% FOR, ftPUARFAWTET ^■/nit^^ SHORT POEMS FOR SHORT PEOPLE EDGAR FAWCETT. -^cToF Co,^ ^^ g^ C0PYRI6H NEW Y O R K : FRANCIS B. FELT & COMPANY, 91 MERCER STREET. 1872. T&/^^7 .6 5- )S7^ Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1S71, by EDGAR FAWCETT, In tlie Oflicc of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C. Edward O. Jenkins, riilXTER AND STEREOTYPER, SO North William Street, N. Y. TE Makt of the poems in this volurae have r.ppearod in various magazines and journals throughout the country, previous to their present collection in book form. Permission to re-print a number of them has been obtained from Mr. Wm. Hayes Ward, of The Independent; Messrs. James R. Osgood & Co., of Boston ; Messrs. Hurd & Houghton, of New York ; Messrs. Davis & Elverson, of Philadelphia ; Messrs. Lee & Sliopard, of Boston ; Jlr. Frank Leslie, of New York ; Mr. George S. Merriam, of New York ; Mr. F. S. Street, of New York ; Mr. Alfred Martien, of Philadelphia ; Mr. W. H. Holbrooke, of New York ; Mr. J. B. T. Marsh, of Cincinnati ; Mrs. E. H. Miller, of Chicago ; Mr. H. B. Fullei , of Boston ; Mr. J. K. Elliott, of Boston, and Messrs. J. H. Carmany & Co., of San Francisco. The poems '"Autumn" and "Santa Claus," were originally published in Harper's Weekly; "Under the Bedclothes," "An Awakening," " A School-Boy of the Period," first appeared in Harpefs Bazar; "A School Girl of the Period," in Uaipefs Magazine. DEDICA TION. If any girls or boys, %uJi ether American or English, can truthfully say of this little book, after having finished it, that the reading of zvhat is xvritten lie re in has given an hotir of real, happy recreation, I pray that every such girl or boy shall believe the book to have been specially designed for her or for him, and to her or to him specially dedicated. THE AUTHOR. CONTENTS. PAGE Sent to Bed 9 Baby's Bath lo The Good Girl Over the Way 1 1 The First Pants 13 A Wail 14 Beginning Young 16 My Little One 17 A Sad Case 18 Carry's Troubles 18 Above All Price 20 At the Closet-Door 21 A School-Boy of the Period 22 The Star's Stor}' 23 A Guardian Angel 25 A Little Girl of the Period 27 A Little Samaritan 2S One of these Days 29 If 31 Parting Words 32 A Lamentation 33 A Little Moralist 34 A " Boy " of the Period 36 Harry's Curls 37 The Worst Girl in School 39 The Elves 41 Under the Bed-Clothes 42 The Angel's Gift 43 Brother Willy 44 A Guilty Conscience 45 Candor 47 A Young Poetess , 48 For Christmas 49 (7) 8 CONTENTS. PAGl! Looking Springvvard 50 A Comfort 51 A Parting 52 " AIwa3'S as Now " 53 Three Roses 55 Excuses 56 A Wish 57 An Elysium 58 A Little Runawa3' 59 A School-Girl of the Period 61 The Unsociable Colt 62 Scolding the Sea 63 A Dialogue 65 Summoned 67 Blighted Flowers 69 Aspirations 70 The Little Cripple 71 In Sickness 73 Apple-Gatherers 74 Cleopatra 75 Jealous of Baby 76 Our Benny 78 Remembering 79 In Autumn Weather 80 Brave Resolves 81 Tired Out 83 The Christmas-Tree 84 Little Isabel 85 Our Queen 86 A Cradle Song S8 Santa Claus . . 89 At the Window 90 A Prayer to Summer 91 Autumn 92 An Awakening 94 SHORT POE SENT TO BED. I WAS n't a particle sleepy, And yet here I lie, all the same, Sent straight off to bed when the clock struck nine ; I think it 's a terrible shame ! Mamma is unfair in her treatment — ■ There is n't a doubt of that truth ; Ruth Jones can sit up quite as late as she wants ; Oh, dear, how I do envy Ruth ! They all were so gay in the parlor ; Aunt Gertrude was singing a song, And Uncle Joe just was commencing to tell That story he 's promised so long. And brother Will, home for vacation, Was full of such capers and fun ! I* (9) lO SHORT POEMS Mamma might have altered that haixl rule of hers For one night, if only for one. But no ; as the clock began striking I happened to catch mamma's eye ; She first looked at me and then looked at the clock — 'Twas easy to understand ^vhy. And now I lie here in the darkness And silence, so solemn and deep. Well, \vell, I am drowsy, the least little bit ; There's nothing to do except sleep. BABY'S BATH. I THINK there never was so brave a baby In all the realms of Babydom, till now. He positively looks upon cold water As something quite enjoyable, I vow. The little pink-limbed atom of perfection ! Just listen how melodiously he coos. And reaches for the sponge Mamma is holding, As if she only meant it to amuse. His playful hands are Hghtly dropt and lifted Like playful peach-blooms in some merry breeze, rOR SHORT PEOPLE. 11 And, oh, it is delight to watch the dimples That deepen if he bends his chubby knees ! Then, too, his low, soft laughter, never silent. His eyes more beautiful than evening-stars ; — Were only other babies half so docile. What comfort for a million poor mammas ! And when his bath is ended and I sing him, Rocked in his cosy cradle to and fro, All gently, like the waving of a poppy. The sweetest of the lullabies I know. How willingly his eyelids yield to slumber. What peace on dewy lips and pearly brow ! I think there never was so dear a bab3^ In all the realms of Babydom till now ! THE GOOD GIRL OVER THE WAY. There once was a time when Mamma used to think I was tidy, obedient, clever ; But now it is useless to seek for her praise : She never bestows any — never ! My manners, my neatness, my talents, my dress, In short, all I do or I say. By force of comparison suffers eclipse From the good girl over the way. 12 SHORT r(3EMS That girl is a mystery harder to solve Than my algebra's toughest equation, Performing each duty in life with contempt For the slightest approach to evasion. A flesh-and-blood piece of perfection, and made Of finer original clay, What right have inferior mortals to rank With the good girl over the way ? Her virtues would fill quite a volume : at "school She obtains all receivable medals, Her management of the piano, I 've heard. Is a queenship of keys and pedals ; Her worst composition is worthy of print, French verbs she considers mere play ; And as for Geometry, Euclid was dull To the good girl over the way. Now I, who am favored with fair common-sense, In my studies by no means deficient. Dislike to encounter incessant rebuke For simply not being omniscient. My mind is made up ; I shall certainly cease All further attempt, from to-day, To copy those wonderful traits that exist In the good girl over the way. Besides, it was only last evening I heard — Who told me of course does n't matter ; ' FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 13 The person, I have not a doubt, was sincere, And never intended to flatter — Yes, only last evening I really heard O such a nice somebody say That one of my smiles would be worth a whole kiss From the good girl over the way ! THE FIRST PANTS. My pants are becoming, Beyond the least doubt, But then I 'm a little Ashamed to go out. I wonder if people Will stare when they see ; I 'm certain Frank Harris Will make fun of me. Well, Frank, if he chooses. May giggle and stare. He 'd like it, I 'm certain, If he had a pair. To-morrow at school, though, They '11 just hoot outright ; But the first boy that touches me Gets in a fight. 14 SHORT POEIMS I 'd like it much better To feel the least bit As if these new trousers Were more of a fit. It certainly is n't A thing to amuse, This singular flapping I have round my shoes. But, pshaw ! by to-morrow They won't seem the same ; I '11 quite have recovered From any false shame. My last pants were nothing But poor little halves ; How odd if I did lit Feel loose in the calves ! A WAIL. I SOMEHOW think ni}^ fate a very sad one ; I 've not my rightful share of earthly joy, Doomed as I am, through all my future life-time, To sorrow that I was n't born a boy. I 've tried so hard to care for dolls, like most girls ; But no, they don't amuse me one wee mite. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 15 There 's nothing to my fancy half so lovely As just to spin a top or fly a kite. I often watch, beside ni}^ bedroom window, The merry, jolly boys that romp and race. When school is over, in the street beneath me, And wish that one of them could take my place. Mamma considers me an awful creature. Papa believes me made but to annoy. • Of course it must be very, very dreadful, To have a child that 's neither girl nor boy. But, then, am I to blame ? It 's hard to think so. A blind man cannot see without his eyes. Nor yet a cripple walk without his crutches. No matter how much either of them tries. And so the only thing that 's truly left me, Is to conclude my lot of earthly joy Does n't compare at all with other people's, Lamenting that I was n't born a boy ! l6 SHORT POEMS BEGINNING YOUNG. Did I have a nice time at the party ? Well, rather, Mamma ; but you see, The boys, from the smallest to largest. Were timid as timid could be. Boys always are silly at parties ; I wonder why girls always act With twice as much manners and breeding ? It seems a remarkable fact; I saw sucJl a nice little fellow, With glossy brown curls, there to-night ; His face would have made a sweet picture, So pleasant and rosy and bright. But, then, he was awfully bashful, This boy with the brown curly hair ; I don't think he spoke the whole evening ; The poor little soul did n't dare. I liked him, but somehow it vexed me To have him sit still and not speak ; I 'm sure 't would have given me pleasure Right sharply to slap his plump cheek. