PS 3523 E853 L5 1910 HE LITTLE SINGER Copy 1 ND OTHER VERSES Y EMILY SARGENT LEWIS :! Si |fr?^ m •■a i ■ m i 1 1 1 11 at: ■ m ■ ;-r-33S At5 m i 5S 1 asa ^ ^^1 1 m i 1 ■ m ^U- 1 5! 1 ill w •r-r-r-7 Class ?S3 5a3 Book .E^g'^ Ls CopightN" \^I0 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT THE LITTLE SINGER AND OTHER VERSES ACKNOWLEDGMENT IS DUE TO LIPPINCOTT's MAGA- ZINE, harper's MAGAZINE, McCLURE's MAGAZINE, THE OUTLOOK, THE LADIES* HOME JOURNAL, THE ASSOCIATED SUNDAY MAGAZINES, PUCK, AND ST. NICHOLAS, FOR THEIR COURTESY IN ALLOWING THESE POEMS TO BE REPRINTED THE LITTLE SINGER AND OTHER VERSES BY EMILY SARGENT LEWIS PHILADELPHIA & LONDON J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 1910 COPTRIGHT, 1 9 10, BV J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY Published October, 1910 Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company Tk$ Woihington Square Press, Phikddphia, U. S. J. (gCLA273G08 CONTENTS PART I PAGE The Song of the Little Singer ; 9 The Call lo Left Undone 12 Through Half-Shut Eyes 13 The Middle-Aged 14 The Greek Dance 15 A Prayer in Pain 16 Religion 17 The Tribute 18 A Cry 19 No More Afraid 20 The Blind Child 22 By the Gate 23 A Memory 24 The Poet's Lot 25 Shakespeare's Birthday 26 The Youngest of the Nations 27 Shipmates 29 Experience 31 Innocence 32 Kenneth 33 The Child in the House 35 The Princess Far-away 36 To My Manuscript 38 Villanelle 40 To St. Valentine 41 Julia at Easter 42 The Clock 43 Compensation 44 The Good Samaritan 46 Contrasts 47 To THE Pipsissewa S© A Lullaby in Camp 52 PART II The Measles 55 "Too Far" 5^ A Family Jar 58 Dancing-Class Day 60 The Fish-Hawks 61 The Treasure-Box 63 Pansies 64 The May-Queen 65 His Choice 66 My Indian Policy 67 "Sky-Talk" 68 Pantoum of Noah 70 PART I To MY FATHER THE SONG OF THE LITTLE SINGER ILJO, you who on your mountain-heights Have sung the songs that must remain; Sharing your torments and dehghts I hail you, brothers, from the plain. My pipe is but a slender reed, My numbers halt, my fingers grope, But Hke your own, my spirit's need To voice its passion and its hope. Lowly, I tend the Muse's shrine Till the blest miracle be wrought,- — The rapture of the lyric line, The capture of the cadenced thought. THE CALL TXT^E are the sons of the Island-born Whose lips craved the kiss of brine, Of strong brown men who paced their decks, And wan white women who wept their wrecks Through the centuries' long line. We were bred where towers of stone and brick Blot out the piloting star ; Where never a sea-gull flaps her wing, Where the stifled winds no healing bring. For the cleansing sea is far. What can we wrest from the misty past ? What heritage, say, have we ^ A thrill at glimpse of a sunlit sail, And surge of blood to our cheeks, land-pale, At sight of the open sea. Stunned with the clatter of town and mart, Hemmed in by visionless wall. Like sea-birds nesting perforce in trees Swept inland far from their native seas, We hear in our hearts the Call. " Set sail and scud o^er my waters blue, Asleep on my bosom lie ; Ride like a king on my crested waves. Or find in my depths your clean salt graves ; Be mine for ever, and aye.^^ For we are sons of the Island-born Whose lips craved the kiss of brine, Of strong brown men who paced their decks, And wan white women who wept their wrecks Through the centuries' long line. LEFT UNDONE A T vesper-tide One virtuous and pure in heart did pray, "Since none I wronged in deed or word to-day, From whom should I crave pardon ? Master, say." A voice repHed: "From the sad child whose joy thou hast not planned; The goaded beast whose friend thou didst not stand; The rose that died for water from thy hand." THROUGH HALF-SHUT EYES /^^ RAMPED by the limits of a garret-den, What must he do who loves the peaks and sea To keep his spirit somewhat sane and free, Nor pace in torment, tiger-wise, his pen ? Let him call faithful Fancy to his aid — She waits to serve the Soul, and not in vain — Then cool his brow against the narrow pane, And lo! the grimness and the squalor fade. Through half-shut eyes yon steep roof in the glare May be a Matterhorn's enticing height. While some poor neighbor's flapping line of white Turns into spray, tossing itself in