours, + Or of Minnesingers in old black-letter, + Sound in his ears more sweet than yours, + And if yours are not sweeter and wilder and better. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +WALTER VON DER VOGELWEID. + + Vogelweid the Minnesinger, + When he left this world of ours, + Laid his body in the cloister, + Under Würtzburg's minster towers. + + And he gave the monks his treasures, + Gave them all with this behest: + They should feed the birds at noontide + Daily on his place of rest; + + Saying, "From these wandering minstrels + I have learned the art of song; + Let me now repay the lessons + They have taught so well and long." + + Thus the bard of love departed; + And, fulfilling his desire, + On his tomb the birds were feasted + By the children of the choir. + + Day by day, o'er tower and turret, + In foul weather and in fair, + Day by day, in vaster numbers, + Flocked the poets of the air. + + On the tree whose heavy branches + Overshadowed all the place, + On the pavement, on the tombstone, + On the poet's sculptured face, + + On the crossbars of each window, + On the lintel of each door, + They renewed the War of Wartburg, + Which the bard had fought before. + + There they sang their merry carols, + Sang their lauds on every side; + And the name their voices uttered + Was the name of Vogelweid. + + Till at length the portly abbot + Murmured, "Why this waste of food? + Be it changed to loaves henceforward + For our fasting brotherhood." + + Then in vain o'er tower and turret, + From the walls and woodland nests, + When the minster bells rang noontide, + Gathered the unwelcome guests. + + Then in vain, with cries discordant, + Clamorous round the Gothic spire, + Screamed the feathered Minnesingers + For the children of the choir. + + Time has long effaced the inscriptions + On the cloister's funeral stones, + And tradition only tells us + Where repose the poet's bones. + + But around the vast cathedral, + By sweet echoes multiplied, + Still the birds repeat the legend, + And the name of Vogelweid. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +THE LEGEND OF THE CROSS-BILL. + + On the cross the dying Saviour + Heavenward lifts his eyelids calm, + Feels, but scarcely feels, a trembling + In his pierced and bleeding palm. + + And by all the world forsaken, + Sees he how with zealous care + At the ruthless nail of iron + A little bird is striving there. + + Stained with blood, and never tiring, + With its beak it does not cease, + From the cross 'twould free the Saviour, + Its Creator's son release. + + And the Saviour speaks in mildness: + "Blest be thou of all the good! + Bear, as token of this moment, + Marks of blood and holy rood!" + + And that bird is called the cross-bill; + Covered all with blood so clear, + In the groves of pine it singeth + Songs, like legends, strange to hear. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +PRETTY BIRDS. + + Among the orchards and the groves, + While summer days are fair and long, + You brighten every tree and bush, + You fill the air with loving song. + +NURSERY. + + * * * * * + +THE LITTLE BIRD SITS. + + And what is so rare as a day in June? + Then, if ever, come perfect days; + Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, + And over it softly her warm ear lays: + Whether we look, or whether we listen, + We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; + Every clod feels a stir of might, + An instinct within it that reaches and towers, + And, groping blindly above it for light, + Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers; + The flush of life may well be seen + Thrilling back over hills and valleys; + The cowslip startles in meadows green, + The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, + And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean + To be some happy creature's palace: + The little bird sits at his door in the sun, + Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, + And lets his illumined being o'errun + With the deluge of summer it receives; + His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, + And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; + He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,-- + In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best? + +JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL. + + * * * * * + +THE LIVING SWAN. + + Then some one came who said, "My Prince had shot + A swan, which fell among the roses here, + He bids me pray you send it. Will you send?" + "Nay," quoth Siddârtha, "if the bird were dead + To send it to the slayer might be well, + But the swan lives; my cousin hath but killed + The god-like speed which throbbed in this white wing." + And Devadatta answered, "The wild thing, + Living or dead, is his who fetched it down; + 'Twas no man's in the clouds, but fall'n 'tis mine, + Give me my prize, fair Cousin." Then our Lord + Laid the swan's neck beside his own smooth cheek + And gravely spake, "Say no! the bird is mine, + The first of myriad things which shall be mine + By right of mercy and love's lordliness. + For now I know, by what within me stirs, + That I shall teach compassion unto men + And be a speechless world's interpreter, + Abating this accursèd flood of woe, + Not man's alone; but, if the Prince disputes, + Let him submit this matter to the wise + And we will wait their word." So was it done; + In full divan the business had debate, + And many thought this thing and many that, + Till there arose an unknown priest who said, + "If life be aught, the savior of a life + Owns more the living thing than he can own + Who sought to slay--the slayer spoils and wastes, + The cherisher sustains, give him the bird:" + Which judgment all found just. + +_Light of Asia._ + + * * * * * + +THE STORMY PETREL. + + A thousand miles from land are we, + Tossing about on the roaring sea-- + From billow to bounding billow cast, + Like fleecy snow on the stormy blast. + The sails are scattered abroad like weeds; + The strong masts shake like quivering reeds; + The mighty cables and iron chains; + The hull, which all earthly strength disdains,-- + They strain and they crack; and hearts like stone + Their natural, hard, proud strength disown. + + Up and down!--up and down! + From the base of the wave to the billow's crown, + And amid the flashing and feathery foam, + The stormy petrel finds a home. + A home, if such a place may be + For her who lives on the wide, wide sea, + On the craggy ice, in the frozen air, + And only seeketh her rocky lair + To warm her young, and to teach them to spring + At once o'er the waves on their stormy wing! + + O'er the deep!--o'er the deep! + Where the whale, and the shark, and the sword-fish sleep-- + Outflying the blast and the driving rain, + The petrel telleth her tale--in vain; + For the mariner curseth the warning bird + Which bringeth him news of the storm unheard! + Ah! thus does the prophet of good or ill + Meet hate from the creatures he serveth still; + Yet he ne'er falters--so, petrel, spring + Once more o'er the waves on thy stormy wing! + +BARRY CORNWALL. + + * * * * * + +TO THE CUCKOO. + + Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove! + Thou messenger of Spring! + Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, + And woods thy welcome sing. + + What time the pea puts on the bloom, + Thou fliest thy vocal vale, + An annual guest in other lands + Another Spring to hail. + + Delightful visitant! with thee + I hail the time of flowers, + And hear the sound of music sweet + From birds among the bowers. + + Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, + Thy sky is ever clear; + Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, + No Winter in thy year! + + Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! + We'd make, with joyful wing, + Our annual visit o'er the globe, + Attendants on the Spring. + +JOHN LOGAN. + + * * * * * + +BIRDS AT DAWN. + + The beautiful day is breaking, + The first faint line of light + Parts the shadows of the night, + And a thousand birds are waking. + I hear the Hairbird's slender trill,-- + So fine and perfect it doth fill + The whole sweet silence with its thrill. + + A rosy flush creeps up the sky, + The birds begin their symphony. + I hear the clear, triumphant voice + Of the Robin, bidding the world rejoice. + The Vireos catch the theme of the song, + And the Baltimore Oriole bears it along, + While from Sparrow, and Thrush, and Wood Pewee, + And, deep in the pine-trees, the Chickadee, + There's an undercurrent of harmony. + + The Linnet sings like a magic flute, + The Lark and Bluebird touch the lute, + The Starling pipes to the shining morn + With the vibrant note of the joyous horn, + The splendid Jay + Is the trumpeter gay, + The Kingfisher, sounding his rattle,--he + May the player on the cymbals be, + The Cock, saluting the sun's first ray, + Is the bugler sounding a reveille. + "Caw! Caw!" cries the crow, and his grating tone + Completes the chord like a deep trombone. + + But, above them all, the Robin sings; + His song is the very soul of day, + And all black shadows troop away + While, pure and fresh, his music rings: + "Light is here! + Never fear! + Day is near! + My dear!" + +MISS HARRIET E. PAINE. + + * * * * * + +EVENING SONGS. + + Gliding at sunset in my boat, + I hear the Veery's bubbling note; + And a Robin, flying late, + Sounds the home-call to his mate. + Then the sun sinks low + In the western glow, + And the birds go to rest. But hush! + Far off sings the sweet Wood-Thrush. + He sings--and waits--and sings again, + The liquid notes of that holy strain. + + He ceases, and all the world is still: + And then the moon climbs over the hill, + And I hear the cry of the Whip-poor-will. + + Tranquil, I lay me down to sleep, + While the summer stars a vigil keep; + And I hear from the Sparrow a gentle trill, + Which means, + "Good Night; Peace and Good Will." + +MISS HARRIET E. PAINE. + + * * * * * + +LITTLE BROWN BIRD. + + A little brown bird sat on a stone; + The sun shone thereon, but he was alone. + "O pretty bird, do you not weary + Of this gay summer so long and dreary?" + + The little bird opened his black bright eyes, + And looked at me with great surprise; + Then his joyous song broke forth, to say, + "Weary of what? I can sing all day." + +_Posies for Children._ + + * * * * * + +LIFE'S SIGN. + + Wouldst thou the life of souls discern, + Not human wisdom nor divine + Helps thee by aught beside to learn, + _Love_ is life's only sign. + +KEBLE. + + * * * * * + +A BIRD'S MINISTRY. + + From his home in an Eastern bungalow, + In sight of the everlasting snow + Of the grand Himalayas, row on row, + Thus wrote my friend:-- + "I had travelled far + From the Afghan towers of Candahar, + Through the sand-white plains of Sinde-Sagar; + + "And once, when the daily march was o'er, + As tired I sat in my tented door, + Hope failed me, as never it failed before. + + "In swarming city, at wayside fane, + By the Indus' bank, on the scorching plain, + I had taught,--and my teaching all seemed vain. + + "No glimmer of light (I sighed) appears; + The Moslem's Fate and the Buddhist's fears + Have gloomed their worship this thousand years. + + "'For Christ and his truth I stand alone + In the midst of millions: a sand-grain blown + Against your temple of ancient stone + + "'As soon may level it!'" Faith forsook + My soul, as I turned on the pile to look; + Then, rising, my saddened way I took + + To its lofty roof, for the cooler air: + I gazed, and marvelled;--how crumbled were + The walls I had deemed so firm and fair! + + For, wedged in a rift of the massive stone, + Most plainly rent by its roots alone, + A beautiful peepul-tree had grown: + + Whose gradual stress would still expand + The crevice, and topple upon the sand + The temple, while o'er its wreck should stand + + The tree in its living verdure!--Who + Could compass the thought?--The bird that flew + Hitherward, dropping a seed that grew, + + Did more to shiver this ancient wall + Than earthquake,--war,--simoon,--or all + The centuries, in their lapse and fall! + + Then I knelt by the riven granite there, + And my soul shook off its weight of care, + As my voice rose clear on the tropic air:-- + + "The living seeds I have dropped remain + In the cleft: Lord, quicken with dew and rain, + _Then_ temple and mosque shall be rent in twain!" + +MARGARET J. PRESTON. + + * * * * * + +OF BIRDS. + + +See, Christ makes the birds our masters and teachers! so that a feeble +sparrow, to our great and perpetual shame, stands in the gospel as a doctor +and preacher to the wisest of men. + +MARTIN LUTHER. + + * * * * * + +BIRDS IN SPRING. + + Listen! What a sudden rustle + Fills the air! + All the birds are in a bustle + Everywhere. + Such a ceaseless croon and twitter + Overhead! + Such a flash of wings that glitter + Wide outspread! + Far away I hear a drumming,-- + Tap, tap, tap! + Can the woodpecker be coming + After sap? + Butterflies are hovering over + (Swarms on swarms) + Yonder meadow-patch of clover, + Like snow-storms. + Through the vibrant air a-tingle + Buzzingly, + Throbs and o'er me sails a single + Bumble-bee. + Lissom swayings make the willows + One bright sheen, + Which the breeze puffs out in billows + Foamy green. + From the marshy brook that's smoking + In the fog + I can catch the crool and croaking + Of a frog. + Dogwood stars the slopes are studding, + And I see + Blooms upon the purple-budding + Judas-tree. + Aspen tassels thick are dropping + All about, + And the alder-leaves are cropping + Broader out; + Mouse-ear tufts the hawthorn sprinkle, + Edged with rose; + The park bed of periwinkle + Fresher grows. + Up and down are midges dancing + On the grass: + How their gauzy wings are glancing + As they pass! + What does all this haste and hurry + Mean, I pray-- + All this out-door flush and flurry + Seen to-day? + This presaging stir and humming, + Thrill and call? + _Mean?