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 1/ I punished him well by-and-by, though ; Don't tell it, Mamma, if you please ; But, oh, Avhat a kiss I did give him, Poor darling, in Pillows and Keys ! MY LITTLE ONE: A PRAYER. God bless my little one ! How fair The mellow lamp-light gilds his hair, Loose on the cradle-pillow there ! — God bless my little one ! God guard my little one ! To me Life widowed of his life would be As sea-sands widowed of the sea ! — God guard my little one ! God love my little one ! As clear Cool sunshine holds the first green spear On April meadows, hold him dear ! — God love my little one ! When these fond lips are mute, and when I slumber, not to wake again, God bless, God guard, God love him, then. My little one ! Amen. 1 8 SHORT POEMS A SAD CASE. 1 can't understand why we don't like the things It 's Avholesome and proper to eat ; I wish that I just hated candies and cakes, And cared for potatoes and meat. It frightens me, sometimes, to think what I 'd do, If only I had my own way In a candy-shop or a baker-shop. With no one to watch me, some day. For if any one left me alone with a lot Of candies and cakes at my side, I firmly believe I should eat, and should eat, And should eat, and should eat, till I died. CARRY'S TROUBLES. DExMURE litttle Carry, eleven to-day. Has a world of annoyances, truly , Assuming the charge, in a sisterly way. Of venturesome Kitty and mischievous May, And bold Master Max, the unruly. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 1 9 Of course there is nurse to decide wliat is best, In cases of reckless resistance ; But if nurse is the captain it must be confessed That Carry affords, with unwearying zest, A corporal's watchful assistance. When Kitty was found up the pear-tree, last week, With skirts in the branches entangled. How long but for Carry's most opportune shriek, Beholding the sister she wandered to seek. Would Kitty, head-dov/nwards, have dangled ? And May, fairy May, with her curls' glossy gold, And the brown eyes glimmering under, Were it not for the hand-clasp so firm to hold. From her restless gypseyings manifold Would she come back as safe, I wonder ? And Max — what so hazardous he would not dare, All peril disdaining sublimely, If somehow a hand were not always just there, Intent upon saving Papa's son and heir In time, from an end most untimely ? Poor Carry laments, now and then, that her days Are troubled — with good reason, truly ! And yet, how the love which they bear her repays For all Kitty's pranks and all mischief of May's, All capers of Max, the unruly. 20 SHORT POEMS ABOVE ALL PRICE. How dear docs mother hold Her bonny little one ? Just as dear as the jostling clovers Hold the merry sun. How hard would mother try To please her pretty lass ? Just as hard as the pattering showers Try to please the grass. How fair does mother think The darling at her breast ? Just as fair as the glad white sea-bird Thinks the wave's white crest. How long will mother's love For her treasure last ? Just as long as her heart keeps beating, Till her life be past. How much will mother's love Change, as years are told ? Just as much as the mountain changes, Or the ocean old ! FOR SHORT PEOPLE, 21 AT THE CLOSET-DOOR. I 'm here at the closet-door, Lily : Mamma does n't know that I 'm here ; Your sobbing- was truly so awful I thought I might comfort you, dear. Now please don't imagine it 's merely To give you advice that I came ; Advice, when a body feels angry, Is like fuel added to flame. And yet if you only will listen To three or four words, I am sure The trial of asking for pardon Won't seem quite so hard to endure. It is n't as if you were asking A stranger's forgiveness — ah, no ! Mamma would just die to defend you From harm, Lill ; I 'm certain it 's S(7. She suffers more deeply than you do — • Believe it — in having you here. There is n't a tear you are shedding That somehow don't cost her a tear. 22 SHORT POEMS And only because you are precious Your faults are things hateful to see ; No buds will make beautiful roses Unless we give care to the tree. Be good, and just ask mamma's pardon, Or else you '11 repent it, some day. I 've been in dark closets m3^self, Lill ; Experience teaches, they say. A SCHOOL-BOY OF THE PERIOD. King Richard the Third ? He ascended the throne In the year — oh, pshaw, what a shame ! I knew it last night, sir ; 'pon honor I did — At any rate, Richard was lame. It 's odd that I should not precisely recall The year he began, sir, to rule. (Bill Jones, carit you tell me, or are you too mean ? I '11 pay 3^ou for this after school). He attained his position by what ? Let me think. Oh ! murdering all of his kin. His two little nephe\ys were cruelly drowned In a hogshead of — was n't it gin ? FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 23 To whom was he married ? (Just whisper it, Bill, And I'll lend you my ball a whole day.) To whom was he married, sir? (Louder, Bill Jones, I can't hear a word that you say !) How long- did he reign ? Twenty years. (There's a guess !) Who killed him — in what famous fight ? Oh, yes, I remember ; the Black Prince, of course, At Hastings. (Bill, is n't that right ?) Sufficient ? Detained after school, sir ! Well, well, The justice of that I dont see. It 's enough to discourage (Stop giggling. Bill Jones!) A hard-working student like me ! THE STAR'S STORY. There dwelt a pure sweet star high up in heaven, That longed for something beautiful to love ; And one fair night while gazing softly earthward. All from the blue tranquillities above. She found a little gold-haired boy who slumbered, Gentle, and sinless as a new-born dove. 24 SHORT POEMS For many a night the star, with beamings tender, Shone through the quiet casement of the room Where innocently slept her gold-haired darling, Compassed with utter silentness and gloom, Until at last, yet watching him, she murmured : " He knows of my love, O weary doom !" Then prayed the pure sweet star that God might change her To one of those glad fire-flies that flash bright O'er meadowy lapses and low reedy marshlands, Through the long sombre watches of the night, Dancing their dizzy dances, quaint and mirthful, ' Fandangoes and cachuchas of delight. * For surely, then,' she thought, ' I shall be nearer Him whom my heart has learned to prize so well !* And lo, the while she prayed her prayer, full fleetly Down through the gloaming's purple void she fell ; Down to the meadow-lapses and green marshlands Where countlessly the sparkling fire-flies dv/ell. Joyous it was to float on buoyant pinions Among those radiant multitudes, and seem A new star in a new and nearer heaven. Her distant home viewed vaguely like a dream ; Joyous it was, and yet not long she lingered, Idly among her brilliant peers to gleam. FOK SHORT PEOPLE. 25 ' For I must gain,' she thought, ' my love's dim casement, Before the twihght darkens and he sleeps.' Alas, poor fire-fly ! journeying so hopeful, Her wings are tangled in the grassy deeps That clothe a broad, still meadow, and she flutters Vainly to rescue what the strong grass keeps ! All night the cold dews chill her while she struggles, Bruising frail wings, frail body, and all night Up from the gloomy sward come sudden flashes That pierce the solemn air with fitful light, Till mournfully the flashes die forever, Just as the far dawn glimmers wild and white. A GUARDIAN ANGEL. You say that nobody has ever seen A ghost. Mamma ? I thmk that you are right. People who die, as little Maudie died, And dwell in Heaven and play on golden harps, And float along with beautiful white wings, Why should they ever ask to visit earth, Even if God would let them ? I believe They do not come — except as Maudie comes, Not seen, not heard, but somehow standing near 2 26 SHORT rOEMS My bedside, on the nights of loneliest days, When I have missed her, ah, so drearily ! — Remembering her glossy curls, her smile, Her pretty ways, her cunning, gentle talk. And how her warm, pink arms would clasp my neck For good-night kisses. Often I awake And know. Mamma, that she is with me. Morning Has not yet broken, and the room is dark And very still. I listen for the sound Of tiny feet upon the floor — the same Whose steps made merry patterings long ago, But stir not under those blue myrtles, now, That tremble on her grave. I listen. But there is silence only. Then I say Softly, below my breath : " She is not here ; She cannot come ; she is away with God." And yet I listen, listen, till at last. Longing to have her with me, in a voice A little louder than before, I whisper : " O Maudie, darling Maudie, are you there ?" And then, it seems, a murmured answer comes. Quite low and tremulous and musical. As if an older, wiser Maudie spoke Out from the shadows : " I am here ; I watch, When you are sleeping, always by your bed. I love you, I remember you ; I am Your Maudie, just as in the other days." O very sweet it is to hear those words. And I am sure I do not fancy them. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 2"] Lying awake and shedding thankful tears, And in the solemn darkness not afraid. A LITTLE GIRL OF THE PERIOD. Think, Ada, how old we are growing ! We 're both of us thirteen, my dear. I 've almost decided not going To any more parties this year. Now, love, I don't mean to turn preacher, And frown upon fashion ; but then One feels like a very old creature With girls of eleven and ten. I mean these young romps fresh and winning. With sleeve-loops and hair simply curled, Their pleasure in life just beginning, Quite new to the ways of the world. Ah, how they enjoy each flirtation, All flattery taking as truth ! Well, well ! they soon learn admiration Lasts only as long as their youth. Of course we are foolish in sighing For joys that have vanished away. 28 SHORT POEMS One fact is beyond all denying- Dear Ada, I 'm sadly blasee. A LITTLE SAMARITAN. Well, Maudie, I trust that you 're better : I 've brought you some nice things from home Some jelly as clear as a crystal. Some pot-cheese as white as the foam. And though your mamma has just told me You don't care to eat now you 're sick, They 're still rather pleasant to look at, Like flowers that one must n't pick. I hope you '11 be well for my party ; Oh, Maudie, I should miss you so ! We 're going to have such lovely mottoes. And oceans of goodies, you know. And then your new dress is quite ready ; I shall not be jealous at all. Though certain I am that you '11 prove, love, The recognized belle of the ball. And now I 've some news for you, Maudie, It ousfht to delight you to hear. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 29 Perhaps it will act — there 's no telling — As sort of a remedy, dear. I met Charley Williams last evening. He bade me be sure to repeat This kind little message he sent you : I '11 whisper it — is n't that sweet ? Why, Maudie, you 're better already ; That laugh had a clear healthy sound. (There 's nothing like news from the friends they love best For bringing these sick people round). ONE OF THESE DAYS. One of these days, one of these days, I shall wear a bonnet and a train, tra-la ! One of these days, one of these days, I shall have a handsome watch and chain, tra-la ! Times will be nicer in many, many ways. Easier, merrier, one of these days. One of these days, one of these days, I can go to bed when I 'm inclined, heigh-ho ! One of these days, one of these days, I sha n't have my dresses hook behind, heigh-ho ! D SHORT POEMS Times will be altered in many, many ways, Doing as I wish to do, one of these days. One of these days, one of these days, Lessons will have ceased for good and all, tra-la ! One of these days, one of these days I shall be the beauty of the ball, tra-la ! Times will have brightened in many, many ways, Life will be jollier, one of these days. One of these days, one of these days, I shall be a lady like mamma, heigh-ho ! One of these days, one of these days, I shall have a lover like papa, heigh-ho ! Times will be pleasant in many, many ways, Living as I want to live, one of these days. One of these days, one of these da3^s. Often do I dream of it in dreams, dear me ! One of these days, one of these days. What a distant period it seems, dear me ! Time is very tardy in the working of his ways ; How I wish he 'd hurry up " one of these days !" FOR SHORT TEOPLE. 3 1 IF. If I were a school-teacher, like Miss Snapp, And she were a scholar like me, Oh, gracious ! what lessons I 'd give her to learn, What sums in the Rule of Three ! And how, if she did n't forever behave In just the most saintly of ways. Her ears should be slapped, and her buns locked up, And her recess ruined for daj^s ! If I were as clever as Laura Sharp, And she were as stupid as I, What thorough delight it would give me to act As monitor, meddler and spy ! And how I should tattle of all that she did, In Laura's contemptible style. And smile, when she blundered at spelling or French, That horrid, unmerciful smile ! If I were a beauty like Rosa Bell, And she were a fright like myself, What saucy remarks I should constantly make To vex her — the proud little elf! 32 SHORT POEMS What fun I should poke at her freckles, her nose, Her elbows, her knuckles, her hair. And alf with that delicate titter of hers, That stingingly lady-like air ! But then I am merely supposing, of course, Impossible things. Who can tell What truly would happen if truly I were Miss Snapp, Laura Sharp, Rosa Bell ? Perhaps I should pity (revenge is so mean !) And help them and love them, all three, And do unto others as I myself would That others should do unto me. PARTING WORDS. Please, Mother dear, don't cry so ; let me see On those pale lips, before the end, one smile. Truly it would bring such great joy to me If I might have you glad a little while ! Only a little while before I go ! Think, Mother, that it will not be for long ; Remember, too, I 've seen God's lilies blow In dreams — in dreams have heard His ancrels' sons:. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 33 Father is there and reaches loving hands ! I know it must seem lonelier when I leave, But then there 's Katy still. God understands That which is best. Be patient while you grieve. Because you love me much I cannot doubt It robs you of some pain to hear me say My soul has not one fear to pass without This little pallid fragment of frail clay. And so take comfort. Let these weak arms fold The other glad, bright mother I once knew. And think that when your time comes, Heaven shall hold Two more fond waiting hands to welcome 3^ou ! A LAMENTATION. Why is it I 'm always so busy And never get anything done ? I must have been born in a hurry, I '11 die, it is certain, in one. The girls that I know are not like me ; There 's Alice and Jenny and Sue ; They do all they ought, and have leisure For quantities more than they do. 34 SHORT POEMS And then they take matters so coolly, And live in so quiet a way ; But I 'm in perpetual fever And fluster the whole of the day. And even at night very often I lie wide awake in my bed, And thoughts of how much I 've neglected Are buzzing like bees in my head. The lessons I 've studied to master And wretchedly failed in at school, With many a dreary remembrance Of broken intention or rule. Oh, dear, if I only knew some one Afflicted precisely like me, Forever at work doing nothing — What excellent friends we should be ! A LITTLE MORALIST. I 'm tired of fairy-books, Fanny, There is n't a word of them true ; They 're simply not sensible reading For girls like myself and you. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 35 Don't look so amazed ; I mean it. The fact of the matter is this : We 've arrived at an age when common-sense Is certainly not amiss. For children like Will and Bessie I suppose it is all very nice To believe that a pumpkin was changed to a coach And ponies were made out of mice ; Or that any one ever could manage, Like Cinderella, to go And dance at a ball in slippers of glass That did n't get broken, you know. Or that fairies have ever existed — Live people with actual wings — Who merely by waving their wands could perform Such very remarkable things. This is all nice enough for Bessie And Will to believe in, I say ; But we, 't would be well to remember. Are older and wiser than they. And there seems to be so much, Fann)% In this great, great world of ours, Both real and beautiful besides, Like sunsets and birds and flowers. 36 SHORT POEMS So much, mamma thinks, that v/as fashioned To charm and to teach us as well, And stranger by far than the curious tales Those wonderful fair3^-books tell ; — So much we should value for being The blessings God renders his own, That it 's better to love what is true, Fanny dear, And to leave what is false alone. A "BOY" OF THE PERIOD. I 'VE met the young creature you mean, Tom She 's truly quite pretty ; but then We men of fifteen should look higher Than girls that have scarcely turned ten. By Jove, it 's surprising how docile To female attractions you are ; No, somehow life has n't yet made you Blast — \i\\\ yow try a cigar ? For my part, I seem to have grown, Tom, Quite callous to Cupid's worst stings ; It may be my liver is ruined With parties and suppers and things. rOR SHORT PEOPLE. 37 Or yet it may be that I 'm reaching The sober, grave epoch in life When, wearied with folly and pleasure, INIen long for the joys of a wife. And apropos, Tom ; that reminds me : — Kate Jones is a sweet little dear, With charmingly kittenish manners And twenty-five thousand a year. We 've danced lots of germans together And set people gossiping, too. INIy chances look strong in that quarter ; I '11 make the attempt — would n't you ? Yes, marriage is certainly better Than what is called bachelor-ease. Is that brandy, Tom, on the table ? Just pour me a glass, if you please. HARRY'S CURLS How glad, little Harry, Your hazel ej-es glow. As one after one, child, The sweet curls s:o ! 