air. This still our refuge from the things that be, The half-shut eyes and spirit fancy-free. 13 THE MIDDLE-AGED CTOLID and strong beneath his load he stands; He has forgotten how to leap and sing: White-haired and helpless people to him cling, While little children reach to clasp his hands. Bright-eyed Romance, who once beguiled his way. Impatiently outstrips his altered pace, Turning sometimes, in mockery, her face. As if to flout the dulness of his day. No rosy mist of youth his vision knows. Nor golden sunset clouds that cheer the old. The stubborn Things of Life stand sharp and bold On that horizon towards which he goes. O Middle-Age, so commonplace and cold, What hero-tales thy commentaries hold! 14 THE GREEK DANCE (to ISADORA Duncan) npHE stage lies waiting, dimly-lighted, bare; Behind it, shutting out all sight and sound. Long curtains hang, and circle it half round In folds like tree-trunks, thickly clustered there. Beethoven's music trembles through the air — Then centuries vanish, and at one glad bound We are in Greece; her daughter, flower-crowned, Comes dancing forth, young, exquisite, and rare. The cymbals clash, and lo! great deeds are here: We see the warrior's welcome after strife; Nay, hush! — the mood melts to suspense and fear — Grief— suppHcation — then the air is rife With children's joy and harvesters' bold cheer — The pageant and the playfulness of life. 15 A PRAYER IN PAIN T ORD, I beseech Thee, not so sharp again; I cannot suffer so and be Thy child; I am some brute thing, tortured, trapped and wild, Fighting the hands that would relieve its pain. I have known sorrow. Lord, and blessed Thy name, Standing upright, although I could not see Because of tears: — but still my soul was free, — No coward then, I merited no blame. But now, dear Lord, my weak flesh shames me so, I pray Thee, ere from torture I grow dumb, Let Thy bright angel with the sharp sword come To slay me and Pain's demon at one blow. This ask I in His name who once did shrink From that too bitter cup they made Him drink. l6 RELIGION CILENT and unresisting has she stood The centuries long, an altar at her feet, While chanting zealots butchered in the street. Claiming her need for sacrificial blood. Helpless, a captive, in her guarded place. She waited, as the generations came To hang dread masks of cruelty and shame Before the wistful beauty of her face. Yet 'neath her robes all blood-stained, wrenched askew, Beat a great heart with love of God made strong; And this, through all the clamor and the wrong. The seer, the poet, and the martyr knew. Led by the Cross, the Vision, and the Song The race toils on, though steep the way and long. 17 THE TRIBUTE TN unforgotten, far-off, pagan years Of ancient Greece, when Death-the- Victor came. Stealing from cheek the rose, from eye the flame, Those left bereft, wiping away their tears, And tremulous with childish half-formed fears. Lest some rite, unobserved, might bring blame. On each still eyelid laid a coin, to claim The right of passage o'er the Styx' dark meres. But we, to whom the Christ has shown the Way, When we must close the weary lids above Eyes that have made for us life's very light. No metal base on their chill white we lay, Since the one tribute to a God of Love Is Love's last kiss that seals the lashes tight. A CRY "^TOW when our gardens* sheltered buds are vying With the wood's wildings, green at April's touch, Out from the heart there comes a mighty crying, **Give back our dead, we need them overmuch." Ah, the soft petals, from their blossoms falling, How like those cheeks that reddened at our praise ! Oh, the vine's tendril, by some charm recalling Small hands that clung to ours in blessed days! Hark, Mother Earth, as prodigal you quicken. Bearing abundance, beauty without lack. Hark to the cry of us so starved and stricken: — **Give back our dead, to us our dead give back!" 19 NO MORE AFRAID I /^OOD Death, if I had sung Of you when I was young, What fierce resentful rhymes 'Gainst you and all your crimes All rashly had I flung With bitter mocking tongue, In those unlessoned times, When I was young! II Then had I called you bold, A robber, grim and old. Snatching from Life's gay feast The greatest guest or least. To