_ It means that spring is coming; + That is all! + +MARGARET J. PRESTON. + + * * * * * + +THE CANARY IN HIS CAGE. + + Sing away, ay, sing away, + Merry little bird, + Always gayest of the gay, + Though a woodland roundelay + You ne'er sung nor heard; + Though your life from youth to age + Passes in a narrow cage. + + Near the window wild birds fly, + Trees are waving round; + Fair things everywhere you spy + Through the glass pane's mystery, + Your small life's small bound: + Nothing hinders your desire + But a little gilded wire. + + Like a human soul you seem + Shut in golden bars: + Placed amid earth's sunshine stream, + Singing to the morning beam, + Dreaming 'neath the stars; + Seeing all life's pleasures clear,-- + But they never can come near. + + Never! Sing, bird-poet mine, + As most poets do;-- + Guessing by an instinct fine + At some happiness divine + Which they never knew. + Lonely in a prison bright + Hymning for the world's delight. + + Yet, my birdie, you're content + In your tiny cage: + Not a carol thence is sent + But for happiness is meant-- + Wisdom pure as sage: + Teaching the pure poet's part + Is to sing with merry heart. + + So lie down, thou peevish pen; + Eyes, shake off all tears; + And, my wee bird, sing again: + I'll translate your song to men + In these future years. + "Howsoe'er thy lot's assigned, + Meet it with a cheerful mind." + +MRS. DINAH MARIA (MULOCK) CRAIK. + + * * * * * + +WHO STOLE THE BIRD'S-NEST. + + Te-whit! te-whit! te-whee! + Will you listen to me? + Who stole four eggs I laid, + And the nice nest I made? + + Not I, said the cow, moo-oo! + Such a thing I'd never do. + I gave for you a wisp of hay, + And did not take your nest away. + Not I, said the cow, moo-oo! + Such a thing I'd never do. + + Not I, said the dog, bow-wow! + I wouldn't be so mean as that, now, + I gave hairs the nest to make, + But the nest I did not take. + Not I, said the dog, bow-wow! + I wouldn't be so mean as that, now. + + Not I, said the sheep, Oh no! + I wouldn't treat a poor bird so! + I gave the wool the nest to line, + But the nest was none of mine. + Baa! baa! said the sheep; Oh no, + I wouldn't treat a poor bird so. + + I would not rob a bird, + Said little Mary Green; + I think I never heard + Of any thing so mean. + 'Tis very cruel, too, + Said little Alice Neal; + I wonder if she knew + How sad the bird would feel? + + A little boy hung down his head, + And went and hid behind the bed, + For he stole that pretty nest + From poor little yellow-breast; + And he felt so full of shame + He didn't like to tell his name. + +_Hymns for Mother and Children._ + + * * * * * + +WHO STOLE THE EGGS? + + "Oh, what is the matter with Robin, + That makes her cry round here all day? + I think she must be in great trouble," + Said Swallow to little Blue Jay. + + "I know why the Robin is crying," + Said Wren, with a sob in her breast; + "A naughty bold robber has stolen + Three little blue eggs from her nest. + + "He carried them home in his pocket; + I saw him, from up in this tree: + Ah me! how my little heart fluttered + For fear he would come and rob me!" + + "Oh! what little boy was so wicked?" + Said Swallow, beginning to cry; + "I wouldn't be guilty of robbing + A dear little bird's-nest--not I." + + "Nor I!" said the birds in a chorus: + "A cruel and mischievous boy! + I pity his father and mother; + He surely can't give them much joy. + + "I guess he forgot what a pleasure + The dear little robins all bring, + In early spring-time and in summer, + By the beautiful songs that they sing. + + "I guess he forgot that the rule is, + To do as you'd be always done by; + I guess he forgot that from heaven + There looks down an All-seeing Eye." + +MRS. C. F. BERRY. + + * * * * * + +WHAT THE BIRDS SAY. + + When they chatter together,--the robins and sparrows, + Bluebirds and bobolinks,--all the day long; + What do they talk of? The sky and the sunshine, + The state of the weather, the last pretty song; + + Of love and of friendship, and all the sweet trifles + That go to make bird-life so careless and free; + The number of grubs in the apple-tree yonder, + The promise of fruit in the big cherry-tree; + + Of matches in prospect;--how Robin and Jenny + Are planning together to build them a nest; + How Bobolink left Mrs. Bobolink moping + At home, and went off on a lark with the rest. + + Such mild little slanders! such innocent gossip! + Such gay little coquetries, pretty and bright! + Such happy love makings! such talks in the orchard! + Such chatterings at daybreak! such whisperings at night! + + O birds in the tree-tops! O robins and sparrows! + O bluebirds and bobolinks! what would be May + Without your glad presence,--the songs that you sing us, + And all the sweet nothings we fancy you say? + +CAROLINE A. MASON. + + * * * * * + + Sweet Mercy is Nobility's true badge. + +_Titus Andronicus_, Act 1, Sc. 2. + + * * * * * + +THE WREN'S NEST. + + I took the wren's nest: + Heaven forgive me! + Its merry architects so small + Had scarcely finished their wee hall + That, empty still, and neat and fair, + Hung idly in the summer air. + The mossy walls, the dainty door, + Where Love should enter and explore, + And Love sit carolling outside, + And Love within chirp multiplied;-- + I took the wren's nest; + Heaven forgive me! + + How many hours of happy pains + Through early frosts and April rains, + How many songs at eve and morn + O'er springing grass and greening corn, + What labors hard through sun and shade + Before the pretty house was made! + One little minute, only one, + And she'll fly back, and find it--gone! + I took the wren's nest: + Bird, forgive me! + + Thou and thy mate, sans let, sans fear, + Ye have before you all the year, + And every wood holds nooks for you, + In which to sing and build and woo; + One piteous cry of birdish pain-- + And ye'll begin your life again, + Forgetting quite the lost, lost home + In many a busy home to come. + But I? your wee house keep I must, + Until it crumble into dust. + I took the wren's nest: + God forgive me! + +DINAH MARIA (MULOCK) CRAIK. + + * * * * * + +ON ANOTHER'S SORROW. + + Can I see another's woe, + And not be in sorrow too? + Can I see another's grief, + And not seek for kind relief? + + Can I see a falling tear, + And not feel my sorrow's share? + Can a father see his child + Weep, nor be with sorrow filled? + + Can a mother sit and hear + An infant groan, an infant fear? + No, no! never can it be! + Never, never can it be! + + _And can He who smiles on all + Hear the wren with sorrows small, + Hear the small bird's grief and care,_ + Hear the woes that infants bear-- + + And not sit beside the nest, + Pouring pity in their breast, + And not sit in the cradle near, + Weeping tear on infant's tear? + + And not sit both night and day, + Wiping all our tears away? + Oh no! never can it be! + Never, never can it be! + +WILLIAM BLAKE. + + * * * * * + +THE SHEPHERD'S HOME. + + My banks they are furnished with bees, + Whose murmur invites one to sleep; + My grottoes are shaded with trees, + And my hills are white over with sheep. + I seldom have met with a loss, + Such health do my fountains bestow; + My fountains all bordered with moss, + Where the harebells and violets blow. + + Not a pine in the grove is there seen, + But with tendrils of woodbine is bound: + Not a beech's more beautiful green, + But a sweet-brier entwines it around. + Not my fields in the prime of the year, + More charms than my cattle unfold; + Not a brook that is limpid and clear, + But it glitters with fishes of gold. + + I found out a gift for my fair, + I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; + But let me such plunder forbear, + She will say 'twas a barbarous deed; + For he ne'er could be true, she averred, + Who would rob a poor bird of its young; + And I loved her the more when I heard + Such tenderness fall from her tongue. + +SHENSTONE (d. 1673). + + * * * * * + +THE WOOD-PIGEON'S HOME. + + Come with me, if but in fancy, + To the wood, the green soft shade: + 'Tis a haven, pure and lovely, + For the good of mankind made. + + Listen! you can hear the cooing, + Soft and soothing, gentle sounds, + Of the pigeons, as they nestle + In the branches all around. + + In the city and the open, + Man has built or tilled the land; + But the home of the wood pigeon + Bears the touch of God's own hand. + +ANON. + + * * * * * + +THE SHAG. + + "What is that great bird, sister, tell me, + Perched high on the top of the crag?" + "'Tis the cormorant, dear little brother; + The fishermen call it the shag." + + "But what does it there, sister, tell me, + Sitting lonely against the black sky?" + "It has settled to rest, little brother; + It hears the wild gale wailing high." + + "But I am afraid of it, sister, + For over the sea and the land + It gazes, so black and so silent!" + "Little brother, hold fast to my hand." + + "Oh, what was that, sister? The thunder? + Did the shag bring the storm and the cloud, + The wind and the rain and the lightning?" + "Little brother, the thunder roars loud. + + "Run fast, for the rain sweeps the ocean; + Look! over the lighthouse it streams; + And the lightning leaps red, and above us + The gulls fill the air with their screams." + + O'er the beach, o'er the rocks, running swiftly, + The little white cottage they gain; + And safely they watch from the window + The dance and the rush of the rain. + + But the shag kept his place on the headland, + And, when the brief storm had gone by, + He shook his loose plumes, and they saw him + Rise splendid and strong in the sky. + + Clinging fast to the gown of his sister, + The little boy laughed as he flew: + "He is gone with the wind and lightning! + And--I am not frightened,--are you?" + +CELIA THAXTER. + + * * * * * + +THE LOST BIRD. + + My bird has flown away, + Far out of sight has flown, I know not where. + Look in your lawn, I pray, + Ye maidens kind and fair, + And see if my beloved bird be there. + + His eyes are full of light; + The eagle of the rock has such an eye; + And plumes, exceeding bright, + Round his smooth temples lie, + And sweet his voice and tender as a sigh. + + Look where the grass is gay + With summer blossoms, haply there he cowers; + And search, from spray to spray, + The leafy laurel bowers, + For well he loves the laurels and the flowers. + + Find him, but do not dwell, + With eyes too fond, on the fair form you see, + Nor love his song too well; + Send him, at once, to me, + Or leave him to the air and liberty. + + For only from my hand + He takes the seed into his golden beak, + And all unwiped shall stand + The tears that wet my cheek, + Till I have found the wanderer I seek. + + My sight is darkened o'er, + Whene'er I miss his eyes, which are my day, + And when I hear no more + The music of his lay, + My heart in utter sadness faints away. + +_From the Spanish of_ CAROLINA CORONADO DE PERRY. + +_Translated by_ W. C. BRYANT. + + * * * * * + +THE BIRDS MUST KNOW. + + The birds must know. Who wisely sings + Will sing as they; + The common air has generous wings, + Songs make their way. + No messenger to run before, + Devising plan; + No mention of the place or hour + To any man; + No waiting till some sound betrays + A listening ear; + No different voice, no new delays, + If steps draw near. + "What bird is that? Its song is good." + And eager eyes + Go peering through the dusky wood, + In glad surprise. + Then late at night, when by his fire + The traveller sits, + Watching the flame grow brighter, higher, + The sweet song flits + By snatches through his weary brain + To help him rest; + When next he goes that road again + An empty nest + On leafless bough will make him sigh, + "Ah me! last spring + Just here I heard, in passing by, + That rare bird sing!" + + But while he sighs, remembering + How sweet the song, + The little bird on tireless wing, + Is borne along + In other air; and other men + With weary feet, + On other roads, the simple strain + Are finding sweet. + The birds must know. Who wisely sings + Will sing as they; + The common air has generous wings, + Songs make their way. + +H. H. + + * * * * * + +THE BIRD KING. + + Dost thou the monarch eagle seek? + Thou'lt find him in the tempest's maw, + Where thunders with tornadoes speak, + And forests fly as though of straw; + Or on some lightning-splintered peak, + Sceptred with desolation's law, + The shrubless mountain in his beak, + The barren desert in his claw. + +ALGER'S _Oriental Poetry_. + + * * * * * + +SHADOWS OF BIRDS. + + In darkened air, alone with pain, + I lay. Like links of heavy chain + The minutes sounded, measuring day, + And slipping lifelessly away. + Sudden across my silent room + A shadow darker than its gloom + Swept swift; a shadow slim and small, + Which poised and darted on the wall, + And vanished quickly as it came. + A shadow, yet it lit like flame; + A shadow, yet I heard it sing, + And heard the rustle of its wing, + Till every pulse with joy was stirred; + It was the shadow of a bird! + + Only the shadow! Yet it made + Full summer everywhere it strayed; + And every bird I ever knew + Back and forth in the summer flew, + And breezes wafted over me + The scent of every flower and tree; + Till I forgot the pain and gloom + And silence of my darkened room. + Now, in the glorious open air + I watch the birds fly here and there; + And wonder, as each swift wing cleaves + The sky, if some poor soul that grieves + In lonely, darkened, silent walls, + Will catch the shadow as it falls! + +H. H. + + * * * * * + +THE BIRD AND THE SHIP. + + "The rivers rush into the sea, + By castle and town they go; + The winds behind them merrily + Their noisy trumpets blow. + + "The clouds are passing far and high, + We little birds in them play; + And everything, that can sing and fly, + Goes with us, and far away. + + "I greet thee, bonny boat! Whither or whence, + With thy fluttering golden band?" + "I greet thee, little bird! To the wide sea, + I haste from the narrow land. + + "Full and swollen is every sail; + I see no longer a hill, + I have trusted all to the sounding gale, + And it will not let me stand still. + + "And wilt thou, little bird, go with us? + Thou mayest stand on the mainmast tall, + For full to sinking is my house + With merry companions all." + + "I need not and seek not company, + Bonny boat, I can sing all alone; + For the mainmast tall too heavy am I, + Bonny boat, I have wings of my own. + + "High over the sails, high over the mast, + Who shall gainsay these joys? + When thy merry companions are still, at last, + Thou shalt hear the sound of my voice. + + "Who neither may rest, nor listen may, + God bless them every one! + I dart away, in the bright blue day, + And the golden fields of the sun. + + "Thus do I sing my weary song, + Wherever the four winds blow; + And this same