38 SHORT POEMS You 're happy to part from This soft sunny hair That made your wee shoulders So bonnily fair. Perhaps papa 's right, dear ; You 're too old a boy To wear tliese rich ringlets I wound with such joy. So cut, cruel scissors, With sharp clicking sound, As, ringlet by ringlet, They fall to the ground. Ah, Harry, I envy Your light-hearted glee ; It 's well to be merry — Mamma cannot be ! Each curl as it falls, dear. Is something that tells Of drearier changes. More solemn farewells. I see you so altered From what you are now, With time 's many troubles To shadow your brow. Believe it, my Harry, WhoseJaughter rings bold, FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 39 'T is not, after all, dear. Such fun to grow old ! I fancy the scissors That flash in my hand Are working more mischief Than you understand. Yes, love, with each ringlet So severed, I seem To steal your life's sunshine In beam after beam ! THE WORST GIRL IN SCHOOL. It 's as easy for some kinds of people To always behave themselves well As for churches to carry a steeple Or oysters to live in a shell ; But others are slower at seeing The virtue of method and rule ; I wish I could truly help being The worst girl in school. Of course not a person beheves me Whenever I say, in sad mood, How greatly my wickedness grieves me And how I should like to be. good. 40- . SHORT POEMS But then my fibs are so disgusting; ; No wonder their treatment is cool : It 's grown an old story, this trusting The worst girl in school. And yet I form each good intention In excellent faith, do I not ? But somehow I feel the prevention Of something — it 's hard to tell what. Perhaps of a wee impish fairy That makes me her puppet and fool, And laughs in her sleeve to see Mary The worst girl in school. It 's useless for teachers to drill me With slaps and with lecturings now. I cannot improve though they kill me ; I honestly do not know how. Miss Dragon's grim face seems all sinew. Miss Gorgonclaw glares like a ghoul ; But spite of hard looks I continue The worst girl in school. No doubt 'tzvoiddhQ wiser than scold me To kill such a living disgrace, And set me where all could behold me, Conspicuous in a glass case. I might do some good as a warning To other girls reckless of rule, FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 41 Seen ticketed thus every morning : — " The Worst Girl in SchooL" THE ELVES. When you hear, little folks, that the elves are no more, Don t believe v/hat the large people tell. Less openly dwell they than ever before, But still among mortals they dwell. And still, little folks, do they busy themselves In planning nice plans for you all, And straight from their love, the benevolent elves, Does many a blessing befall. Be sure the}^ are watching you just as of old, When they watched the good children ; be sure There is nothing so sweet for their eyes to behold As the faithful, the truthful, the pure. And so, little folks, when you hear they are dead, Do n't believe what the large people say. But try to deserve their sweet notice instead, And the elves will reward you, some day. 42 SHORT POEMS UNDER THE BED-CLOTHES. I WOULD give so much now if I 'd only Obliged dear mamma, and not read That horrible ghost-story. Gracious ! How strangel}^ it runs in my head ! I 've crept. deep down under the bed-clothes, I 'm trying as hard as I can To care not a bit for the darkness. But just go to sleep like a man. The story was nonsense, I 'm certain ; Such things never happen, oh no ; How queer that I should n't believe it, And yet should be shivering so ! I 've counted a hundred and fifty, But that does n't alter my fright. I 'd rather have twenty good whippings Than pass through another such night ! Of course I deserve to feel frightened : Mamma was so careful to say : " Remember, don't touch this book, Johnny," The morning she put it away. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 43 And then like a bad, silly fellow, I read it all through on the sly — Forg-etting what God did to Adam When he disobeyed, by the bye. THE ANGEL'S GIFT. Last night, while the world was sleeping, A beautiful angel came down, Wearing a great gold cross on her breast, On her brows a lilied crown. She passed full many a mansion Where slept the rich and the great, Pausing at length by a cottage-door — A cottage of lowly state. And there, in an humble chamber, She leaned o'er an humble bed, Saying sweet words in a woman's ear, And these were the words she said : " I have brought you a gift more costly Than jewels or gold could bring — A gift you must keep, for Heaven's own sake. Beloved like a precious thing. 44 SHORT POEMS " For surely, if well you use it, This gift of mine shall become A blessing whose worth no human lips Have pov/er with words to sum." Then the angel passed from the cottage, And starward his white wings spread. While dawn, in the dim and distant east. Was staining the low skies red. And ere that day's sun was risen The woman had seen with joy. All sleepy and bonny and pink at her side, A wee little baby boy ! BROTHER WILLY. White little hands, where the v/hitc little roses Rest, looking not more white, Lids that some strange long slumber closes Over the soft eyes' light ; Lips that seem done with smiles or sighing, Brow that the still hair screens, — Do you all mean death ? But I stand here trying To puzzle out what death means. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 45 Brother Willy is dead, they have told mc — Cannot laugh loud any more — Cannot put forth pretty arms and fold me Close to his pinafore — Cannot be mirthful and naughty and fearless — Cannot kiss great kisses, too. Ah, brother Will}-, such thoughts would be cheerless If I chose to think them of you ! Pshaw! I won't think them. He'snot even sleeping; He always was full of wild tricks. Don't I remember the day he spent keeping Hidden among the hay-ricks ? No, bi^other Willy, you cannot deceive me, Playing asleep as you are. Open your e3-es like a man ; and, believe me, You '11 just delight poor Mamma. A GUILTY CONSCIENCE. Ho\v mean of Mamma not to kiss me, Nor even to wish me good-night ; Of course I was ugly this morning, And — all things considered — quite right. 46 SHORT roEMS Why could n't Mamma have allowed me That candy I wanted for lunch ? There 's nothing so lovely in school-time As cocoa-nut candy to munch. But no ; I could have bread-and-butter And sponge-cake, and not a thing more, And so I marched off in a tantrum ; I never was so mad before. Mamma has been grim as a grave-yard From that time to this. And to-night Just think of her not having kissed me ! She 's acting with horrible spite. She 's looked very sad the whole evening ; Her eyes seemed so mournful and deep. (There 's something all wrong with my pillow ; I somehow can not get to sleep !) It 's horrid to be in the darkness And think of how sad matters are ; Suppose I slip down to the parlor And say a few words to Mamma. Suppose I just tell her I 'm sorry ; I know she '11 forgive me, the dear ! Perhaps when I come back, my pillow Won't feel half so hot and so queer. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 47 CANDOR. Did I know my French lesson at school to-day ? I won't tell a story, Mamma : I missed a whole verb from beginning to end — What horrid things those French verbs are ! Was I talkative ? Why, to confess the truth, I did talk a very great deal. It makes me feel sick to be silent, you know ; My tongue 's such a perfect mill-wheel. Did I eat any lunch out of recess ? you ask. Mamma, I '11 speak truth and declare That Emily Ludlow compelled me to take One half of a lovely ripe pear. Was I tardy at school ? Well, a little. Mamma, For what is the use to deceive ? The girls were through prayers when I got there, and, oh ! 'T was quite half-past nine, I believe. Did I loiter at all in my journey to school ? I see you 're beginning to frown, But the sum of the fact of the truth of it is : — I walked the whole way with Dick Brown. 48 SHORT POEMS A YOUNG POETESS. 