hale him to the cold In your accursed hold, While mirth and laughter ceased- O, Grim and Old! Ill Of you I sing to-day; But Youth has fled away, And now I find you mild, Looking most like a child — That Child who pined one day, Missing the angels' play. Till he no longer smiled, And fled away. IV So when your hand is laid On me, no more afraid Nor loathing will I come; The Child will lead me home. No more do I upbraid, No more disdain Death's aid; For childless now I roam, — No more afraid. THE BLIND CHILD T KNOW what Mother's face is like, Although I can not see: It's like the music of a bell, It's like the way the roses smell, It's Hke the secrets fairies tell — All these it's like to me. I know what Father's face is hke, Tm sure I know it all: It's like his step upon the stair. It's like his whistle on the air, It's like his arms that take such care. And never let me fall. So I can tell what God is like. The God whom no one sees: He's everything my Mother means. He's everything my Father seems, He's like my very sweetest dreams, But greater than all these. BY THE GATE TN the church-yard by the gate, Lies a Httle new-made grave, Much shorter than my bed. There some child Hke me must wait Till God's Angel comes to save, And tells him he's not dead. Oh, I wonder, when it's late, If he's tired of such long dreams — He's lonely, too, I fear — Then I'm glad he's by the gate, Just inside, for so he seems Nearer his Mother dear. ^3 A MEMORY TV/TY Mother died when I was four, That's why I can't remember more Of what she used to do and say So long ago — Fm six to-day. I know one day she cHmbed with me, Way up into the apple-tree, The flowers fell down upon us so We laughed and played that they were snow And then I used to help her fill The blue jar on her window-sill With crackers — ^just for my own self — It's high up now upon the shelf. Her hair was very black. I think Her dress was almost always pink. If God would let her come to-day I'm sure I'd know her right away. 84 THE POET'S LOT TXT^HEN at dawn the Poet's garden found him Wandering within its scented mazes, ' Lovely words were whispering around him, Singing syllables and pleasant phrases. Begging him to give them Hfe in sonnets. While at noon he walked the crowded city To his busy brain what thoughts came throng- ing! Thoughts of love and sorrow, pain and pity. Triumph, rage, revenge, defiance, longing, — Clamorous, imploring for expression. But at eve, his candle shining brightly, Paper outspread, eager as a lover. Then he found the words had fled all lightly. While the wondrous thoughts were misted over- — And the Poet dubbed his muse a wanton. SHAKESPEARE'S BIRTHDAY /^N such an April day as this Brave Will, the lover, lightly ran Across the fields to claim a kiss, — A birthday kiss from Anne. He did not plead in vain, I wis. Think what he had, the lucky man! A poet's heart, a lover's bliss, — A birthday kiss from Anne. 26 THE YOUNGEST OF THE NATIONS npO the youngest of His daughters spake the God of all the Nations, — They had kissed and met together, waiting at His footstool there: — "Thou hast seen thy sisters kneeling, thou hast heard their acclamations; Hast thou no hallelujah — thou, alone, no word of prayer ?" Then the youngest of the Nations, very fair and very stately. Flinging back her star-wrought mantle, laid down both her shield and spear. And upon the golden cuirass crossed her strong white arms sedately, As she stood before the Presence, and spake thus for all to hear: "Still I seek the words to thank Thee, O Thou God of my devotion, For the harvests' plenteous bounty; the treas- ures of the mine; For the peace within my borders, f:%>m far ocean unto ocean; For the freedom of my people, they who bless my name with Thine. "Since so much to me is given, much indeed must I return Thee, O most merciful and mighty, the great Ruler of us all; If the golden glitter dazzle, if the lust of conquest burn me. These, my sisters, watch me, smiling, but they mock me if I fall. " I am young for power and fortune," she said, the last-born Nation, **And the pitfalls are so many in the paths that youth must tread! Be this my prayer unto Thee, 'Lead us not into temptation.' '* Then she knelt before the