song, my whole life long, + Neither Poet nor Printer may know." + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +A MYTH. + + Afloating, afloating + Across the sleeping sea, + All night I heard a singing bird + Upon the topmast tree. + + "Oh, came you from the isles of Greece, + Or from the banks of Seine? + Or off some tree in forests free + That fringe the western main?" + + "I came not off the old world, + Nor yet from off the new; + But I am one of the birds of God + Which sing the whole night through." + + "Oh, sing and wake the dawning! + Oh, whistle for the wind! + The night is long, the current strong, + My boat it lags behind." + + "The current sweeps the old world, + The current sweeps the new; + The wind will blow, the dawn will glow, + Ere thou hast sailed them through." + +C. KINGSLEY. + + * * * * * + +THE DOG. + + * * * * * + +CUVIER ON THE DOG. + + +"The domestic dog," says Cuvier, "is the most complete, the most singular, +and the most useful conquest that man has gained in the animal world. The +whole species has become our property; each individual belongs entirely to +his master, acquires his disposition, knows and defends his property, and +remains attached to him until death; and all this, not through constraint +or necessity, but purely by the influences of gratitude and real +attachment. The swiftness, the strength, the sharp scent of the dog, have +rendered him a powerful ally to man against the lower tribes; and were, +perhaps, necessary for the establishment of the dominion of mankind over +the whole animal creation. The dog is the only animal which has followed +man over the whole earth." + + * * * * * + +A HINDOO LEGEND. + + +In the Mahabhàrata, one of the two great Hindoo poems, and of unknown +antiquity, there is a recognition of the obligation of man to a dependent +creature not surpassed in pathos in all literature. + +We copy only such portions of the legend as bear upon this point. + +The hero, Yudhistthira, leaves his home to go to Mount Meru, among the +Himalayas, to find Indra's heaven and the rest he so much desired; and with +him, + + "The five brothers set forth, and Draupadi, and the seventh was a + dog that followed them." + +On the way the Princess Draupadi perished, and, after her, one brother +after another, until all had died, and the hero reached his journey's end +accompanied only by his dog. + + Lo! suddenly, with a sound which rang through heaven and earth, + Indra came riding on his chariot, and he cried to the king, "Ascend!" + _Then_, indeed, did the lord of justice look back to his fallen + brothers, + And thus unto Indra he spoke, with a sorrowful heart: + "Let my brothers, who yonder lie fallen, go with me; + Not even unto thy heaven would I enter, if they were not there. + And yon fair-faced daughter of a king, Draupadi the all-deserving, + Let _her_ too enter with us! O Indra, approve my prayer!" + + + INDRA. + + In heaven thou shalt find thy brothers,--they are already there + before thee; + There are they all, with Draupadi; weep not, then, O son of Bharata! + Thither have they entered, prince, having thrown away their mortal + weeds; + But thou alone shalt enter still wearing thy body of flesh. + + + YUDHISTTHIRA. + + O Indra, and what of this dog? It hath faithfully followed me through; + Let it go with me into heaven, for my soul is full of compassion. + + + INDRA. + + Immortality and fellowship with me, and the height of joy and felicity, + All these hast thou reached to-day; leave, then, the dog behind thee. + + + YUDHISTTHIRA. + + The good may oft act an evil part, but never a part like this; + Away, then, with that felicity whose price is to abandon the faithful! + + + INDRA. + + My heaven hath no place for dogs; they steal away our offerings on + earth: + Leave, then, thy dog behind thee, nor think in thy heart that it is + cruel. + + + YUDHISTTHIRA. + + To abandon the faithful and devoted is an endless crime, like the + murder of a Brahmin; + Never, therefore, come weal or woe, will I abandon yon faithful dog. + _Yon poor creature, in fear and distress, hath trusted in my power + to save it: + Not, therefore, for e'en life itself will I break my plighted word._ + + + INDRA. + + If a dog but beholds a sacrifice, men esteem it unholy and void; + Forsake, then, the dog, O hero, and heaven is thine own as a reward. + Already thou hast borne to forsake thy fondly loved brothers, and + Draupadi; + Why, then, forsakest thou not the dog? Wherefore now fails thy heart? + + + YUDHISTTHIRA. + + Mortals, when they are dead, are dead to love or hate,--so runs the + world's belief; + I could not bring them back to life, but while they lived I never left + them. + To oppress the suppliant, to kill a wife, to rob a Brahmin, and to + betray one's friend, + These are the four great crimes; and _to forsake a dependent I count + equal to them_. + +ALGER'S _Oriental Poetry_. + + * * * * * + +ULYSSES AND ARGUS. + +This story, from the Odyssey, is also of an unknown antiquity. Ulysses, +after many years of absence, returns to his home to find himself +unrecognized by his family. With Eumæus Ulysses walked about the familiar +grounds: + + Thus near the gates conferring as they drew, + Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew; + He, not unconscious of the voice and tread, + Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head; + Bred by Ulysses, nourished at his board, + But, ah! not fated long to please his lord! + To him, his swiftness and his strength were vain; + The voice of glory called him o'er the main. + Till then, in every sylvan chase renowned, + With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around: + With him the youth pursued the goat or fawn, + Or traced the mazy leveret o'er the lawn; + Now left to man's ingratitude he lay, + Unhoused, neglected in the public way. + + He knew his lord: he knew, and strove to meet; + In vain he strove to crawl, and kiss his feet; + Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes. + Salute his master, and confess his joys. + Soft pity touched the mighty master's soul; + Adown his cheek a tear unhidden stole, + Stole unperceived: he turned his head and dried + The drop humane: then thus impassioned cried: + + "What noble beast in this abandoned state + Lies here all helpless at Ulysses' gate? + His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise: + If, as he seems, he was in better days, + Some care his age deserves; or was he prized + For worthless beauty? therefore now despised: + Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state, + And always cherished by their friends the great." + + Not Argus so (Eumæus thus rejoined), + But served a master of a nobler kind, + Who never, never, shall behold him more! + Long, long since perished on a distant shore! + Oh, had you seen him, vigorous, bold, and young, + Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong: + Him no fell savage on the plain withstood, + None 'scaped him bosomed in the gloomy wood; + His eye how piercing, and his scent how true, + To wind the vapor in the tainted dew! + Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast: + Now years unnerve him, and his lord is lost. + +_Odyssey, Pope's translation._ + + * * * * * + +TOM. + + Yes, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew. + Just listen to this:-- + When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through, + And I with it, helpless there, full in my view + What do you think my eyes saw through the fire + That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher, + But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see + The shining? He must have come there after me, + Toddled alone from the cottage without + + Any one's missing him. Then, what a shout-- + Oh! how I shouted, "For Heaven's sake, men, + Save little Robin!" Again and again + They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall. + I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call, + "Never mind, baby, sit still like a man! + We're coming to get you as fast as we can." + They could not see him, but I could. He sat + Still on a beam, his little straw hat + Carefully placed by his side; and his eyes + Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise, + Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept. + The roar of the fire up above must have kept + The sound of his mother's voice shrieking his name + From reaching the child. But I heard it. It came + Again and again. O God, what a cry! + The axes went faster; I saw the sparks fly + Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat + That scorched them,--when, suddenly, there at their feet, + The great beams leaned in--they saw him--then, crash, + Down came the wall! The men made a dash,-- + Jumped to get out of the way,--and I thought, + "All's up with poor little Robin!" and brought + Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide + The sight of the child there,--when swift, at my side, + Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame, + Straight as a dart--caught the child--and then came + Back with him, choking and crying, but--saved! + Saved safe and sound! + Oh, how the men raved, + Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed! Then they all + Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall + Where I was lying, away from the fire, + Should fall in and bury me. + Oh! you'd admire + To see Robin now: he's as bright as a dime, + Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time. + Tom, it was, saved him. Now, isn't it true + Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew? + There's Robin now! See, he's strong as a log! + And there comes Tom, too-- + Yes, Tom was our dog. + +CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON. + + * * * * * + +WILLIAM OF ORANGE SAVED BY HIS DOG. + + +On the night of the 11th and 12th of September, 1572, a chosen band of six +hundred Spaniards made an attack within the lines of the Dutch army. The +sentinels were cut down, the whole army surprised and for a moment +powerless. The Prince of Orange and his guards were in profound sleep; "but +a small spaniel dog," says Mr. Motley, "who always passed the night upon +his bed, was a most faithful sentinel. The creature sprang forward, barking +furiously at the sound of hostile footsteps, and scratching his master's +face with his paws. There was but just time for the Prince to mount a horse +which was ready saddled, and to effect his escape through the darkness, +before his enemies sprang into the tent. His servants were cut down, his +master of the horse and two of his secretaries, who gained their saddles a +moment later, all lost their lives, and but for the little dog's +watchfulness, William of Orange, upon whose shoulders the whole weight of +his country's fortune depended, would have been led within a week to an +ignominious death. To his death, the Prince ever afterwards kept a spaniel +of the same race in his bed-chamber." + +MOTLEY'S _Rise of the Dutch Republic_. + + * * * * * + +The mausoleum of William the Silent is at Delft. It is a sort of small +temple in black and white marble, loaded with ornaments and sustained by +columns between which are four statues representing Liberty, Providence, +Justice, and Religion. Upon the sarcophagus lies the figure of the Prince +in white marble, and _at his feet the effigy of the little dog that saved +his life at the siege of Malines_. + +DE AMICIS' _Holland_. + + * * * * * + +THE BLOODHOUND. + + Come, Herod, my hound, from the stranger's floor! + Old friend--we must wander the world once more! + For no one now liveth to welcome us back; + So, come!--let us speed on our fated track. + What matter the region,--what matter the weather, + So you and I travel, till death, together? + And in death?--why, e'en _there_ I may still be found + By the side of my beautiful black bloodhound. + + We've traversed the desert, we've traversed the sea, + And we've trod on the heights where the eagles be; + Seen Tartar, and Arab, and swart Hindoo; + (How thou pull'dst down the deer in those skies of blue;) + No joy did divide us; no peril could part + The man from his friend of the noble heart; + Aye, his _friend_; for where, where shall there ever be found + A friend like his resolute, fond bloodhound? + + What, Herod, old hound! dost remember the day + When I fronted the wolves like a stag at bay? + When downward they galloped to where we stood, + Whilst I staggered with fear in the dark pine wood? + Dost remember their howlings? their horrible speed? + God, God! how I prayed for a friend in need! + And--he came! Ah, 'twas then, my dear Herod, I found + That the best of all friends was my bold bloodhound. + + Men tell us, dear friend, that the noble hound + Must forever be lost in the worthless ground: + Yet "Courage," "Fidelity," "Love" (they say), + Bear _Man_, as on wings, to his skies away. + Well, Herod--go tell them whatever may be, + I'll hope I may ever be found by thee. + If in sleep,--in sleep; if with skies around, + Mayst thou follow e'en thither, my dear bloodhound! + +BARRY CORNWALL. + + * * * * * + +HELVELLYN. + +This fine poem was suggested by the affection of a dog, which kept watch +over the dead body of its master until found by friends three months +afterwards. The young man had lost his way on Helvellyn. Time, 1805. + + I climbed the dark brow of the mighty Helvellyn, + Lakes and mountains beneath me gleamed misty and wide; + All was still, save by fits, when the eagle was yelling, + And starting around me the echoes replied. + On the right, Striden-edge round the Red-tarn was bending, + And Catchedicam its left verge was defending, + One huge nameless rock in the front was ascending, + When I marked the sad spot where the wanderer had died. + + Dark green was that spot 'mid the brown mountain heather, + Where the Pilgrim of Nature lay stretched in decay, + Like the corpse of an outcast abandoned to weather + Till the mountain-winds wasted the tenantless clay. + Nor yet quite deserted, though lonely extended, + For, faithful in death, his mute favorite attended, + The much-loved remains of her master defended, + And chased the hill-fox and the raven away. + + How long didst thou think that his silence was slumber? + When the wind waved his garment, how oft didst thou start? + How many long days and long weeks didst thou number, + Ere he faded