1 'm going to try and write a little piece ; Of course I cannot write it very well. I 'm going to say how fond I am of Spring, And tell whatever else I 've time to tell. (Oh, gracious, I 'm afraid it won't be much, For poetry 's so dreadful hard to do !) In Spring the bare, brown meadows all get green ; The skies (except on cloudy days) are blue. The leaves begin to form upon the trees ; The buttercups and clovers blossom out. The brooks are rather deep — and muddy, too. Which can't be very pleasant for the trout. The orchards are all changed to snowy white. And many lovely birds are on the wing. I think it might be stated that these birds Get married and have families in Spring. For often you can find their little nests ; I found a wee one with four eggs in, once. (Oh, dear, I can 't do poetry at all ; The only rhyme to finish with is — dunce). FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 49 FOR CHRISTMAS. Heap the logs and let the blaze Crackle round their russet girth. Fill to-day, of all your days, With the merriest of mirth. Life has cares enough, God knows, Fate's demands are stern and drear ; Yet for one day banish woes ; — Christmas comes but once a year. Draw the children round your knee, Tell them, in the cosy room. How Kris Kringle, quaint to see. Issues from the chimney's gloom. Share the happy games they play. Give their little hearts glad cheer. Love them with deep love to-day ; — Christmas comes but once a year. Men and women, girls and boys, Make to-day a precious gem. Bright, with golden household joys. As the Star of Bethlehem ! Wear upon your brows love's sign. As Christ wore it, pure and clear ; Let your hidden goodness shine ; — Christmas comes but once a year. 3 50 SHORT POEMS LOOKING SPRINGWARD. Hot on the garden's mounded snow The sunbeams fall to-day, And the icicle up at the roof is dripping Its diamond spear away. The wind is damp and sharp, yet I feel In its touch no frosty sting — The vaguest breath of a sweetness, rather, Like the promise of far-off Spring. In a moment this delicate warmth may die, And cheerless gales be blown, Trumpeting from the hills blue bastions That winter guards his own. And the meadows by dusk may glisten chill, And the pane be pictured fair. And to-night on its boughs a starlit cuirass The naked oak may wear. But not with her happy dream, for this, Shall pleasured fancy part, Believing the first glad thrill to have wakened Some violet's buried heart ! FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 5 I A COMFORT I SOMEHOW do not love the world as well, Now that dear Maudie is not here with me. I think the same old sweetness does not dwell Anywhere just as it was wont to be. Sometimes it seems as if the light winds said, When I take walks alone in field or lane : — " Maudie 's asleep, with lilies round her head. Asleep, and will not ever awake again." And sometimes, when a great gold bee flits by. Strange words seem spoken in his cheerful hum ■ '' The lands are all so glossy-green — the sky So beautiful ; why doesn't Maudie come ?" And often, very often, I have dreams — Wide-awake dreams, by day — of how she sees The flashes of the buttercups, the gleams Of swallows and the white-flowered elder-trees. And that she walks, an angel, by my side, And loves me just as in those other hours When she would call herself my little bride, And I would make her wreaths of elder-flowers. 52 SHORT POEMS This is my comfort. For if she prefers To leave God's Heaven and join me here, sweet pet, Surely some day when I wear wings like hers, We shall be dearer friends than ever yet. A PARTING. Well, Frankie, good-bye for the present ; I hope you 've enjoyed yourself here. You must make us another such visit, As long and as jolly, next year. I 've heard that the city in summer Is always so horribly hot ; The change, I ani sure, will be dreary, From country to town ; will it not ? Are you truly quite sad about going ? To judge from your looks, I should say You would give a great deal to remain here For only a single short day. But that is impossible, Frankie ; Your trunk is all ready, you know. And your mother has written, and — Goodness ! I wish that you had n't to go ! FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 53 1 often shall think of you, Frankie, And miss you from morning till night. Be careful to send me a letter As soon as you 've leisure to write. A word or two more. Yovi remember The day that we spent, you and I, Alone in the woods with our luncheon. And something you said made me cry ? I thought what was asked very startling, And hurried away through the trees ; But now it 's all different, Frankie — I 'd like to be kissed, if you please. ''ALWAYS AS NOW." I 'd have my darling Always as now ; Plump-cheeked and bright-eyed, Merry of brow, I would not change him — No, no, not I ; Wishing my wee one Wee till I die. 54 SHORT rOEMS Time that shall alter Cannot improve, Cannot make fairer This child of my love. See the pink softness Of neck and arm ; Change, touching- either. Surely would harm. Years, too, will darken His curls' warm gold. Ah, that my darling Might not grow old ! Were he to-morrow In all mens' eyes Lofty and honored, Famous and wise, Rather than see him With crown on brow, I 'd have my darling. Always as now. FOR SHORT PEOrLF:. 55 THREE ROSES. Which is the happiest rose to-day Of three that I know, I wonder ? — The rose at the window, the rose on the lawn, Or the rose in the meadow yonder ? Fair as a pearl is the face of one. While it dewily gleams and flutters Close where its peaceful heart can hear What the peaceful household utters. Velvet-petalled and crimson-hued, With mosses its stem enfolding, One burns up from the flattered lawn, A marvel to all beholding ! And one on the barren meadow lives, Near a boulder huge and sullen ; A pale, wild thing, in a lonely world Of thistle and weed and mullein. Happy those treasured garden-blooms, In their white and crimson graces. But she of the meadow is happiest, Who looks but to God for praises ! 56 SHORT POEMS EXCUSES. I TRULY can 't tell how it happened ; I meant to have studied them so ; There was n't a word in my lessons I had n't intended to know. As soon as school-hours were finished, Without the least bit of delay, I hurried straight home, ('pon my honor !) Refusing to loiter or pla3^ I seated myself at the window, And took up my books like a man, But over the way, on a sudden, The merriest organ began ! And such a ridiculous monkey Was making such glorious fun That somehow I rushed for the sidewalk At far quicker speed than a run. Perhaps you will scarcely believe it, (The fact was to me a great shock,) But when I got back to my studies 'T was dinner-time — just five o'clock ! FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 57 I meant to work hard after dinner ; But what do you think happened then ? Papa took us all to the circus ; We never got home till past ten. Of course I slept quite late this morning ; And so you '11 excuse me, I trust ? Kept in till I 've learned all my lessons ! O goodness, how awful unjust ! A WISH. How softly Spring enfolds it In films of tender grass ; How lightly bend its violets When warm-breathed breezes pass ; How clear its tiny headstone gleams, How clear and fair and still ; How quiet is my darling's grave, Out on the quiet hill ; I would that I might always keep This Spring-time round her tomb, That grasses might not lengthen there, That roses might not bloom ; 58 SHORT POEMS That splendid summer night not come, The flattered lands to fill, Nor clovers gird my darling's grave. Out on the quiet hill. But always I would have the skies Faint-blue, the sward faint-green. And vistas of white-blossomed boughs Along the orchard seen ; And pathos of the violets. And odors vaguely borne, And Spring to mourn my darling. As only Spring can mourn ! AN ELYSIUM. Mamma, do you know what I really think The summit of all earthly bliss ? No doubt you '11 be terribly shocked when you hear That simply and solely it 's this : Nothing to do for a whole day long. No lessons, no errands at all ; Grandma's big rocking-chair quite to myself; And Puss on my lap in a ball. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 59 Conveniently set on a table close b}^ Instead of my breakfast or lunch, A plate of fresh toffy — the nice peanut sort — To munch, and to munch, and to munch ! And then to be reading a wonderful book As monstrous as Webster, (the bore !) And crowded with fairy-tales, each that I read More sweet than the one read before. Fine stories of dragons and wicked old queens And beautiful, ill-treated girls. And splendid young princes with curls and blue eyes — Especially princes with curls. And seated with Pussy in Grandma's big chair, Drawn up in a small cosy bunch, 'T would just be the summit of all earthly bliss To munch, and to read, and to munch ! A LITTLE RUNAWAY. Where is our Freddy ? — Mischievous Fred ! Nurse wants to find him ; It's time for bed. 60 SHORT POEMS Cook, in the kitchen, Busy and hot, Have you seen Freddy ? " No I have not." Jane, in the laundry. Washing away, Have you seen Freddy ? " No, not to-day." John, in the garden, Weeding the flowers, Have you seen Freddy ? " No ; not for hours." Gracious ! it 's bed-time. Where can he be ? Come, shaggy Carlo, Find him for me ! Search through the barn-yard. Search here and there ; Search well through the stable, Search everywhere. Ah, search no longer ; Freddy is found — In the gray pony's manger Slumbering sound ! FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 6l A SCHOOL-.GIRL OF THE PERIOD. Geography ? Yes, there 's a lesson each day, But it 's awfully hard to remember. We 've been in South Africa nearly a month ; Perhaps we '11 go north by November. What history have we ? It 's quite a big book, Without any pictures — the bother ! To-day I was told I 'd sustained a defeat In the Battle of — something or other. Arithmetic ? Oh, it 's the bane of my life ! No matter how hard I may study. My knowledge of dividends, fractions and rules. Continues unchangeabl}^ muddy. Proficient in spelling ? I hope that I am, Though I shine less as vv^riter than talker, And don't mind confessing how often I use A pocket-edition of Walker. I write compositions ? Of course ; once a week ; We 've sucJi a dull subject to-morrow ! I manage to spin out a page and a half. Though lots of girls copy and borrow. 