Father, and she bowed her queenly head. 28 SHIPMATES VI7"HEN you sailed in the craft "Adventure," A cruising for Good Fortune's shore, Did ever he merit your censure By shirking the laboring oar ? If you steered for the murk before us, Did he sulk or question your right, Or fail to pipe loud in your chorus, When weather was sunny and bright ? In shipwreck, who strained to deliver You safe from the salt strangling froth ? Did he grudge you a single sliver Of the spar that scarce held you both ? And when a chance current had tossed you Safe, safe on the Fortunate Isle, Did he count what the voyage cost you, As he watched you waken and smile ? The perilous journey is done, lad. The treasure lies full in your view. And what have you now for your comrade ? Oh, a knife in his back — that will do. 29 What care if a shipmate lies mangled, Since greed can turn love into hate ? Though the devil has long time angled, He still reckons gold his best bait. 'Tv^ere better the green seas had swept you Far off from that splinter of mast, Then had the eternal seas kept you Good shipmate and true to the last. And blest in the trust that he gave you He'd rest with you there down below, Far happier dying to save you, Than living and scorning you so. 3° EXPERIENCE " ^T^USH, pretty Stay-at-Home, safe by thy fire, What of the world and it's need canst thou know ? What of life's turmoil and keen desire, Thou child, who the year long scarce did go Through the gate in the castle-wall below ? " "Not so; while thy vessel tossed far from me On a fearsome journey I went my way: By the Gate-of-Death I learned to see, At the Gate-of-Birth I learned to pray. For God taught me much in a single day." 31 INNOCENCE T TOWER so high above you, little son, You think me brave and strong and passing v^ise; While I, with half hfe's battles fought and done, Bov^ to the glory that around you Hes, — The visions white you brought from Paradise. My soul soars to your level, spotless one, Only when on my knees I meet your eyes, — Not when I tower above you, little son. 32 KENNETH TF I shut my eyes and whisper his name Then a picture comes — it's always the same: A little round pond and a brook that sings 'Mid hum of insects and flutter of wings; Two friendly cows in the grass to their knees, And some horses glad of their Sunday ease, While over it all was May's bluest sky; — We played by the pond there — Kenneth and I. With long leafy branches we cleared away The scum that thick on its surface lay; Then over the dam we both steered it well In shining green islands that lightly fell. While the water-spiders rushed to and fro, And the big frogs splashed to the depths below. At last the pond was as blue as the sky; — We gazed at it proudly — Kenneth and I. Slender and straight I remember him there, With God's sunshine bright on his yellow hair; 3 33 The little brown breeches, the shirt of blue, And the splashed tan shoes, muddy stockings too, They are all in the picture, clear each line Of the balanced figure, alert and fine. His plan had succeeded, the pond was free, And he smiled with a smile that was good to see. The dear little lad with the sunny hair. Loving and daring, generous and fair. Though we do not know where his feet now play, Nor what lessons his brave soul learns to-day. We can feel that beyond us, somewhere he Still smiles with that smile that was good to see. 34 THE CHILD IN THE HOUSE jlTARK to the song of her, ''' ^ Oh, the Child-heart of her Naught is there wrong in her, Not any part of her. Hark to the song of her. Bless the Child-heart of her! Joy in the glance of her. Oh, the Child-face of her! Watch now the dance of her. See the glad grace in her. Joy in the glance of her, Bless the Child-face of her! Kneel to the trust in her, Oh, the Child-soul of her! Beg but a crust of her, Gain you the whole of her. Kneel to the trust in her, . Bless the Child-soul of her! 35 THE PRINCESS FAR-AWAY * T^HEIR bliss is none too rare Who worship chestnut hair, Or her who's dark or fair In tress; If gold, black, chestnut, say Too easily their yea; — / love the far-away Princess! How valueless a gem Is constancy in them, If but to kiss her hem They may! If their reward's no less Than just a hand to press, — / love my own Princess Away! Supreme it is to yearn In love without return. And for Her e'er to burn, No less; \* Translated from Ro6tand*6 " La Princeeee Lointaine.