before thee, the friend of thy heart? + And, oh! was it meet, that--no requiem read o'er him-- + No mother to weep, and no friend to deplore him, + And thou, little guardian, alone stretched before him-- + Unhonored the Pilgrim from life should depart? + + When a Prince to the fate of the Peasant has yielded, + The tapestry waves dark round the dim-lighted hall; + With scutcheons of silver the coffin is shielded, + And pages stand mute by the canopied pall: + Through the courts, at deep midnight, the torches are gleaming; + In the proudly-arched chapel the banners are beaming, + Far adown the long isle the sacred music is streaming, + Lamenting a Chief of the People should fall. + + But meeter for thee, gentle lover of nature, + To lay down thy head like the meek mountain lamb, + When, 'wildered he drops from some cliff huge in stature, + And draws his last sob by the side of his dam. + And more stately thy couch by this desert lake lying, + Thy obsequies sung by the gray plover flying, + With one faithful friend but to witness thy dying, + In the arms of Helvellyn and Catchedicam. + +WALTER SCOTT. + + * * * * * + +LLEWELLYN AND HIS DOG. + + The spearmen heard the bugle sound, + And cheerily smiled the morn, + And many a brach, and many a hound, + Attend Llewellyn's horn. + And still he blew a louder blast, + And gave a louder cheer; + "Come, Gelert! why art thou the last, + Llewellyn's horn to hear? + + "Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam? + The flower of all his race! + So true, so brave--a lamb at home, + A lion in the chase!" + That day Llewellyn little loved + The chase of hart or hare; + And scant and small the booty proved, + For Gelert was not there. + + Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied, + When near the portal seat, + His truant Gelert he espied, + Bounding his lord to greet. + But when he gained the castle door, + Aghast the chieftain stood: + The hound was smeared with drops of gore; + His lips and fangs ran blood. + + Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise, + Unused such looks to meet; + His favorite checked his joyful guise, + And crouched and licked his feet. + Onward in haste Llewellyn passed, + (And on went Gelert too;) + And still, where'er his eyes were cast, + Fresh blood-drops shocked his view. + + O'erturned his infant's bed he found, + The blood-stained cover rent + And all around the walls and ground + With recent blood besprent. + He called his child--no voice replied; + He searched--with terror wild; + Blood! blood! he found on every side, + But nowhere found the child! + + "Monster, by thee my child's devoured!" + The frantic father cried, + And to the hilt his vengeful sword + He plunged in Gelert's side. + His suppliant, as to earth he fell, + No pity could impart; + But still his Gelert's dying yell, + Passed heavy o'er his heart. + + Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, + Some slumberer wakened nigh: + What words the parent's joy can tell + To hear his infant cry! + Concealed beneath a mangled heap + His hurried search had missed: + All glowing from his rosy sleep, + His cherub boy he kissed. + + Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread; + But the same couch beneath + Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead-- + Tremendous still in death. + Ah, what was then Llewellyn's pain! + For now the truth was clear; + The gallant hound the wolf had slain + To save Llewellyn's heir. + + Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe-- + "Best of thy kind, adieu! + The frantic deed which laid thee low + This heart shall ever rue." + And now a gallant tomb they raise, + With costly sculpture decked; + And marbles, storied with his praise, + Poor Gelert's bones protect. + + Here never could the spearman pass, + Or forester unmoved; + Here oft the tear-besprinkled grass + Llewellyn's sorrow proved. + And here he hung his horn and spear; + And oft, as evening fell, + In fancy's piercing sounds would hear + Poor Gelert's dying yell. + +SPENSER. + + * * * * * + +LOOKING FOR PEARLS. + +AN ORIENTAL LEGEND. + + The Master came one evening to the gate + Of a far city; it was growing late, + And sending his disciples to buy food, + He wandered forth intent on doing good, + As was his wont. And in the market-place + He saw a crowd, close gathered in one space, + Gazing with eager eyes upon the ground. + Jesus drew nearer, and thereon he found + A noisome creature, a bedraggled wreck,-- + A dead dog with a halter round his neck. + And those who stood by mocked the object there, + And one said scoffing, "It pollutes the air!" + Another, jeering, asked, "How long to-night + Shall such a miscreant cur offend our sight?" + "Look at his torn hide," sneered a Jewish wit,-- + "You could not cut even a shoe from it," + And turned away. "Behold his ears that bleed," + A fourth chimed in; "an unclean wretch indeed!" + "He hath been hanged for thieving," they all cried, + And spurned the loathsome beast from side to side. + Then Jesus, standing by them in the street, + Looked on the poor spent creature at his feet, + And, bending o'er him, spake unto the men, + "_Pearls are not whiter than his teeth._" And then + The people at each other gazed, asking, + "Who is this stranger pitying the vile thing?" + Then one exclaimed, with awe-abated breath, + "This surely is the Man of Nazareth; + This must be Jesus, for none else but he + Something to praise in a dead dog could see!" + And, being ashamed, each scoffer bowed his head, + And from the sight of Jesus turned and fled. + +ALGER'S _Eastern Poetry_. + + * * * * * + +ROVER. + + "Kind traveller, do not pass me by, + And thus a poor old dog forsake; + But stop a moment on your way, + And hear my woe for pity's sake! + + "My name is Rover; yonder house + Was once my home for many a year; + My master loved me; every hand + Caressed young Rover, far and near. + + "The children rode upon my back, + And I could hear my praises sung; + With joy I licked their pretty feet, + As round my shaggy sides they clung. + + "I watched them while they played or slept; + I gave them all I had to give: + My strength was theirs from morn till night; + For them I only cared to live. + + "Now I am old, and blind, and lame, + They've turned me out to die alone, + Without a shelter for my head, + Without a scrap of bread or bone. + + "This morning I can hardly crawl, + While shivering in the snow and hail; + My teeth are dropping, one by one; + I scarce have strength to wag my tail. + + "I'm palsied grown with mortal pains, + My withered limbs are useless now; + My voice is almost gone you see, + And I can hardly make my bow. + + "Perhaps you'll lead me to a shed + Where I may find some friendly straw + On which to lay my aching limbs, + And rest my helpless, broken paw. + + "Stranger, excuse this story long, + And pardon, pray, my last appeal; + You've owned a dog yourself, perhaps, + And learned that dogs, like men, can feel." + + Yes, poor old Rover, come with me; + Food, with warm shelter, I'll supply; + And Heaven forgive the cruel souls + Who drove you forth to starve and die! + +J. T. FIELDS. + + * * * * * + +TO MY DOG "BLANCO." + + My dear dumb friend, low lying there, + A willing vassal at my feet, + Glad partner of my home and fare, + My shadow in the street. + + I look into your great brown eyes, + Where love and loyal homage shine, + And wonder where the difference lies + Between your soul and mine! + + For all of good that I have found + Within myself or humankind, + Hath royalty informed and crowned + Your gentle heart and mind. + + I scan the whole broad earth around + For that one heart which, leal and true, + Bears friendship without end or bound, + And find the prize in you. + + I trust you as I trust the stars; + Nor cruel loss, nor scoff of pride, + Nor beggary, nor dungeon-bars, + Can move you from my side! + + As patient under injury + As any Christian saint of old, + As gentle as a lamb with me, + But with your brothers bold; + + More playful than a frolic boy, + More watchful than a sentinel, + By day and night your constant joy, + To guard and please me well: + + I clasp your head upon my breast-- + And while you whine and lick my hand-- + And thus our friendship is confessed + And thus we understand! + + Ah, Blanco! did I worship God + As truly as you worship me, + Or follow where my master trod + With your humility; + + Did I sit fondly at His feet, + As you, dear Blanco, sit at mine, + And watch him with a love as sweet, + My life would grow divine! + +J. G. HOLLAND. + + * * * * * + +THE BEGGAR AND HIS DOG. + + "Pay down three dollars for my hound! + May lightning strike me to the ground! + What mean the Messieurs of police? + And when and where shall this mockery cease? + + "I am a poor, old, sickly man, + And earn a penny I no wise can; + I have no money, I have no bread, + And live upon hunger and want, instead. + + "Who pitied me, when I grew sick and poor, + And neighbors turned me from their door? + And who, when I was left alone + In God's wide world, made my fortunes his own? + + "Who loved me, when I was weak and old? + And warmed me, when I was numb with cold? + And who, when I in poverty pined, + Has shared my hunger and never whined? + + "Here is the noose, and here the stone, + And there the water--it must be done! + Come hither, poor Pomp, and look not on me, + One kick--it is over--and thou art free!" + + As over his head he lifted the band, + The fawning dog licked his master's hand; + Back in an instant the noose he drew, + And round his own neck in a twinkling threw. + + The dog sprang after him into the deep, + His howlings startled the sailors from sleep; + Moaning and twitching he showed them the spot: + They found the beggar, but life was not! + + They laid him silently in the ground, + His only mourner the whimpering hound + Who stretched himself out on the grave and cried + Like an orphan child--and so he died. + +_Chamisso, tr. by_ C. T. BROOKS. + + * * * * * + +DON. + + This is Don, the dog of dogs, sir, + Just as lions outrank frogs, sir, + Just as the eagles are superior + To buzzards and that tribe inferior. + + He's a shepherd lad--a beauty-- + And to praise him seems a duty, + But it puts my pen to shame, sir, + When his virtues I would name, sir. + "Don! come here and bend your head now, + Let us see your best well-bred bow!" + Was there ever such a creature! + Common sense in every feature! + "Don! rise up and look around you!" + Blessings on the day we found you. + + _Sell_ him! well, upon my word, sir, + That's a notion too absurd, sir. + Would I sell our little Ally, + Barter Tom, dispose of Sally? + Think you I'd negotiate + For my _wife_, at any rate? + + _Sell_ our Don! you're surely joking, + And 'tis fun at us you're poking! + Twenty voyages we've tried, sir, + Sleeping, waking, side by side, sir, + And Don and I will not divide, sir; + He's my _friend_, that's why I love him,-- + And no mortal dog's above him! + + He prefers a life aquatic, + But never dog was less dogmatic. + Years ago when I was master + Of a tight brig called the Castor, + Don and I were bound for Cadiz, + With the loveliest of ladies + And her boy--a stalwart, hearty, + Crowing one-year infant party, + Full of childhood's myriad graces, + Bubbling sunshine in our faces + As we bowled along so steady, + Half-way home, or more, already. + + How the sailors loved our darling! + No more swearing, no more snarling; + On their backs, when not on duty, + Round they bore the blue-eyed beauty,-- + Singing, shouting, leaping, prancing,-- + All the crew took turns in dancing; + Every tar playing Punchinello + With the pretty, laughing fellow; + Even the second mate gave sly winks + At the noisy mid-day high jinks. + Never was a crew so happy + With a curly-headed chappy, + Never were such sports gigantic, + Never dog with joy more antic. + + While thus jolly, all together, + There blew up a change of weather, + Nothing stormy, but quite breezy, + And the wind grew damp and wheezy, + Like a gale in too low spirits + To put forth one half its merits, + But, perchance, a dry-land ranger + Might suspect some kind of danger. + + Soon our stanch and gallant vessel + With the waves began to wrestle, + And to jump about a trifle, + Sometimes kicking like a rifle + When 'tis slightly overloaded, + But by no means nigh exploded. + + 'Twas the coming on of twilight, + As we stood abaft the skylight, + Scampering round to please the baby, + (Old Bill Benson held him, maybe,) + When the youngster stretched his fingers + Towards the spot where sunset lingers, + And with strong and sudden motion + Leaped into the weltering ocean! + "_What_ did Don do?" Can't you guess, sir? + He sprang also--by express, sir; + Seized the infant's little dress, sir, + Held the baby's head up boldly + From the waves that rushed so coldly; + And in just about a minute + Our boat had them safe within it. + + _Sell_ him! Would you sell your brother? + Don and I _love_ one another. + +J. T. FIELDS. + + * * * * * + +GEIST'S GRAVE. + + Four years!--and didst thou stay above + The ground, which hides thee now, but four? + And all that life, and all that love, + Were crowded, Geist! into no more? + + Only four years those winning ways, + Which make me for thy presence yearn, + Called us to pet thee or to praise, + Dear little friend! at every turn? + + That loving heart, that patient soul, + Had they indeed no longer span, + To run their course, and reach their goal, + And read their homily to man? + + That liquid, melancholy eye, + From whose pathetic, soul-fed springs + Seemed surging the Virgilian cry.[1] + The sense of tears in mortal things-- + + That steadfast, mournful strain, consoled + By spirits gloriously gay, + And temper of heroic mould-- + What, was four years their whole short day? + + Yes, only four!--and not the course + Of all the centuries to come, + And not the infinite resource + Of nature, with her countless sum. + + Of figures, with her fulness vast + Of new creation evermore, + Can ever quite repeat the past, + Or just thy little self restore. + + Stern law of every mortal lot! + Which man, proud man, finds hard to bear, + And builds himself I know not what + Of second life I know not where. + + But thou, when struck thine hour to go, + On us, who stood despondent by, + A meek last glance of love didst throw, + And humbly lay thee down to die. + + Yet would we keep thee in our heart-- + Would fix our favorite on the scene, + Nor let thee utterly depart + And be as if thou ne'er hadst been. + + And so there rise these lines of verse + On lips that rarely form them now; + While to each other we rehearse: + _Such ways, such arts, such looks hast thou!