62 SHORT POEMS You ask me which lesson of all I prefer ? You '11 think my reply most alarming. In French we 've a gentleman teacher, you know, And somehow it 's perfectly charming. THE UNSOCIABLE COLT. Shy little colt, here 's a handful of clover ; Let us be friends, and begin from to-day. Look, I am tall, and can reach the bars over ; Pretty brown frisker, don't gallop away. I know if you 'd wait but a minute to hear me Without shooting off in such terrified style. You would very soon make up your mind not to fear me. But listen until I had gossiped a while. There 's shaggy old Neptune — Jie thinks it no danger To come when I call, but a matter of course. Mamma says it 's naughty to run from a stranger, As I hope you '11 agree, sir, before you 're a horse. Is that your mamma by the lily-pool yonder .? She is sleeker than you, and more gentle-eyed. Is she scolding you now for bad conduct, I wonder. In the whinny she gives as you bound to her side ? FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 63 Well, Nep, let *s be off in the woods for a ramble, And leave Master Colt to his own ugly mood. I daresay he '11 canter and frolic and gambol, Without the least sorrow for having been rude. But one of these days, when his playtime is over, When he 's broken to harness and whipt till he goes. Perhaps he '11 remember the handful of clover, And think what a blessing is kindness — who knows ? SCOLDING THE SEA. Ok, yes, you 're very calm to-day, You broad, blue, brilliant sea — Willing to let your breakers play Quite pleasantly with me. And out where yonder pale gull dips, Where soft waves heave and swell, Willing to bear the graceful ships As though 3^ou loved them well. But I know Vvdio it was that made Such angry noise last night 64 SHORT POEMS Till, listening, I felt afraid. And shivered in my fright. 'T was you ; now don't deny it, pray, With that mild song you sing. I don't believe a word )^ou say, You great deceitful thing ! You may have done, for all I know. Some frightful mischief, too ; — Have more dark secrets hid below That breast so bright and blue. Perhaps poor sailors lost their lives To please your horrid spite ; — "Well, well ; you learned to widow wives, Old sea, before last night ! You 've lived so long, one might suppose You wise a little bit. And able, when your temper rose, To keep a curb on it. Does Father Neptune, standing by, Allow such capers ? Ah, Your ears would ache if you were I, And Neptune were Mamma ! I somehow can't but love you, though, _Bad as your deeds may be. For you 've such winning ways, you know, Beautiful, strong, strange sea ! FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 65 Your mermaids must be happy girls, With not a thing to do But float about in weeds and pearls And — Pshaw ! you 've wet my shoe ! A DIALOGUE. JOHNNY. What shall we do this fine morning ? Shall we play hide-and-seek ? Shall we blov/ bubbles together ? Shall we go hunting for bird-nests ? Lily, why don't you speak ? LILY. Hide-and-seek, Johnny, is stupid ; So, I think, bubbles are ; Then as for bird-nests, it 's wicked j To touch them if even one finds them ;- Besides, they are up so far. JOHNNY. Goodness ! how lazy you 're getting. Laziness, Lill, is a sin. Come, don't sit here in the orchard ; Let 's run a race to the mill-pond ; I shall try hard not to win. GG SHORT POEMS LILY. Will you, indeed ? How absurd, sir ! Girls don't run races, you know ; People will call me a hoyden ; Not that I greatly should mind it. Only 't will grieve Mamma so ! JOHNNY. Just as you please, miss. However, What shall we do for our fun ? Why are you smiling so queerly? Tell me now, Lill, what your thoughts are ; I '11 give a penny for one. LILY. Strangely enough, it has struck me That at some time in our life Both you and I shall get married : Let 's try the feeling beforehand ; Johnny, let 's play Man and Wife ! FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 6/ SUMMONED. I HAD a vision last night, Mamma, When the room was vague and still, And the low gold moon fell peacefully Behind the dead-black hill. My eyes were open wide ; I am sure I did not sleep ; And the night was solemn round my bed, And the silence very deep. But suddenly it seemed, Mamma, That near the window, there, The dark was blossoming flower-wise In bursts of sunny air. And while I gazed and gazed. Clear amid girding gloom, I saw, white-raimented and fair, — Can you not fancy whom ? Yes, sister Isabel, Mamma — Lost, lovely Isabel ! And oh, the glory of her smile I have not words to tell ! 68 SHORT POEMS She faded from my sight Before I dared to speak. How much I would have given to leave One kiss upon her cheek ! Pray, do not turn your head, Mamma, But hold this pale, thin hand, And promise to be brave when I Pass to the Heavenly land. God sent our Isabel As messenger, last night. Smiling, she spoke not, but I read Her quiet smile aright. Only a little while, Mamma, And we shall meet once more. To clasp white hands of welcoming Upon the peaceful shore. Weep but a few sad tears Over my short farewell ; Remember that the amaranth blooms After the asphodel ! FOR SHORT PEOrLE. 69 BLIGHTED FLOWERS. This morning when I came among the flowers, The flowers that to tend were my delight, A chilling change had touched them through the watches, The watches of the frosty Autumn night ; And mournfully I looked upon their faces, Their faces dim and piteous with blight. '' Oh, surely," to my heart in grief I whispered, I whispered so my heart alone could hear, " The sorrowful Death-Angel, while we slumbered, We slumbered, heart of mine, and had no fear. About our precious flower-land has wandered, Has wandered and has left its beauties drear." And then it seemed as if my heart made answer. Made answer sweetly, softly : " Months ago Along these very paths we came, one morning. One morning when you bade me thrill to know That bounteously your crocuses had blossomed, Had blossomed in a golden overflow. 70 SHORT POEMS " And * surely,' I remember that you whispered, You whispered by the glowing garden-plot, ' The radiant Life-Angel, as we slumbered, We slumbered, heart of mine, and knew it not, About my precious flower-land has wandered. Has wandered and has glorified the spot.' " " Dear heart," I said, " consoling hope thou lendest, Thou lendest faith, while dismal winter lowers, And biddest me devoutly to be mindful. Be mindful that among these ruined bowers The radiant Life-Angel yet shall wander, Shall wander, re-illumining my flowers !" ASPIRATIONS. Look at the moon, like a great red plum. Just where the sky commences. Goodness, how jolly to jump on her top And sail over houses and fences ! Higher and higher and higher to sail, Danger delightfully scorning. Sure she would bring me at last, good moon, Safe back to earth in the morning. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 7I Fancy how nice 'to be near some star, And find out what it was made of! Except for the danger of falling off, How little to feel afraid of! Higher and higher float on, red moon. Up in the dim sk)'' far go ; Yours were a merrier trip, to-night, With merry me for a cargo ! THE LITTLE CRIPPLE. Yes, Katy, I felt bitter when first came The knowledge of how all was different From those bright times before God made me lame ; But now (believe it, Katy,) I 'm content. I don't mean, dear, that if I rose and found. Some morning, I could walk without distress. Needing no crutch, and was quite strong and sound, I should n't cry aloud for thankfulness. Ah, no — not that ! But, Katy, I just mean That somehow it has pleased God, good and wise, To make the earth I live in grand and green. To bend above it beautiful blue skies ; 72 SHORT POEMS To have glad-colored flowers in "many a place, And shining rivers and blithe singing brooks, To fill His lovely world with light and grace And bird-songs, through its countless happy nooks And He has done this much that I may be Sure of His love. And, Katy, I am sure. All that He asks for in return from me Is only with firm courage to endure. Suppose some friend should give you gifts most fair. Withholding for himself some gift apart. Because he had withheld that, would you care To call him pitiless and hard of heart ? Of course you wouldn't, Katy. So with me. I have the grass and flowers and skies and birds. God has been very kind, and therefore He Deserves my gratitude in deeds and words. And though I felt so bitter when first came The knowledge of how all was different From those bright times before God made me lame, Now, Katy, I 've grown cheerful and content. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 73 IN SICKNESS. 'T IS sweet to know of clear, soft Spring's returning, Though I must lie so still and play no more, — Not mark the bounteous crocus-bushes burning, Not mark the merry swallows flash and soar, 'T is sweet to think, although my room be darkened, That heaven outside is rich with wooing sun. And that the pure, shy blooms of May have heark- ened Heaven's beautiful persuasions, one by one. While often gleam the faces loved right dearly, From shadow, and while gleam caressing hands, This single joy is evident most clearly. That Spring re-welcomes the dehghted lands. Yet they who will not let the perfumes find me. Nor any glimmer of the altered air, Remember too much glory would but blind me. Are heedful what my poor weak frame can bear. Still, I take comfort. There are flowers blowing. And there are flowers that will blow ere long. Shall I not trust these latter wait my knowing, And hide their loveliness till I am strong ? 