**] 36 With love no guerdons pay, Noble as vain for aye; — / love the far-away Princess! Divine, when love is sent Where but to guess, invent, Imagine, dream anent We may. The Dream alone can bless. Life without dreams, what's less I I love my own Princess Away! 37 TO MY MANUSCRIPT (rondeau redouble) T SEND thee forth, but not in rage, Yet hoping ne'er thy face to see; Although I love thee, pretty page, I dread thy swift return to me. And as I gaze admiringly My pain at parting Til assuage: This farewell to thee needs must be, I send thee forth, but not in rage. The hours will drag, a very age, Until some tidings come fro in thee; ril pine like bird within a cage, Yet hoping ne'er thy face to see. In dreams I hear sweet praise of thee. Applause for thee upon life's stage. I blush to think such flattery. Although I love thee, pretty page. Go seek the Editor so sage, Show him thy beauties fair and free. Tell him thou'lt stay for scanty wage;- I dread thy swift return to me. 38 If blind to all thy worth is he, For little while FU take umbrage, And murmur at his cruelty. Then once again, with parting gage, I send thee forth. 39 VILLANELLE "ITT^HY should you be so unkind ? Why not gentle as you ought ? Is it easy love to find ? Well I loved you, I remind, Love's too precious to be bought; — Why should you be so unkind ? Fast our lives v^ere intertw^ined, Sv^eet our interchange of thought; — Is it easy love to find ? Fair are you, and I opine Grace vWth courtesy w^as fraught; — Is it easy love to find ? Long I loved you, then divined Flattery, not love, you sought; — Is it easy love to find ? Death will come like winter wind Setting all our loves at naught. Why should you be so unkind ? Is it easy love to find ? 40 TO SAINT VALENTINE /^^OOD Valentine, the patron saint ^"^ Of lovers, so they say. To you I make my woful plaint 'Gainst her who says me nay: Had she lived in your Saintship's day It would have been no joke For you — since her most cruel way Would any saint provoke. Oh, look not at me thus askance, Secure within your shrine. For had you glimpsed in contradance My lady's ankle fine; Or had you met her mocking eyes. Half-hidden by her fan, You'd not have been Saint Valentine, But just a helpless man ! 41 JULIA AT EASTER TF I have been peculiar, If I have seemed distrait, 'Twas all the fault of Julia, And her provoking way. For forty days she's flouted And saddened me with jeers; For forty days she's pouted, And maddened me with sneers! To-day, at early dawning. This message Julia sent: "Expect you Easter morning — Just gave you up for Lent." So if I seem peculiar. And still appear distrait, 'Tis on account of Julia And her perplexing way. 42 THE CLOCK npHE clock you gave me long ago Stands in its wonted place; Nor ever fast, nor ever slov^, Its pendulum sv^ings to and fro Beneath its painted face. The fragile, gilded, crystal thing Unscathed and sure abides: Its meshing v^heels, its slender spring, The chimes its sleepless hammers ring Are faithful as the tides. But you, the passing years reveal Less constant than your gift: Not steadfast like its v^orks of steel. To you no loyalties appeal, — O, vagrant as the drift! 43 COMPENSATION VT'EA, in truth the day is drear with its talk and foolish smiling, And the tasks so long a-doing that were better left undone; Yet be patient, O my soul, and reflect for thy beguiling On the bliss that dreams will bring us when the day's hard race is won. For we'll slip the body's leash, and we'll leave it to its sleeping — Poor, deserted, joyless body, that can never share our flight — Then far beyond the star-space soon our won- drous tryst be keeping With that One who waits and watches for our coming all the night. Strong the love Death thought to vanquish, the ties he sought to sever, But we flout him, the grim Reaper, with his threat of tomb and pall; Not his touch can chill the dream-kiss, its passion lasts forever. Nor his coflBn hold a spirit, if a lover's spirit call. 44 Hush! chide not loud the sunshine, so unmindful of our sorrow, Lest it point its yellow