_ + + We stroke thy broad, brown paws again, + We bid thee to thy vacant chair, + We greet thee by the window-pane, + We hear thy scuffle on the stair; + + We see the flaps of thy large ears + Quick raised to ask which way we go: + Crossing the frozen lake appears + Thy small black figure on the snow! + + Nor to us only art thou dear + Who mourn thee in thine English home; + Thou hast thine absent master's tear, + Dropt by the far Australian foam. + + Thy memory lasts both here and there, + And thou shalt live as long as we. + And after that--thou dost not care? + In us was all the world to thee. + + Yet fondly zealous for thy fame, + Even to a date beyond thine own + We strive to carry down thy name, + By mounded turf, and graven stone. + + We lay thee, close within our reach, + Here, where the grass is smooth and warm, + Between the holly and the beech, + Where oft we watched thy couchant form, + + Asleep, yet lending half an ear + To travellers on the Portsmouth road-- + There choose we thee, O guardian dear, + Marked with a stone, thy last abode! + + Then some, who through the garden pass, + When we too, like thyself, are clay, + Shall see thy grave upon the grass, + And stop before the stone, and say:-- + + _People who lived here long ago + Did by this stone, it seems, intend + To name for future times to know + The dachs-hound, Geist, their little friend_. + +MATTHEW ARNOLD. + + [1] Sunt lacrimæ rerum. + + * * * * * + +ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE OLD SPANIEL. + + Poor old friend, how earnestly + Would I have pleaded for thee! thou hadst been + Still the companion of my boyish sports; + And as I roamed o'er Avon's woody cliffs, + From many a day-dream has thy short, quick bark + Recalled my wandering soul. I have beguiled + Often the melancholy hours at school, + Soured by some little tyrant, with the thought + Of distant home, and I remembered then + Thy faithful fondness; for not mean the joy, + Returning at the happy holidays, + I felt from thy dumb welcome. Pensively + Sometimes have I remarked thy slow decay, + Feeling myself changed too, and musing much + On many a sad vicissitude of life. + Ah, poor companion! when thou followedst last + Thy master's parting footsteps to the gate + Which closed forever on him, thou didst lose + Thy truest friend, and none was left to plead + For the old age of brute fidelity. + But fare thee well! Mine is no narrow creed; + And He who gave thee being did not frame + The mystery of life to be the sport + Of merciless man. There is another world + For all that live and move--a better one! + Where the proud bipeds, who would fain confine + Infinite Goodness to the little bounds + Of their own charity, may envy thee. + +ROBERT SOUTHEY. + + * * * * * + +EPITAPH IN GREY FRIARS' CHURCHYARD. + + +The monument erected at Edinburgh to the memory of "Grey Friars' Bobby" by +the Baroness Burdett-Coutts has a Greek inscription by Professor Blackie. +The translation is as follows: + + This monument + was erected by a noble lady, + THE BARONESS BURDETT-COUTTS, + to the memory of + GREY FRIARS' BOBBY, + a faithful and affectionate + LITTLE DOG, + who followed the remains of his beloved master + to the churchyard, + in the year 1858, + and became a constant visitor to the grave, + refusing to be separated from the spot + until he died + in the year 1872. + + * * * * * + +FROM AN INSCRIPTION ON THE MONUMENT OF A NEWFOUNDLAND DOG. + + When some proud son of man returns to earth, + Unknown to glory, but upheld by birth, + The sculptor's art exhausts the pomp of woe, + And storied urns record who rests below; + When all is done, upon the tomb is seen, + Not what he was, but what he should have been: + But the poor dog, in life the firmest friend, + The first to welcome, foremost to defend, + Whose honest heart is still his master's own, + Who labors, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, + Unhonored falls, unnoticed all his worth, + Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth. + + * * * * * + + Ye! who perchance behold this simple urn, + Pass on,--it honors none you wish to mourn; + To mark a friend's remains these stones arise; + I never knew but one,--and here he lies. + +LORD BYRON, 1808. + + * * * * * + +THE DOG. + + Poor friend and sport of man, like him unwise, + Away! Thou standest to his heart too near, + Too close for careless rest or healthy cheer; + Almost in thee the glad brute nature dies. + Go scour the fields in wilful enterprise, + Lead the free chase, leap, plunge into the mere, + Herd with thy fellows, stay no longer here, + Seeking thy law and gospel in men's eyes. + + He cannot go; love holds him fast to thee; + More than the voices of his kind thy word + Lives in his heart; for him thy very rod + Has flowers: he only in thy will is free. + Cast him not out, the unclaimed savage herd + Would turn and rend him, pining for his God. + +EMILY PFEIFFER. + + * * * * * + +JOHNNY'S PRIVATE ARGUMENT. + + A poor little tramp of a doggie, one day, + Low-spirited, weary, and sad, + From a crowd of rude urchins ran limping away, + And followed a dear little lad. + Whose round, chubby face, with the merry eyes blue, + Made doggie think, "_Here_ is a _good_ boy and true!" + + So, wagging his tail and expressing his views + With a sort of affectionate whine, + Johnny knew he was saying, "Dear boy, if you choose, + To be _any_ dog's master, be _mine_." + And Johnny's blue eyes opened wide with delight, + And he fondled the doggie and hugged him so tight. + + But alas! on a day that to Johnny was sad, + A newspaper notice he read, + "Lost a dog: limped a little, and also he had + A spot on the top of his head. + Whoever returns him to me may believe + A fair compensation he'll surely receive." + + Johnny didn't want _money_, not he; 'twasn't _that_ + That made him just _sit down to think_, + And made a grave look on his rosy face fat, + And made those blue eyes of his wink + To keep back the tears that were ready to flow, + As he thought to himself, "_Must_ the dear doggie go?" + + 'Twas an argument Johnny was holding just there + With his own little conscience so true. + "It is plain," whispered conscience, "that if you'd be fair, + There is only one thing you can do; + Restore to his owner the dog; don't delay, + But attend to your duty at once, and to-day!" + + No wonder he sat all so silent and still, + Forgetting to fondle his pet-- + The poor little boy thinking _hard_ with a _will_; + While thought doggie, "What makes him forget, + I wonder, to frolic and play with me now, + And _why_ does he wear such a sorrowful brow?" + + Well, how did it end? Johnny's battle was fought, + And the victory given to him: + The dearly-loved pet to his owner was brought, + Tho' it made little Johnny's eyes dim. + But a wag of his tail doggie gives to this day + Whenever our Johnny is passing that way. + +MARY D. BRINE. + + * * * * * + +THE HARPER. + + On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, + No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I; + No harp like my own could so cheerily play, + And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray. + + When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part, + She said (while the sorrow was big at her heart), + Oh, remember your Sheelah when far, far away! + And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray. + + Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure; + He constantly loved me although I was poor; + When the sour-looking folks turned me heartless away, + I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray. + + When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold, + And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old, + How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray! + And he licked me for kindness,--my poor dog Tray. + + Though my wallet was scant, I remembered his case, + Nor refused my last crust to his pitiful face; + But he died at my feet on a cold winter day, + And I played a sad lament for my poor dog Tray. + + Where now shall I go, poor, forsaken, and blind? + Can I find one to guide me, so faithful and kind? + To my sweet native village, so far, far away, + I can never return with my poor dog Tray. + +THOMAS CAMPBELL. + + * * * * * + +"FLIGHT." + + Never again shall her leaping welcome + Hail my coming at eventide; + Never again shall her glancing footfall + Range the fallow from side to side. + Under the raindrops, under the snowflakes, + Down in a narrow and darksome bed, + Safe from sorrow, or fear, or loving, + Lieth my beautiful, still and dead. + + Mouth of silver, and skin of satin, + Foot as fleet as an arrow's flight, + Statue-still at the call of "steady," + Eyes as clear as the stars of night. + Laughing breadths of the yellow stubble + Now shall rustle to alien tread, + And rabbits run in the dew-dim clover + Safe--for my beautiful lieth dead. + + "Only a dog!" do you say, Sir Critic? + Only a dog, but as truth I prize, + The truest love I have won in living + Lay in the deeps of her limpid eyes. + Frosts of winter nor heat of summer + Could make her fail if my footsteps led; + And memory holds in its treasure-casket + The name of my darling who lieth dead. + +S. M. A. C. in _Evening Post_. + + * * * * * + +THE IRISH WOLF-HOUND. + + As fly the shadows o'er the grass, + He flies with step as light and sure. + He hunts the wolf through Tostan Pass, + And starts the deer by Lisanoure. + The music of the Sabbath bells, + O Con! has not a sweeter sound, + Than when along the valley swells + The cry of John McDonnell's hound. + + His stature tall, his body long, + His back like night, his breast like snow, + His fore leg pillar-like and strong, + His hind leg bended like a bow; + Rough, curling hair, head long and thin, + His ear a leaf so small and round; + Not Bran, the favorite dog of Fin, + Could rival John McDonnell's hound. + +DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY. + + * * * * * + +SIX FEET. + + My little rough dog and I + Live a life that is rather rare, + We have so many good walks to take, + And so few bad things to bear; + So much that gladdens and recreates, + So little of wear and tear. + + Sometimes it blows and rains, + But still the six feet ply; + No care at all to the following four + If the leading two knows why, + 'Tis a pleasure to have six feet we think, + My little rough dog and I. + + And we travel all one way; + 'Tis a thing we should never do, + To reckon the two without the four, + Or the four without the two; + It would not be right if any one tried, + Because it would not be true. + + And who shall look up and say, + That it ought not so to be, + Though the earth that is heaven enough for him, + Is less than that to me, + For a little rough dog can wake a joy + That enters eternity. + +_Humane Journal._ + + * * * * * + +THERE'S ROOM ENOUGH FOR ALL. + + Ah, Rover, by those lustrous eyes + That follow me with longing gaze, + Which sometimes seem so human-wise, + I look for human speech and ways. + By your quick instinct, matchless love, + Your eager welcome, mute caress, + That all my heart's emotions move, + And loneliest moods and hours bless, + I do believe, my dog, that you + Have some beyond, some future new. + + Why not? In heaven's inheritance + Space must be cheap where worldly light + In boundless, limitless expanse + Rolls grandly far from human sight. + He who has given such patient care, + Such constancy, such tender trust, + Such ardent zeal, such instincts rare, + And made you something more than dust, + May yet release the speechless thrall + At death--there's room enough for all. + +_Our Continent._ + + * * * * * + +HIS FAITHFUL DOG. + + Lo, the poor Indian! whose untutored mind + Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind; + His soul proud science never taught to stray + Far as the solar walk, or milky way; + Yet simple nature to his hope has given, + Behind the cloud-topped hill, an humbler heaven; + Some safer world in depth of woods embraced, + Some happier island in the watery waste, + Where slaves once more their native land behold, + No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. + To be, contents his natural desire, + He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire; + But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, + His faithful dog shall bear him company. + +POPE. + + * * * * * + +THE FAITHFUL HOUND. + + A traveller, by the faithful hound, + Half-buried in the snow was found, + Still grasping in his hand of ice + That banner with the strange device, + Excelsior! + +H. W. LONGFELLOW. + + * * * * * + +MISCELLANEOUS. + + * * * * * + +THE SPIDER'S LESSON. + + Robert, the Bruce, in his dungeon stood, + Waiting the hour of doom; + Behind him the palace of Holyrood, + Before him--a nameless tomb. + And the foam on his lip was flecked with red, + As away to the past his memory sped, + Upcalling the day of his past renown, + When he won and he wore the Scottish crown: + Yet come there shadow or come there shine, + The spider is spinning his thread so fine. + + "Time and again I have fronted the tide + Of the tyrant's vast array, + But only to see on the crimson tide + My hopes swept far away;-- + Now a landless chief and a crownless king, + On the broad, broad earth not a living thing + To keep me court, save this insect small, + Striving to reach from wall to wall:" + For come there shadow or come there shine, + The spider is spinning his thread so fine. + + "Work! work like a fool, to the certain loss, + Like myself, of your time and pain; + The space is too wide to be bridged across, + You but waste your strength in vain!" + And Bruce for the moment forgot his grief, + His soul now filled with the sure belief + That, howsoever the issue went, + For evil or good was the omen sent: + And come there shadow or come there shine, + The spider is spinning his thread so fine. + + As a gambler watches the turning card + On which his all is staked,-- + As a mother waits for the hopeful word + For which her soul has ached,-- + It was thus Bruce watched, with every sense + Centred alone in that look intense; + All rigid he stood, with scattered breath-- + Now white, now red, but as still as death: + Yet come there shadow or come there shine, + The spider is spinning his thread so fine. + + Six several times the creature tried, + When at the seventh, "See, see! + He has spanned it over!" the captive cried; + "Lo! a bridge of hope to me; + Thee, God, I thank, for this lesson here + Has tutored my soul to PERSEVERE!" + And it served him well, for erelong he wore + In freedom the Scottish crown once more: + And come there shadow or come there shine, + The spider is spinning his thread so fine. + +JOHN BROUGHAM. + + * * * * * + +THE SPIDER AND STORK. + + Who taught the natives of the field and flood + To shun their poison and to choose their food? + Prescient, the tides or tempests to withstand, + Build on the wave, or arch beneath the sand? + Who made the spider parallels design + Sure as De Moivre, without rule or line? + Who bid the stork Columbus-like explore + Heavens not his own, and worlds unknown before? + WHO CALLS THE COUNCIL, STATES THE CERTAIN DAY, + WHO FORMS THE PHALANX, AND WHO POINTS THE WAY? + +POPE. + + * * * * * + +THE HOMESTEAD AT EVENING.