4 74 SHORT POEMS Or shall I only deem myself some flower That cannot bloom, while its fond sisters call, A little fearful, in this golden hour, Lest it shall gain no grace to bloom at all ? APPLE-GATHERERS. Down many an orchard-row The luscious apples glow. This merry Autumn morning, fresh and bright. And on the frosted grass, Gold and scarlet as we pass. Lie the beautiful rich wind-falls of last night. Let us fill the baskets well, Harry, Frank and Isabel, With greening, russet, pippin and the rest. We 're not very strong, it 's true. But can help by what we do, Provided we resolve to do our best. And suppose we promise, all. That no apple, large or small. Shall tempt us into eating it until Our work is wholly done, And we 've leisure for the fun Of walkina: round and eating to our fill. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 75 Don't you think that right and fair ? Goodness gracious ! I declare Here 's a tempter rosy-cheeked enough to kiss ! After all, the better plan Is to gather what we can, And commence to eat immediately — like this. CLEOPATRA. We 've called our young puss Cleopatra ; 'T was Grandpa who named her like that. He says it means lazy and idle — A queer enough name for a cat ! But then she is certainly idle, And lazy besides, beyond cure ; And if this is the word's definition, It 's better than Tabby, I 'm sure. She leads the most lovely existence, And one which appears to enchant. Asleep in the sun like a snow-flake That tries to get melted and can't ; Or now and then languidly strolling Through plots of the garden to steal 76 SHORT rOEMS On innocent grasshoppers, crunching Her cruel and murderous meal ; Or lapping from out of her saucer — The dainty and delicate elf ! — With appetite spoiled in the garden, New milk that 's as white as herself. Dear, dear ! Could we only change places. That do-nothing pussy and I, You 'd find it hard work, Cleopatra, To live, as the moments went by. Ah, how would you relish, I wonder, To sit in a school-room for hours ? You 'd find it less pleasant, I fancy, Than murdering bugs in the flowers. JEALOUS OF BABY. It's not very difficult, Bessy, To tell what you 're grieving about. Those frowns are quite easy to fathom, And so is that terrible pout. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 77 You 're jealous of Baby ; I know it. Why, Bess, you 've been looking forlorn, And serious as a sexton, Since dear little Baby was born. Just stand with me now by her cradle, Where, sleeping so softly, she lies, Her pretty pink mouth like a rose-bud, The satin lids veiling her eyes. Pray, answer me — is n't she charming ? And gentle ? and pure as a dove ? Ah, Bess, can you blame us for loving What God surely meant us to love ? And why should you think yourself slighted, Not tenderly prized any more ? Believe it, you 're still just as precious To all of our lives as before. Come, kiss and make friends with the Baby ; You *ll find her so pleasant to kiss. I know you have love enough hid in your heart To spare a wee darling like this ! i^^^M€^ 78 SHORT POEMS OUR BENNY. A SONG for our Benny, our fine five-year-older, Our imp of all mischief and fun, With plump little arm and with pink little shoulder And ringlets that rival the sun. A song for our Benny who never is quiet, Our wild, unrestrainable lad, The spirit of clamor and frolic and riot. The vixen of all that is bad. A song for our Benny, and grave be the verses Wherein his dark deeds we enroll ; How right from his heart he abominates nurses And grandly disdains their control. A song for our Benny, tormentor of Baby, A true household terror, I vow ; So bad that one shudders to think what he may be, A Nero in petticoats now. A song for our Benny, whose bad acts are thirty To one that is good, all declare ; With face and with hands irreclaimably dirty. And tangled, uncombable hair. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 79 A song for our Benny ; 'tis certain we owe him A whipping — that matter 's quite clear ; And yet ... I defy any mortal to know him And not fall in love with the dear ! R EMEMBERING. It seems very strange and lonely, Mamma, Not to have Nellie here In these happy mornings of May-time, The brightest and best of the year ! She so loved the white of the orchards, Mamma, The gold of the crocuses, too, And the blue of the violets, colored To match her own eyes' gentle blue. And don't you remember last May-time, Mamma, Her roguish, rare, merry delight To find a bird's-nest in the lilacs, With four cunning eggs, brown and white? And then how the butterflies pleased her, Mamma ! She never would chase them, would Nell. The largest and least of God's creatures Our darling loved equally well ! 8o SHORT rOEMS What melodies breathed in her laughter, Mamma, What innocence dwelt on her face ! And though her form's grace was quite perfect, Her soul had a lovelier grace ! I know she is happy in God's other world, But ah, if he spared her in this For just a sweet moment each morning — The time that it takes for one kiss ! IN AUTUMN WEATHER. Although these cool winds have a lonely sigh, Sad, when I listen, as a tolling bell, I think the summer must be glad to die And bid her flowers and foliage farevv^ell. For are not all the meadows bright indeed With stalks on stalks of gaudy golden-rod ? Does not the elder wear its purple bead And many a beautiful dark aster nod ? Yes, summer surely is right glad to go. Among the maple's crimson-mottled leaves And in the lofty chestnut's brilliant glow There is no sign of anything that grieves. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 8l Ah, well, perhaps she is so glad because God has made some sweet promise to her here, And she delights that its fulfilment draws With every moment nearer and more near. Some promise about seeing, when she dies, All her lost children of those earlier hours ; The spirits of her v^anished butterflies And sweet wee angels made from her dead flowers ! BRAVE RESOLVES. Well, Katy, so you 've come to spend the day, dear? Let me put your cloak and bonnet on the bed. A very pretty bonnet, by the way, dear ; I think that your complexion favors red. And, Katy, now for twelve delightful kisses, The heartiest and warmest you can show : No need, of course, to mention, love, that this is My birthday, since you knew it long ago. How time is slipping, Katy ! Have you ever Really thought what grown-up girls we are, we two ? I wonder if we ought appear more clever, And act a little less as children do. 4* o2 SHORT POEMS I 've somehow been reflecting on it, lately. . Suppose we make a promise, you and I, Hereafter, dear, to care not quite so greatly For games and toys and candy. Shall we try ? I see you 've brought your doll with you. How pleasant, If only there was mine to play with, too ! I 've asked Mamma to keep it — for the present. Perhaps you don't believe me, but it 's true. Yes, dolls, you know are certainly not suited To girls that in a year will be thirteen. w/iat a cunning cap, all trimmed and fluted ! Why, Katy, she 's a perfect little queen ! 1 fear it 's rather stupid work, this trying To seem so very dignified and cold. It almost makes a body feel like crying And wishing she were young instead of old. My birthday might have been so nice and jolly And now there 's hardly anything to do. I 've half a mind to ask Mamma for Dolly Just this one single morning. Would n't you ? FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 83 TIRED. OUT. Quite wearied with your toys and sports, While evening shades grow deeper, You nestle in the arm-chair's lap, A bonny little sleeper. Across your tangled golden curls The mellow light is falling ; — O sleep and rest while glooms the west And katydids are calling. About the house the whole day long Your happy voice has sounded ; Here on the rocking-horse you leapt, Here up the stair-case bounded. Now teasing Baby into shrieks. Now grand with pipe and bubble, But somehow yet the household pet, In spite of all your trouble. O merry-maker blithe and bold, With pranks we could not number. At last your fun has found an end In harmlessness of slumber ! Kind nurse will shortly steal to bear The truant rogue she misses. Where dawn shall shed upon his bed The brightness of her kisses. 