fingers, mocking at the vacant place. The pitying darkness comes ere the desolate to- morrow, And within its tender shelter shall we see the vanished face. 45 IHE GOOD SAMARITAN IITOW then did the Fates endow him, They who bring birth-gifts to man, What vision did they allow him, A blessing, was it, or ban ? They gave him eyes ever peering For lost ones who faint and die; They made his ear sharp for hearing The moan, the sob, and the sigh. His heart is doomed to be tender. His hand predestined to save; For the Fates brook no surrender Of the awful gift they gave. 46 CONTRASTS T ITTLE brother, little brother, so grimy, wan and weary, Why go down into that pit most dark and dread ? See, the hills are white with snow. And a-coasting we can go; Then your cheeks will grow like mine, bright rosy red. Little brother, little brother, so grimy, wan and weary. What place is there for boyhood's joy in mines all cold and dreary ?'' So called a child of daylight, passing by; But the little child of darkness made reply: " I must not join you in your play, I may not see the happy day. The coal I break in endless night Will keep your nursery fires alight." 47 "Little sister, little sister, pale, pitiful and slender, Do not stay among those whirring wheels so long. School is over, come with me To the meadows or the sea; Let us fill the day with laughter and with song. Little sister, little sister, pale, pitiful and slender. What room is there in shop or mill for girlhood frail and tender ?*' So spoke a child of freedom passing by; But the little child of serfdom made reply: "I have not learned to laugh or sing; I toil till night its rest may bring. Though I know neither bird nor rose. Through me your father's treasure grows." ''Little brother, little sister, so woful in your sighing, Such wrongs as these for children cannot be! Did not the dear Christ love us ^ See, His churches tower above us; We are taught His blessings at our mother's knee. Little brother, little sister, so woful in your sighing, Would strong men climb to riches over little children, dying V 48 So the children of the sunshine, wond'ring, cried; But the children of misfortune low replied : "This Christ of yours we have not seen, Nor do we know what blessings mean. If Love and Law both pass us by Our only protest is to die." 49 TO THE PIPSISSEWA (prince's pine) T BUILT my house on Jersey sands, Where I could hear the sounding sea; The squirrels scampered o'er my lands, The friendly thrushes greeted me; Beneath the pines that stand before And sentinel my cottage door, Your drooping blossoms waxy clear, You bloomed, Pipsissewa, my dear. Now who would call you " Prince's Pine," A name that smacks of courts and kings ? I love your Indian title fine, For memories of old times it brings, When through these Jersey woods of ours. Finding sweet names for birds and flowers, The peaceful Lenapes did stray, Nor guessed how brief the red man's day. so Your fragrant blossoms sweetened June, Your brave leaves linger, lasting green, While near them, in this August moon, Your cousin, Indian Pipe, is seen. So on the fair procession wends Of all your kinsmen and your friends. I wait for you another year — Be prompt, Pipsissewa, my dear. A LULLABY IN CAMP jr\OWN on the river floats my canoe; Sleep, little hunter, sleep; The waves rock it lightly, I rock you; Sleep, little hunter, sleep. Keen is the call of the wind and tide. But happier we in camp to bide, — We two, little hunter, we two. Your feet grow restless, your feet grow strong; Sleep, little hunter, sleep; Soon shall we bind them with snow-shoes* thong; Sleep, little hunter, sleep. Not long before you paddle and steer, Shoot the rapids, and follow the deer; — Not long, little hunter, not long. The young birds drowse in the swaying nest; Sleep, little hunter, sleep; The new moon slips to bed in the west; Sleep, little hunter, sleep. Hush! lest the bat should claim you brother. Hush! lest the owl be called your mother; — Now rest, little hunter, now rest. 52 PART II My own and well-beloved nursery crew, Critics and inspiration of these rhymes In memory of many happy times I dedicate these little songs to you. THE MEASLES ^T^HE Measles is a Bad Disease, It makes you very Red and