--EVANGELINE'S BEAUTIFUL HEIFER. + + Now recommenced the reign of rest and affection and stillness. + Day with its burden and heat had departed, and twilight descending + Brought back the evening star to the sky, and the herds to the + homestead. + Pawing the ground they came, and resting their necks on each other, + And with their nostrils distended inhaling the freshness of evening. + Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beautiful heifer, + Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon that waved from her + collar, + Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of human affection. + Then came the shepherd back with his bleating flocks from the seaside, + Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog, + Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct, + Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and superbly + Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the stragglers; + Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their protector, + When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves + howled. + Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes, + Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor, + Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their + fetlocks, + While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles, + Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of crimson, + Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms. + Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders + Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence + Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended. + Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard, + Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into stillness; + Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the barn-doors, + Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW: _Evangeline_. + + * * * * * + +THE CATTLE OF A HUNDRED FARMS. + + And now, beset with many ills, + A toilsome life I follow; + Compelled to carry from the hills, + These logs to the impatient mills, + Below there in the hollow. + + Yet something ever cheers and charms + The rudeness of my labors; + Daily I water with these arms + The cattle of a hundred farms, + And have the birds for neighbors. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW: _Mad River_. + + * * * * * + +CAT-QUESTIONS. + + Dozing, and dozing, and dozing! + Pleasant enough, + Dreaming of sweet cream and mouse-meat,-- + Delicate stuff! + + Waked by a somerset, whirling + From cushion to floor; + Waked to a wild rush for safety + From window to door. + + Waking to hands that first smooth us, + And then pull our tails; + Punished with slaps when we show them + The length of our nails! + + These big mortal tyrants even grudge us + A place on the mat. + Do they think we enjoy for our music + Staccatoes of "scat"? + + To be treated, now, just as you treat us,-- + The question is pat,-- + To take just our chances in living, + Would _you_ be a cat? + +LUCY LARCOM. + + * * * * * + +THE NEWSBOY'S CAT. + + Want any papers, Mister? + Wish you'd buy 'em of me-- + Ten year old, an' a fam'ly, + An' bizness dull, you see. + Fact, Boss! There's Tom, an' Tibby, + An' Dad, an' Mam, an Mam's cat, + None on 'em earning money-- + What do you think of that? + + _Couldn't Dad work_? Why yes, Boss, + He's working for gov'ment now,-- + They give him his board for nothin',-- + All along of a drunken row. + _An' Mam_? Well, she's in the poorhouse,-- + Been there a year or so; + So I'm taking care of the others, + Doing as well as I know. + + _Oughtn't to live so_? Why, Mister, + What's a feller to do? + Some nights, when I'm tired an' hungry, + Seems as if each on 'em knew-- + They'll all three cuddle around me, + Till I get cheery, and say: + Well, p'raps I'll have sisters an' brothers, + An' money an' clothes, too, some day. + + But if I do git rich, Boss, + (An' a lecturin' chap one night + Said newsboys could be Presidents + If only they acted right); + So, if I was President, Mister, + The very first thing I'd do, + I'd buy poor Tom an' Tibby + A dinner--an' Mam's cat, too! + + None o' your scraps an' leavin's, + But a good square meal for all three; + If you think I'd skimp my friends, Boss, + That shows you don't know me. + So 'ere's your papers--come take one, + Gimme a lift if you can-- + For now you've heard my story, + You see I'm a fam'ly man! + +E. T. CORBETT. + + * * * * * + +THE CHILD AND HER PUSSY. + + I like little pussy, her coat is so warm, + And if I don't hurt her, she'll do me no harm; + So I'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away, + But pussy and I very gently will play: + + She shall sit by my side, and I'll give her some food; + And she'll love me, because I am gentle and good. + I'll pat little pussy, and then she will purr, + And thus show her thanks for my kindness to her. + +E. TAYLOR. + + * * * * * + +THE ALPINE SHEEP. + + They in the valley's sheltering care, + Soon crop the meadow's tender prime, + And when the sod grows brown and bare, + The shepherd strives to make them climb + + To airy shelves of pastures green + That hang along the mountain's side, + Where grass and flowers together lean, + And down through mists the sunbeams slide: + + But nought can tempt the timid things + The steep and rugged paths to try, + Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings, + And seared below the pastures lie,-- + + Till in his arms their lambs he takes + Along the dizzy verge to go, + Then heedless of the rifts and breaks + They follow on o'er rock and snow. + + And in those pastures lifted fair, + More dewy soft than lowland mead, + The shepherd drops his tender care, + And sheep and lambs together feed. + +MARIA LOWELL. + + * * * * * + +LITTLE LAMB. + + Little lamb, who made thee? + Dost thou know who made thee? + Gave thee life and made thee feed + By the stream and o'er the mead; + Gave thee clothing of delight,-- + Softest clothing, woolly, bright? + Gave thee such a tender voice, + Making all the vales rejoice; + Little lamb, who made thee? + Dost thou know who made thee? + + Little lamb, I'll tell thee; + Little lamb, I'll tell thee; + He is callen by thy name, + For he calls himself a lamb. + He is meek, and He is mild; + He became a little child. + I a child, and thou a lamb, + We are called by His name. + Little lamb, God bless thee! + Little lamb, God bless thee! + +WILLIAM BLAKE. + + * * * * * + +COWPER'S HARE. + + Well--one at least is safe. One sheltered hare + Has never heard the sanguinary yell + Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. + Innocent partner of my peaceful home, + Whom ten long years' experience of my care + Has made at last familiar, she has lost + Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, + Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. + Yes--thou mayst eat thy bread, and lick the hand + That feeds thee; thou mayst frolic on the floor + At evening, and at night retire secure + To thy straw-couch, and slumber unalarmed; + For I have gained thy confidence, have pledged + All that is human in me to protect + Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. + If I survive thee I will dig thy grave, + And when I place thee in it, sighing say, + I knew at least one hare that had a friend. + +COWPER. + + * * * * * + +TURN THY HASTY FOOT ASIDE. + + Turn, turn thy hasty foot aside, + Nor crush that helpless worm! + The frame thy wayward looks deride + Required a God to form. + + The common lord of all that move, + From whom thy being flowed, + A portion of his boundless love + On that poor worm bestowed. + + Let them enjoy their little day, + Their humble bliss receive; + Oh! do not lightly take away + The life thou canst not give! + +T. GISBORNE. + + * * * * * + +THE WORM TURNS. + + I've despised you, old worm, for I think you'll admit + That you never were beautiful even in youth; + I've impaled you on hooks, and not felt it a bit; + But all's changed now that Darwin has told us the truth + Of your diligent life, and endowed you with fame: + You begin to inspire me with kindly regard. + I have friends of my own, clever worm, I could name, + Who have ne'er in their lives been at work half so hard. + + It appears that we owe you our acres of soil, + That the garden could never exist without you, + That from ages gone by you were patient in toil, + Till a Darwin revealed all the good that you do. + Now you've turned with a vengeance, and all must confess + Your behavior should make poor humanity squirm; + For there's many a man on this planet, I guess, + Who is not half so useful as you, Mister worm. + +PUNCH. + + * * * * * + +GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET. + + Green little vaulter in the sunny grass, + Catching your heart up at the feet of June, + Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, + Whenever the bees lag at the summoning brass; + And you, warm little housekeeper, who class + With those who think the candles come too soon, + Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune + Nicks the glad silent moments as they pass. + + O sweet and tidy cousins, that belong + One to the fields, the other to the hearth, + Both have your sunshine: both, though small, are strong + At your clear hearts; and both seem given to earth + To ring in thoughtful ears this natural song-- + Indoors and out, summer and winter, Mirth. + +LEIGH HUNT. + + * * * * * + +THE HONEY-BEES. + + Therefore doth Heaven divide + The state of man in divers functions, + Setting endeavor in continual motion; + To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, + Obedience: for so work the honey-bees; + Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach + The act of order to a peopled kingdom. + They have a king and officers of sorts: + Where some, like magistrates, correct at home; + Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, + Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds; + Which pillage they with merry march bring home + To the tent royal of their emperor: + Who, busied in his majesty, surveys + THE SINGING MASONS BUILDING ROOFS OF GOLD; + The civil citizens kneading up the honey; + The poor mechanic porters crowding in + Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate; + The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum, + Delivering o'er to the executioner's pale + The lazy, yawning drone. + +SHAKESPEARE: _Henry V._, Act 1, Sc. 2. + + * * * * * + +CUNNING BEE. + + Said a little wandering maiden + To a bee with honey laden, + "Bee, at all the flowers you work, + Yet in some does poison lurk." + + "That I know, my little maiden," + Said the bee with honey laden; + "But the poison I forsake, + And the honey only take." + + "Cunning bee with honey laden, + That is right," replied the maiden; + "So will I, from all I meet, + Only draw the good and sweet." + +ANON. + + * * * * * + +AN INSECT. + + Only an insect; yet I know + It felt the sunlight's golden glow, + And the sweet morning made it glad + With all the little heart it had. + + It saw the shadows move; it knew + The grass-blades glittered, wet with dew; + And gayly o'er the ground it went; + It had its fulness of content. + + Some dainty morsel then it spied, + And for the treasure turned aside; + Then, laden with its little spoil, + Back to its nest began to toil. + + An insect formed of larger frame, + Called man, along the pathway came. + A ruthless foot aside he thrust, + And ground the beetle in the dust. + + Perchance no living being missed + The life that there ceased to exist; + Perchance the passive creature knew + No wrong, nor felt the deed undue; + + Yet its small share of life was given + By the same hand that orders heaven. + 'Twas for no other power to say, + Or should it go or should it stay. + +ANON. + + * * * * * + +THE CHIPMUNK. + + I know an old couple that lived in a wood-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + And up in a tree-top their dwelling it stood-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + The summer it came, and the summer it went-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + And there they lived on, and they never paid rent-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + + Their parlor was lined with the softest of wool-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + Their kitchen was warm, and their pantry was full-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + And four little babies peeped out at the sky-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + You never saw darlings so pretty and shy-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + + Now winter came on with its frost and its snow-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + They cared not a bit when they heard the wind blow-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + For, wrapped in their furs, they all lay down to sleep-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + But oh, in the spring, how their bright eyes will peep-- + Chipperee, chipperee, chip! + +UNKNOWN. + + * * * * * + +MOUNTAIN AND SQUIRREL. + + The mountain and the squirrel + Had a