84 SHORT POEMS With mirth and mischief once again Our boy shall greet us, after The rose has freshened on his face, The music in his laughter. So sleep and rest, our loveliest. Till matin lights be slanting ; O sleep and rest, while glooms the west And katydids are chanting. THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. Crowd in, merry little ones ; gleaming with tapers The Christmas-Tree greets you at last. Behave yourself, Bessy ; and Harry, no capers ; And Willy, don't hurry so fast. Believe me, there 's plenty of time to take matters Quite coolly and calmly, m}^ dears ; Remember that clothes can be torn into tatters And screams are not good for old ears. Well, is n't it beautiful ? Gracious, how pleasant Your marvelling glances to view ! Yes, somewhere among those bright boughs there's a present For you, and for you, and for you ! FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 85 And SO Bessy thinks it a wonderful cedar ; She 'd just hke to chmb it, the elf! And wee Kitty questions, with no one to heed her — " Did Santa Claus light it himself?" And Harry discovers the top he 's been yearning To buy for a fortnight and more ; And sharp-eyed young Willy already is burning To flourish his new battledore. Now, children, quite quietly, just as you 're bidden, Come stand beside Grandma and me. While Father shall show you what treasures lie hidden For all in the gay Christmas-Tree. LITTLE ISABEL. A BLUE midsummer twilight. Day had set, And soft winds made the garden leafage stir. Sending sweet wafts of rose and mignonette In through the still room where we watched by her. A single great gold star was hanging clear Over the damask sunset. We knew well That sure as even this star must disappear, So death must soon find little Isabel. 86 SHORT rOEMS And now the west grew paler and the star Sank lower, lower, and the night was come. Through the wide-open window, seen afar, We watched those glooming heavens, white-faced and dumb. Presently little Isabel's weak hand Moved gently, and she named a name. At this — A summons more than any king's command — Two lips met hers in a strong eager kiss. Just then behind some dead-black distant trees The star dropt, hidden wholly. While it fell There came a long wild murmur of the breeze, And peace was with our little Isabel. OUR QUEEN. Perhaps there are many as lovely as she ; I doubt it, you '11 pardon my stating. This babe is the princess of babes unto me. Her rattle for sceptre, for throne my knee, And Nurse for the Lady in Waiting. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 8/. To US, who obey them with untiring zeal, Her mandates are issued serenely. Gug-gug is a fiat that knows not repeal, Coo-coo is a praise of her courtiers leal. In tones condescendingly queenly. Her bath is a question of state. 'T is a sort Of treason to break her siesta. Papa, at his sovereign's tyrannical court, Assumes, by the right of a genius for sport. The role of Her Majesty's Jester. Receptions of Grandma, v/hcn visiting town, Are held amid pomp rarely splendid. In radiant ribbons and costliest gown, (God gave her those tiny bright curls for a crown,) The greeting is grandly extended. Her personal income of corals and caps Quite equals her royal position. The rule of her nursery suffers no lapse ; An absolute monarchy, tempered with naps, It meets an unvaried submission. Like that of all despots, her reign is not free From faults, I am candid in stating ; [be ? — Yet who such a despot's proud slave would not Her rattle for sceptre, for throne my knee, And Nurse for the Lady in Waiting. 88 SHORT POEMS A CRADLE SONG. O SLUMBER, my darling; the white star is beaming From pale yellow dusk in the west. O slumber, my darling ; with beautiful dreaming Its gleaming shall dower thy rest. O slumber, my darling ; the white star is glowing Leagues out on the shadowy sea, And if the wild winds there be drearily blowing The knowing is not unto me. O slumber, my darling ; the white star in pillows Of purple-hued cloud sinks to sleep ! This gale that is tossing the poor faded willows, Wakes billows afar on the deep ! O slumber, my darling ; the white star is dying, The gold Autumn gloaming is dim ; My thoughts to thy mariner-father are flying. And, sighing, I fear me for him. O slumber, my darling ; the white star is beaming No longer, and vague is the light. Perhaps where the grave of thy father is gleaming. Are screaminof the sea-sfuUs to-night. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 89 SANTA CLAUS. He journeys a guest To our gladdened west, In the gay memorial season, At the merry time of chime and rhyme, When pleasure romps with reason. Strange tales we know Of his beard of snow And the reindeer-steeds that draw him. But never a man there lives who can Affirm that he ever saw him. Always he pays, In secret ways. Those visits that delight us, And drops by stealth his Christmas-wealth, Too cautious to affright us. And though unseen, Where his hands have been Rare gladness follows after. While his praises float from many a throat In ripples of mellow laughter. 90 SHORT rOEMS To us his name Means more than fame, With fairest memories round it ; He loveth well the Christmas-bell, — O bid our steeples sound it ! And warm and free Let the greeting be As the flames of our brightest ingle ; For he comes a guest whither every breast Pays homage to Kris Kringle ! AT THE WINDOW. How nice it is to watch beside the window The pleasant sights that one may often see ! I mean a body who has lots of leisure. And is n't always hard at work like me. (Seven and five are twelve, and eight are twenty ; Add three more, carry two and set down three.) O what a cunning treasure of a baby ! It looks like that new crying-doll of mine. And how its pretty French nurse seems to love it ! It must be very rich to dress so fine. (Two and nine are eleven, and eight added [nine.) Make nineteen ; two more fives make twenty- FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 9I Mamma is going- out with sister Rachel. O dear ! if I could only go ; but then I merely am a wretched little school-girl, And Rachel 's big, and flirts with gentlemen. (Add two to six, and that is eight ; and two more Make ten ; and add a pair of nines to ten.) Before I get to be a grown young lady There are so many stupid years to meet ! O there 's an organ-grinder and a monkey ; Isn't the monkey's jacket just too sweet? (Add up the sum 's last column quite correctly, And when it 's finished — run across the street.) A PRAYER TO SUMMER. Beautiful Summer, stay with us always ; Never fly back among distant lands. Look : to the clear-blue heavens above me I, little Betty, lift pleading hands ! Stay with us, Summer, and keep sweet roses Year after year still glowing bright ! Pink ones, pale ones and velvety crimsons, Where the bee booms in delig;ht ! 92 SHORT POEMS- Don't let the harsh loud winds, dear Summer, Ruin your hollyhocks' fair proud heads. Don't let the desolate rain fall bleakly On the poor pansy-beds ! Have n't you any deep love for your children, Gay flowers, bonny birds, twinkling leaves ? Shall you not grieve when you wish them farewell, Just as a mother grieves ? How much pleasanter not to have snow-flakes Cover the world from east to west. Making it sombre and dreary — filling The black-bird's empty nest ! Beautiful Summer, stay with us always ! Never fly back among distant lands ! Look : to the warm blue heavens above me, I, little Betty, lift pleading hands ! AUTUMN. When dawn breaks chill the birds are still- Not a wee numb throat that twitters — And meshed in the grasses, pearl on pearl, The marvellous hoar-frost glitters. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 93 The sun rides up and the hollyhock's cup Has lost its crimson wassail, And the poppy stirs a ruined crest And the corn a blighted tassel. A sharp wind tears the pippins and pears Off branches, onward sweeping ; The plump peach drops, the ivory gourds Through wilted leaves are peeping. O'er meadowy ways there floating strays A silken fleece of thistles, And the swarthy chestnut's emerald husk In lane and pasture bristles. To a sound of sighs the fair year dies And the brief day waxes older. And every gust that strips the pomp From the gaudy wood, is colder. Nov/ twilight falls, and the chamber walls Grow dim and the white stars glisten, And out in her gloom the katydid calls, For lonely hearts to listen. 94 SHORT POEMS AN AWAKENING. Here, Susie, take my paper-dolls, My Rollo books, ray games ; I 'm getting old enough to make An end of trivial aims. For very naturally now My inclination leans Toward the sensible pursuits Of people in their 'teens. Henceforward I shall play a part More fitting to my years ; One cannot always be a child Like you, love, it appears. This life of ours, perhaps you 've thought, Has many changing scenes. And children are so different From people in their 'teens ! My dresses must be longer, now. Than I am used to wear ; Mamma of course will furnish me A net for this wild hair ; And as for high-necked pinafores And sleeve-loops, reds or greens. They 've much too juvenile an air For peojDle in their 'teens. FOR SHORT PEOPLE. 95 And, Susie, I shall cease to buy Molasses-drops ; they soil One's fingers, and one's appetite Unquestionably spoil. Those two stiff Tompkins girls next door, As proud as little queens, Will soon discover I have grown Like people in their 'teens ! And lastly, I have half a mind. If ever Charley Brown Should join me in the street again, Rather to smile than frown. His company, you know, I don't Dislike, by any means. And bashfulness does not become Young ladies in their 'teens.