Hot; Your eyes keep crying all They please, Whether You want to cry or not. The Doctor listens at your Back, And bids Nurse take your nighty off. Then down your throat he sticks a Pack Of Spoons and Things that make you cough. He's glad your Fever is not high, And that your Rash is coming out — You cannot see exactly why There's much to be so "Glad'' about. The Measles gives you Awful Thinks And Dreadful Dreams of scary things, So then your Mother brings you drinks. And sits beside your Bed and sings. All day She stays with you a lot, And hardly ever goes to Teas — Which is the only thing that's not Just hateful in this Bad Disease. 55 ** TOO FAR" T'VE been visiting my grand-papa At his great house in the town, A funnier man I never saw, Not even the circus clown — Not the very best circus clown. He's big as the biggest giant, I guess. He speaks as loud as a cow; But I'm not afraid of him, unless He says, "That will do, now-now! That will do right away, now-now!" Oh, then I know that I've spilled some ink, Or left the front door ajar. Or said "I guess'' instead of "I thinks Or gone what he calls "too far" — I wonder how far is "too far." But if I say I want to go home And see my mother, — why then He says, " Pooh-pooh," or perhaps, "Come, come,' And we get good friends again — Yes, the very best friends again. 56 If I have a grandson when Vm old, Just Hke my dear grand-papa, I think it will be great fun to scold Whenever he goes "too far" — If I know how far is "too far." 57 A FAMILY JAR T ASKED in my prayers for a baby brother, And wasn't I glad when they sent down you ? I didn't suppose you'd be such a bother, And break every plaything I have in two. Just look at that doll there! Just look at her toes! Just look at her poor hair, And look at her nose! I thought that the angels would teach you some manners, And make you a good boy for all of your days; They must have been too busy singing hosannas To spare any time for you and your ways. Just look at my tea-things, My paint-box, my bank! If Mother could see things As I do, she'd spank. 58 Now there's no use at all in this silly crying, And hiding your naughty face in my dress. Maybe all little brothers are sometimes trying ;- You are not the baddest of all, I guess. So look up and kiss me, You poor little lamb! A cross horrid Sissy — That's just what I am. .v59 DANCING-CLASS DAY jLJAVE to hurry home from school, Eat my dinner in a trice, Mustn't wait for soup to cool, Mustn't ask for pudding twice. All this nonsense, fuss, and prance, 'Cause I've got to learn to dance. Up in my room on the bed, Well I know what things await; All laid out and neatly spread Are the togs I simply hate: Shiny shoes and stockings sUck, Starch enough to make you sick. Then what makes it worse is those Silly little sissy-girls, Jumping for their party clothes, Sticking ribbons on their curls. Really glad they have to go To the old disgusting show. 60 THE FISH-HAWKS TN summer-time I love to lie Upon the sandy beach, And watch the fish-hawks sailing by. Far up above my reach. And when one dives I always wish That it may lucky be, And catch a shiny wriggling fish For the young fish-hawks' tea. Since these, I know, are wondering Way up in their high nest, If mother in her claws will bring The dainty they like best. "O mother, is it bass.?" they say, " Or is it mackVel fat ^ You gave us bluefish yesterday. And flounders are too flat." The mother folds her weary wings. And stills her children's words; She bids them eat whatever she brings, Like thankful little birds. 61 That's what my mother says to us, To Sissy, Babe, and me. If we make just the sHghtest fuss About our nursery tea. 62 THE TREASURE-BOX COMETIMES when I am not quite well, And can not run about, My mother gets her precious box — The one she always shuts and locks — And takes the treasures out. She lets me put her necklace on, Her bracelets gold and green; The breastpin with the lady's head, The ring with pearls and rubies red — I feel just Hke a queen. My grandma's painted fan is there, And little silver knife. With that bright medal people gave My father who was very brave, And saved a person's life. Then when we wrap the treasures up, And put them all away, My mother almost