quarrel; + And the former called the latter "Little Prig." + Bun replied, + "You are doubtless very big; + But all sorts of things and weather + Must be taken in together + To make up a year + And a sphere; + And I think it no disgrace + To occupy my place. + If I'm not so large as you, + You are not so small as I, + And not half so spry. + I'll not deny you make + A very pretty squirrel track. + Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; + If I cannot carry forests on my back, + Neither can you crack a nut." + +EMERSON. + + * * * * * + +TO A FIELD-MOUSE. + + Wee sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, + Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie! + Thou need na start awa sae hasty, + Wi' bickering brattle! + I wad be laith to rin and chase thee + Wi' murd'ring pattle! + + I'm truly sorry man's dominion + Has broken nature's social union, + And justifies that ill opinion + Which makes thee startle + At me, thy poor earth-born companion + And fellow-mortal! + + Thou saw the fields lay bare and waste + And weary winter comin' fast, + And cozie here, beneath the blast, + Thou thought to dwell, + Till, crash! the cruel coulter past + Out thro' thy cell. + + But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane[2] + In proving foresight may be bain: + The best laid schemes o' mice and men + Gang aft a-gley, + And lea'e us nought but grief and vain, + For promised joy. + +BURNS. + + [2] Not alone. + + * * * * * + +A SEA-SHELL. + + See what a lovely shell, + Small and pure as a pearl, + Lying close to my foot. + Frail, but a work divine, + Made so fairily well + With delicate spire and whorl. + How exquisitely minute + A miracle of design! + + The tiny cell is forlorn, + Void of the little living will + That made it stir on the shore. + Did he stand at the diamond door + Of his house in a rainbow frill? + Did he push when he was uncurled, + A golden foot or a fairy horn + Through his dim water-world? + + Slight, to be crushed with a tap + Of my finger-nail on the sand; + Small, but a work divine: + Frail, but of force to withstand, + Year upon year, the shock + Of cataract seas that snap + The three-decker's oaken spine, + Athwart the ledges of rock, + Here on the Breton strand. + +ALFRED TENNYSON. + + * * * * * + +THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. + + This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, + Sails the unshadowed main,-- + The venturous bark that flings + On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings + In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, + And coral reefs lie bare, + Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. + + Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; + Wrecked is the ship of pearl! + And every chambered cell, + Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, + As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, + Before thee lies revealed,-- + Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! + + Year after year beheld the silent toil + That spread his lustrous coil; + Still, as the spiral grew, + He left the past year's dwelling for the new, + Stole with soft steps its shining archway through, + Built up its idle door, + Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. + + Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, + Child of the wandering sea, + Cast from her lap, forlorn! + From thy dead lips a clearer note is born + Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn! + While on mine ear it rings, + Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:-- + + "Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, + As the swift seasons roll! + Leave thy low-vaulted past! + Let each temple, nobler than the last, + Shut thee from heaven within a dome more vast, + Till thou at length art free, + Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unwresting sea!" + +O. W. HOLMES. + + * * * * * + +HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS. + + When he heard the owls at midnight, + Hooting, laughing in the forest, + "What is that?" he cried in terror; + "What is that?" he said, "Nokomis?" + And the good Nokomis answered: + "That is but the owl and owlet, + Talking in their native language, + Talking, scolding at each other." + Then the little Hiawatha + Learned of every bird its language, + Learned their names and all their secrets, + How they built their nests in Summer, + Where they hid themselves in Winter, + Talked with them whene'er he met them, + Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens." + Of all beasts he learned the language, + Learned their names and all their secrets, + How the beavers built their lodges, + Where the squirrels hid their acorns, + How the reindeer ran so swiftly, + Why the rabbit was so timid, + Talked with them whene'er he met them, + Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers." + Then Iagoo, the great boaster, + He the marvellous story-teller, + He the traveller and the talker, + He the friend of old Nokomis, + Made a bow for Hiawatha; + From a branch of ash he made it, + From an oak-bough made the arrows, + Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers, + And the cord he made of deer-skin. + Then he said to Hiawatha: + "Go, my son, into the forest, + Where the red deer herd together, + Kill for us a famous roebuck, + Kill for us a deer with antlers!" + Forth into the forest straightway + All alone walked Hiawatha + Proudly, with his bow and arrows; + And the birds sang ruffed him, o'er him, + "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" + Sang the robin, the Opechee, + Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, + "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!" + Up the oak-tree, close beside him, + Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, + In and out among the branches, + Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree, + Laughed, and said between his laughing, + "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!" + And the rabbit from his pathway + Leaped aside, and at a distance + Sat erect upon his haunches, + Half in fear and half in frolic, + Saying to the little hunter, + "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!" + But he heeded not, nor heard them, + For his thoughts were with the red deer; + On their tracks his eyes were fastened, + Leading downward to the river, + To the ford across the river, + And as one in slumber walked he. + +H. W. LONGFELLOW: _Hiawatha_. + + * * * * * + +UNOFFENDING CREATURES. + + The Being that is in the clouds and air, + That is in the green leaves among the groves, + Maintains a deep and reverential care + For the unoffending creatures whom he loves. + + One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, + Taught both by what He shows, and what conceals, + Never to blend our pleasure or our pride + With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels. + +WORDSWORTH. + + * * * * * + +SEPTEMBER. + + And sooth to say, yon vocal grove + Albeit uninspired by love, + By love untaught to ring, + May well afford to mortal ear + An impulse more profoundly dear + Than music of the spring. + + But list! though winter storms be nigh + Unchecked is that soft harmony: + There lives Who can provide, + For all his creatures: and in Him, + Even like the radiant Seraphim, + These choristers confide. + +WORDSWORTH. + + * * * * * + +THE LARK. + + Happy, happy liver, + With a soul as strong as a mountain river, + Pouring out praises to the Almighty Giver. + +WORDSWORTH. + + * * * * * + +THE SWALLOW. + + When weary, weary winter + Hath melted into air, + And April leaf and blossom + Hath clothed the branches bare, + Came round our English dwelling + A voice of summer cheer: + 'Twas thine, returning swallow, + The welcome and the dear. + + Far on the billowy ocean + A thousand leagues are we, + Yet here, sad hovering o'er our bark, + What is it that we see? + Dear old familiar swallow, + What gladness dost thou bring: + Here rest upon our flowing sail + Thy weary, wandering wing. + +MRS. HOWITT. + + * * * * * + +RETURNING BIRDS. + + Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing + Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring? + "We come from the shores of the green old Nile, + From the land where the roses of Sharon smile, + From the palms that wave through the Indian sky, + From the myrrh trees of glowing Araby." + +MRS. HEMANS. + + * * * * * + +THE BIRDS. + + With elegies of love + Make vocal every spray. + +CUNNINGHAM. + + * * * * * + +THRUSH. + + Whither hath the wood thrush flown + From our greenwood bowers? + Wherefore builds he not again + Where the wild thorn flowers? + + Bid him come! for on his wings + The sunny year he bringeth, + And the heart unlocks its springs + Wheresoe'er he singeth. + +BARRY CORNWALL. + + * * * * * + +LINNET. + + Within the bush her covert nest + A little linnet fondly prest, + The dew sat chilly on her breast + Sae early in the morning. + + She soon shall see her tender brood + The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, + Among the fresh green leaves bedewed, + Awake the early morning. + +BURNS. + + * * * * * + +NIGHTINGALE. + + But thee no wintry skies can harm + Who only needs to sing + To make even January charm + And every season Spring. + +COWPER. + + * * * * * + +SONGSTERS. + + Little feathered songsters of the air + In woodlands tuneful woo and fondly pair. + +SAVAGE. + + * * * * * + +MOHAMMEDANISM. + +THE CATTLE.[3] + + The "Chapter of the Cattle:" Heaven is whose, + And whose is earth? Say Allah's, That did choose + On His own might to lay the law of mercy. + He, at the Resurrection, will not lose + + One of His own. What falleth, night or day, + Falleth by His Almighty word alway. + Wilt thou have any other Lord than Allah, + Who is not fed, but feedeth all flesh? Say! + + For if He visit thee with woe, none makes + The woe to cease save He; and if He takes + Pleasure to send thee pleasure, He is Master + Over all gifts; nor doth His thought forsake + + The creatures of the field, nor fowls that fly; + They are "a people" also: "These, too, I + Have set," the Lord saith, "in My book of record; + These shall be gathered to Me by and by." + + With Him of all things secret are the keys; + None other hath them, but He hath; and sees + Whatever is in land, or air, or water, + Each bloom that blows, each foam-bell on the seas. + +E. ARNOLD: _Pearls of the Faith_. + + [3] _Koran_, chap. vi. + + * * * * * + + +I cannot believe that any creature was created for uncompensated misery; it +would be contrary to God's mercy and justice. + +MARY SOMERVILLE. + + * * * * * + +THE SPIDER AND THE DOVE. + + The spider and the dove,--what thing is weak + If Allah makes it strong? + The spider and the dove! if He protect, + Fear thou not foeman's wrong. + + From Mecca to Medina fled our Lord, + The horsemen followed fast; + Into a cave to shun their murderous rage, + Mohammed, weary, passed. + + Quoth Aba Bekr, "If they see me die!" + Quoth Eba Foheir, "Away!" + The guide Abdallah said, "The sand is deep, + Those footmarks will betray." + + Then spake our Lord "We are not four but Five; + He who protects is here. + 'Come! Al-Muhaimin' now will blind their eyes; + Enter, and have no fear." + + The band drew nigh; one of the Koreish cried, + "Search ye out yonder cleft, + I see the print of sandalled feet which turn + Thither, upon the left!" + + But when they drew unto the cavern's mouth, + Lo, at its entering in, + A ring-necked desert-dove sat on her eggs; + The mate cooed soft within. + + And right athwart the shadow of the cave + A spider's web was spread; + The creature hung upon her web at watch; + Unbroken was each thread; + + "By Thammuz' blood," the unbelievers cried, + "Our toil and time are lost; + Where doves hatch, and the spider spins her snare, + No foot of man hath crossed!" + + Thus did a desert bird and spider guard + The blessed Prophet then; + For all things serve their maker and their God + Better than thankless men. + +_Pearls of the Faith_. + + * * * * * + +THE YOUNG DOVES. + + There came before our Lord a certain one + Who said, "O Prophet! as I passed the wood + I heard the voice of youngling doves which cried, + While near the nest their pearl-necked mother cooed. + + "Then in my cloth I tied those fledglings twain, + But all the way the mother fluttered nigh; + See! she hath followed hither." Spake our Lord: + "Open thy knotted cloth, and stand thou by." + + But when she spied her nestlings, from the palm + Down flew the dove, of peril unafeared, + So she might succor these. "Seest thou not," + Our Lord said, "how the heart of this poor bird + + "Grows by her love, greater than his who rides + Full-face against the spear-blades? Thinkest thou + Such fire divine was kindled to be quenched? + I tell ye nay! Put back upon the bough + + "The nest she claimeth thus: I tell ye nay! + From Allah's self cometh this wondrous love: + Yea! And I swear by Him who sent me here, + He is more tender than a nursing dove, + + "More pitiful to men than she to these. + Therefore fear God in whatsoe'er ye deal + With the dumb peoples of the wing and hoof." + + * * * * * + +_Pearls of the Faith_. + + * * * * * + +FORGIVEN. + + +Verily there are rewards for our doing good to dumb animals, and giving +them water to drink. A wicked woman was forgiven who, seeing a dog at a +well holding out his tongue from thirst, which was near killing him, took +off her boot, and tied it to the end of her garment, and drew water in it +for the dog, and gave him to drink; and she was forgiven her sin for that +act. + +_Table Talk of Mohammed_. + + * * * * * + +PRAYERS. + + +It is recorded of the Prophet, that when, being on a journey, he alighted +at any place, he did not say his prayers until he had unsaddled his camel. + +POOLE'S _Mohammed_. + + * * * * * + +DUMB MOUTHS. + + By these dumb mouths be ye forgiven, + Ere ye are heard pleading with heaven. + +_Pearls of the Faith_. + + * * * * * + +THE PARSEES. + +FROM THE ZEND AVESTA. + + +Of all and every kind of sin which I have committed against the creatures +of Ormazd, as stars, moon, sun, and the red-burning fire, the _Dog_, the +_Birds_, the other good creatures which are the property of Ormazd, if I +have become a sinner against any of these, _I repent_. + + * * * * * + + +"If a man gives bad food to a shepherd Dog, of what sin is he guilty?" + +Ahura Mazda[4] answered: + +"It is the same guilt as though he should serve bad food to a master of a +house of the _first rank_." + + * * * * * + + +"The dog, I, Ahura Mazda, have made self-clothed and self-shod, watchful, +wakeful, and sharp-toothed, born to take his food from man and to watch +over man's goods. + +"I, Ahura Mazda, have made the dog strong of body against the evil-doer and +watchful over your goods, when he is of sound mind." + + [4] Ahura Mazda or Ormazd is the King of Light; the Good. The Zend + Avesta is of great but uncertain antiquity; believed to be three + thousand years old. + + * * * * * + +HINDOO. + + +He who, seeking his own happiness, does not punish or kill beings who also +long for happiness, will find happiness after death. + +_Dhammapada_. + +Whoever in this world harms living beings, and in whom there is no +compassion for living beings, let one know him as an outcast. + +_Sutta Nipata_. + + * * * * * + +THE TIGER. + + Tiger, tiger, burning bright + In the forests of the night, + What immortal hand or eye + Could frame thy fearful symmetry? + + In what distant deeps or skies + Burnt the fire of thine eyes? + On what wings dare he aspire? + What the hand dare seize the fire? + + And what shoulder and what art + Could twist the sinews of thy heart? + And, when thy heart began to beat, + What dread hand forged thy dread feet? + + What the hammer? what the chain? + In what furnace was thy brain? + What the anvil? What dread grasp + Dare its deadly terrors clasp? + + When the stars threw down their spears, + And watered heaven with their tears, + Did He smile his work to see? + Did He who made the lamb make thee? + + Tiger, tiger, burning bright + In the forests of the night, + What immortal hand or eye + Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? + +WILLIAM BLAKE. + + * * * * * + +VALUE OF ANIMALS. + + +Nobody doubts their general value, as nobody doubts the value of sunlight; +but a more practical appreciation may be felt of their moneyed value if we +look at that aspect of the question in some of its details. + +We quote from a hand-book published for the South Kensington Museum:-- + +"CLASS I.--_Animal Substances employed for Textile Manufactures and +Clothing._ Division I. Wool, Mohair, and Alpaca. Division II. Hair, +Bristles, and Whalebone. Division III. Silk. Division IV. Furs. Division V. +Feathers, Down, and Quills. Division VI. Gelatin, Skins, and Leathers. + +"CLASS II.--_Animal Substances used for Domestic and Ornamental Purposes._ +Division I. Bone and Ivory. Division II. Horns and Hoofs. Division III. +Tortoise-shell. Division IV. Shells and Marines. Animal Products for +Manufacture, Ornaments, etc. Division V. Animal Oils and Fats. + +"CLASS III.--_Pigments and Dyes yielded by Animals."_--Division I. +Cochineal and Kermes. Division II. Lac and its applications. Division III. +Nutgalls, Gall Dyes, Blood, etc. Division IV. Sepia, Tyrian Purple, Purree, +etc. + +"CLASS IV.--_Animal Substances used in Pharmacy and in Perfumery."_ +Division I. Musk, Civet, Castorem, Hyraceum, and Ambergris. Division II. +Cantharides, Leeches, etc. + +"CLASS V.--_Application of Waste Matters_. Division I. Entrails and +Bladders. Division II. Albumen, Casein, etc. Division III. Prussiates of +Potash and Chemical Products of Bone, etc. Division IV. Animal +Manures--Guano, Coprolites, Animal Carcases, Bones, Fish Manures, etc." + +From a table of the value of imports of animal origin brought into the +United Kingdom in the year 1875, we take a few items:-- + +"Live animals, £8,466,226. Wool of various kinds, £23,451,887. Silk, +manufactures of all kinds, £12,264,532. Silk, raw and thrown, £3,546,456. +Butter, £8,502,084. Cheese, £4,709,508. Eggs, £2,559,860. Bacon and hams, +£6,982,470. Hair of various kinds, £1,483,984. Hides, wet and dry, +£4,203,371. Hides, tanned or otherwise prepared, £2,814,042. Guano, +£1,293,436. Fish, cured or salted, £1,048,546." + +The value of the domestic stock in Great Britain and Channel Islands, in +1875, is stated to have been:-- + +"Horses, 1,349,691 at £16, £21,587,056. Cattle, 6,050,797 at £10, +£60,507,970. Sheep, 29,243,790 at £1 10s., £43,865,685. Swine, 2,245,932 at +£1 5s., £2,807,415. Total, £128,768,126." + +"When we find," says the compiler of the statistics from which we have +quoted, "that the figures give an estimated money value exceeding +£331,000,000 sterling, and that to this has to be added all the dairy +produce; the poultry and their products for Great Britain; the annual clip +of British wool, which may be estimated at 160,000,000 lbs., worth at least +£8,000,000; the hides and skins, tallow, horns, bones, and other offal, +horse and cow hair, woollen rags collected, the game and rabbits, the sea +and river fisheries; besides the products of our woollen, leather, glove, +silk, soap, and comb manufactures retained for home consumption, furs, +brushes, and many other articles, we ought to add a great many millions +more to the aggregate value or total."--SIMMONDS: _Animal Products_, p. +xix. + + * * * * * + +SOCIETIES FOR THE PREVENTION OF CRUELTY TO ANIMALS. + + +The first society formed under this name, or for this object, was the +"Royal," of London, in 1825. + +The first in America was that of New York, in 1866; that of Pennsylvania, +in 1867; and that of Massachusetts, in 1868. + +They all sprang from the same Christian root with the other great voluntary +organizations for religious and moral purposes which distinguished the +century just passed. All helped to widen the consciousness of the world, +and to prepare the way for reformations not then thought of. + +In this goodly company of voluntary societies, those for the Protection of +Animals are entitled to an honorable place. It is not too much to say that +any list would be incomplete without them. + +But they have gone beyond Europe and America, and are spreading over the +world. Among their devoted members are found the professors of many +religions. + +These "Voices," it is hoped, may impel their readers, wherever they may be, +to help on, through such Societies, a long delayed work of justice to the +humbler creatures of God. In many countries the young may find juvenile +societies to promote the cause in schools and neighborhoods. + +But whether inside or outside of organizations, the words of Mr. Longfellow +suggest a universal duty,-- + + "Act, act in the living present, + Hearts within and God o'erhead." + + + + +INDEX OF SUBJECTS AND TITLES. + + * * * * * + +Achilles, Horses of +Action +Ahura-Mazda +Aix, Good News to +Alexander +Allah +Among the Noblest +Ancient Mariner +Animals and Human Speech +Animals, Feeling for +Animals, Happiness +Animals, Innocent +Animals, Products +Animals, Suffering +Another's Sorrow +Arabs +Argus and Ulysses +Aspiration +Asoka Inscriptions +Atri in Abruzzo +Aziola + +Baby, Human +Bavieca +Bay Billy +Beaver +Bedouin's Rebuke +Bees, The +Beetle +Beggar and Dog +Be Kind +Bess, Poor +Bible +Bird and Ship +Bird King +Bird, Lost +Bird of the Wilderness +Birds +Birds and Mohammed +Birds at Dawn +Bird's Evening Song +Birds In Spring +Birds Learning to Fly +Birds Let Loose +Bird's Ministry +Birds Must Know +Birds, Our Teachers +Birds Returning +Birds, Shadows of +Birthday Address +Birth of the Horse +Blanco +Bloodhound +Bluebird +Bob-o'-link +Bride +Brotherhood +Buddhism +Butrago, Lord of + +Cage +Canary +Can they Suffer? +Cat +Care for the Lowest +Chick-a-dee-dee +Child, Lydia Maria +Chipmunk +Choir, Hymeneal +Choir, Invisible +Cid and Bavieca +Cock's Shrill Clarion +Compassion +Concord +Cormorant +Crane +Cricket +Crow +Cruelty, Effect of, on Man +Cuckoo + +Damascus +Darwin, Charles +Delft +Dog +Dog "Blanco" +Dog "Don" +Dog "Flight" +Dogs, Dead +Dogs, Domestic +Dogs, Epitaph on +Dogs "Faithful" +Dog's Grave +Doves +Do with your Own +Do you Know? +Drudge +Ducks +Dumb +Dumb Mouths +Duty +Duty and Fame +Dying in Harness + +Eagle +Eggs +Egyptian Ritual +Elegy +Elephants +Emperor's Bird's-Nest +Epitaph +Erskine, Lord +Exulting Sings + +Failures +Fame and Duty +Feathered Tribes +Feeling for Animals +Field Sparrow +Fire +Firmness and Faithfulness +Foray, The +Freedom to Beasts +Friend of every Friendless Beast +Friends +Future, The + +Gamarra +Geist's Grave +Gelert +Generosity +Gentleness +Giant's Strength +Glow-Worm +God's Children +Good News to Aix +Good Samaritan +Good Will +Grasshoppers +Graves, Collins, Ride of +Grey Friars' Bobby +Growth of Humane Ideas +Gulls + +Happiness of Animals +Hare +Harness, Dying in +Harper, The +Heart Service +Helvellyn +Hen and Honey Bee +Herbert, George +Herod, my Hound +Heroes +Herons of Elmwood +Hiawatha's Brothers +Hill-Star's Nest +Hippopotamus +Honor and Revere +Horse. See _Rides_. +Horse +Horse, Birth of +Horse, Blood +Horse, Fallen +Horse of Achilles +Horse Waiting for Master +Horse, War +Hound +Howard, John +Hindoo Poem +Hindooism +Humanity +Humming-Bird +Hundred Farms +Hymns + +Immortality +India +Indian +In Holy Books +Inscriptions +Insect +Instinct +Introduction +Irish Wolf-Hound + +Jay +June Day +Justice + +Killingworth, Birds of +Kindness +Kindness to Aged Creatures +King of Denmark's Ride +Kites + +L'Allegro +Lamb +Lark +Lark (Sky) +Lark (Wood) +Leaders +Learn from the Creatures +Legend of Cross-Bill +Lexington +Life is Glad +Lincoln, Robert of +Linnet +Little Brown Bird +Little by Little +Living Swan +Llewellyn and Gelert +Looking for Pearls +Lord of Butrago +Lost +Love +Loyalty + +Magpie +Man's Morality on Trial +Man's Rule +Man's Supremacy +Marriage Feast +Martin +Mausoleum +Measureless Gulfs +Mercy +Misery +Monkey +Moral Lessons +Mother's Care +Mountain and Squirrel +Mouse, A Field +Myth + +Nautilus +Natural Rights +Nature, Animated +Nature's Teachings +Nest +Newfoundland Dog +Newsboy +Nightingale +Nobility +No Ceremony +No Grain of Sand +Non-interference +Not born for Death +Not Contempt +Nothing Alone + +Odyssey +Old Mill +Old Spaniel +One Hundred Years Ago +Open Sky +Oriole +Our Pets +Owl +Ox + +Pain to Animals +Papers +Parrots +Parsees +Peacock +Peepul Tree +Pegasus in Pound +Persevere +Petrel, Stormy +Pets, Our +Pheasant +Phoebe +Piccola +Pity +Plutarch +Poor Dog Tray +Prayers +Pretty Birds +Pussy + +Quail +Questions +Quit the Nest + +Reason +Returning Birds +Ride of Collins Graves +Ride of King of Denmark +Ride of Paul Revere +Ride of Sheridan +Ride of "The Colonel" +Ride to Aix +Rights Must Win +Rights, Natural +Ring Out +Robins +Roland +Rooks +Room Enough +Rover + +Sake of the Animals +Sand, No Grain of +Sandpiper +Scarecrow +Sea-Fowl +Sea Shell +September +Shadows of Birds +Shaftesbury, Earl of +Shag +Sheep +Shepherd's Home +She-Wolf +Ship of Pearl +Siddârtha +Sin +Six Feet +Skylark +Societies for Protection of Animals +Solitude +Songs +Sorrow +Sounds and Songs +Sparrow +Spider +Squirrel +Statue over the Cathedral Door +St. Francis +Stole the Eggs +Stole the Nest +Stork +Study of Animals +Suffer, Can they? +Suffering +Sultan +Swallow +Swan +Sympathy + +Tame Animals +Teeth of Dog +Tenderness +Te whit, te who +Texts. See _Bible_. +Thrush +Tiger +Tiger Moth +Tom +Tramp +Trotwood, Betsy +Troubadour +Trust +Truth + +Ulysses +Upward + +Value of Animals to Man +Venice, Doves of +Village Sounds +Vireos +Virtue +Vision +Vivisection +Vogelweid, Walter von der + +Waiting for Master +War-Horse +Waterfowl +Way to Sing +Wedding Guest +Wedding, The Fairy +What the Birds Say +Whippoorwill +Who Stole the Bird's Eggs? +Who Stole the Bird's Nest? +Who Taught? +William of Orange +Williamsburg +Winchester +Wish, A +Wolf +Wolf-Hound +Wood Lark +Wood Pigeons +Workman of God +Worm +Worm Turns, The +Wren + +Yudhistthira + + * * * * * + + + + +INDEX OF AUTHORS. + +Akenside, Mark +Alger's Oriental Poetry +Amicis, de E. +Andros, R. S. +Anonymous. See _Unknown._ +Aristotle +Arnold, Edwin +Arnold, Matthew +Asoka, Emperor + +Barbauld, Mrs. +Bates, Mrs. C. D. +Bentham, Jeremy +Berry, Mrs. C. F. +Bible +Blackie, Professor +Blake, William +Blanchard, Laman +Bostwick, Helen B. +Bremer, Frederika +Bright, John +Brine, Mary D. +Brooks, Rev. C. T. +Brougham, John +Browning, Mrs. E. B. +Browning, Robert +Bryant, W. C. +Buddhism. See _Hindoo_. +Burns, Robert +Butler, Bishop +Byron, Lord + +Caird, Rev. Dr. +Californian +Campbell, Thomas +Carlyle, Mrs. Thomas +Carpenter, Rev. H. B. +Carpenter, Rev. J. E. +Chamber's Journal +Chamisso +Child's Book of Poetry +Cincinnati Humane Appeal +Clayton, Sir Robert +Clough, Arthur H. +Cobbe, Miss F. P. +Coleridge, Hartley +Coleridge, S. T. +Corbett, E. T. +Cornwall, Barry +Cowper, William +Craik, Mrs. Dinah M. +Cunningham, Allen +Cuvier, Baron + +Davids, T. W. R. +Dickens, Charles +Dryden, John + +Egyptian Ritual +Eliot, George +Emerson, R. W. + +Faber, F. W. +Fields, James T. + +Gassaway, F. H. +Gisborne, Thomas +Goethe +Goldsmith, O. +Gray + +H. H. +Hathaway, E. +Hedge, Rev. Dr. F. H. +Helps, Arthur +Hemans, Mrs. +Herbert, George +Hindoo +Hogg, James +Holland, J. G. +Holmes, O. W. +Homer +Howitt, Mary +Humane Journal +Hunt, Leigh +Hymns for Mothers + +Ingelow, Jean + +Jackson, Mrs. See _H. H._ +Job +Johnson, Laura W. + +Keats, John +Keble, J. +Kingsley, Charles + +Lamb, Charles and Mary +Langhorne, J. +Larcom, Lucy +Lathbury, Mary A. +Lawrence, Kate +Lewes, Mrs. See _George Elliot._ +Lillie, Arthur +Lockhart, J. G. +Logan, John +Longfellow, H. W. +Lord, Miss Emily B. +Lowell, James R. +Lowell, Maria +Luther, Martin + +Mahabhàrata +Mackenzie +MacCarthy, Denis F. +Mason, Caroline A. +Masque of Poets +McLeod, Norman +Mill, John Stuart +Milton, John +Mohammed +Moore, Thomas +Motley, J. L. +Müller, Max +Muloch. See _Mrs. Dinah M. Craik._ + +Norton, Mrs. C. E. + +Odyssey +O'Reilly, John Boyle + +Paine, Miss Harriet E. +Parseeism +Perry, Carolina Coronado de +Pfeiffer, Emily +Plutarch +Poole, Stanley +Pope, Alexander +Preston, Margaret J. +Procter. See _Barry Cornwall._ +Punch + +Read, T. B. +Ruskin, John + +Savage, Richard +Saxe, John G. +Schiller +Scott, Walter +Scudder, Eliza +Shakespeare, W. +Shelley, P. B. +Shenstone, W. +Sheppard, Mary. +Simmonds +Somerville, Mary +Southey, Robert +Spenser, W. R. +Stanley, A. P. +Sterling, John +Swing, David + +Taylor, Bayard +Taylor, Emily +Taylor, Henry +Temple Bar +Tennyson, Alfred +Thaxter, Mrs. Celia + +Unknown + +Verplanck, Julia C. + +Walton, Izaak +Whittier, J. G. +Wilcox +Wither, George +Woolson, C. F. +Wordsworth, W. + +Zend Avesta + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12879 *** |