always lays Her hand upon my head and says, "They'll all^be yours some day." 63 PANSIES T'D been a naughty girl that day — At least that's what they said — And so they took my dolls away, And sent me all alone to play Down by the pansy-bed. I did not know what I should do Without a single child, Till all the Pansies, white and blue, Purple, and brown, and yellow too, Looked up at me and smiled. They said, "Oh, do not feel so sad! Let us your children be." Then what a happy time we had! — I quite forgot that Td been bad; — The Pansies played with me. 64 THE MAY-QUEEN ^^rOW what can a little girl do but cry, When she'd planned to be Queen of the May, And had put on her frock with ribbons blue, A rosy wreath, and a white veil too, — And it turns out a rainy day? What right has a naughty March wind to blow ? Doesn't March know it's over and past ? And why should April have left some showers To drench a poor little May-Queen's flowers, When her May-Day had come at last ? Can a May-Queen sit on a dripping throne, With umbrellas to keep her dry ? Can subjects dance in their rubber boots, And spoil their Sunday-best May-Day suits ? No, — there's nothing to do but cry. 6S HIS CHOICE '' ^PAZIEREN geh'n mit Fraulein;' Is not what I call gay: No matter what I want to do She's very sure to say, " Ar^Z77, netn, Iteb Kind, was machst du da? Ich sage es deinem PapaT "M^ prom* Tier avec Marie,** Is not for such as I; For just as soon as fun begins Then she begins to cry, " mon Petit, ne fais pas ga, Je vais le dire a ta Maman** To take a stroll with Bridget, Now that's what I call fun, She lets me dance, she lets me sing. She lets me jump and run; If I get into mischief — well, She says, "Whist, child!— Til never tell." 66 MY INDIAN POLICY T LIVE in a most peaceful home, Upon a quiet street; Yet when within my door I come I'm very apt to meet Two savage braves in gorgeous suits, And moccasins instead of boots. Now who is safe from tomahawks When such as these appear ? They utter awful yells and squawks That pierce their victim's ear. 'Tis best to go down on my knees, And grant them anything they please. For these fierce chieftains will not take My scalp, if I will give A slice of that especial cake On which they love to live; And if I offer cambric tea They'll very friendly Indians be. 67 'SKY-TALK" T\/rY brother came to this country Just one Httle year ago: Of course he doesn't speak Enghsh, Except for a word or so; But he talks the cunningest language That he learned up in Angeltown, And which I have quite forgotten- It's so long since I came down. One day we took little brother Out in the park for a ride; And nurse was pushing his carriage, While I marched proudly beside; When we met the darlingest baby, Who was just learning how to walk, And as soon as they saw each other Both babies began to talk. 68 They gee-geed and goo-good together About one heavenly day When the angels took them flying All over the Milky Way; And about the clouds they rolled on, With such shooting stars to chase; And the garden of beautiful lilies Where they saw the Christ-Child's face. Then just as I was remembering That language down in my heart, Nurse said it was time to be going, And the babies had to part. Still I long so much to be able To talk of those heavenly things; I'd fly right up and learn Sky-talk, If I knew where to find some wings. 69 PANTOUM OF NOAH "T^HANK Goodness, we're safely afloat! It's a wonder that no one was late, Though I said this would be the last boat, And they could not expect us to wait. It's a wonder that no one was late. The Snails are not often on time; And they could not expect us to wait; — Delay in this case would be crime. The Snails are not often on time, So the Kangaroo gave them a lift. Delay in this case would be crime; — The whole population's adrift! So the Kangaroo gave them a lift — Unlikeness so often endears — The whole population's adrift; — I don't like the way Japheth steers. Unlikeness so often endears, I've put the Dogs in with the Fleas; I don't like the way Japheth steers, — We're shipping some very bad seas. 70 Fve put the Dogs in with the Fleas — In Union is Strength, I am told. We are shipping some very bad seas; — There's an Elephant loose in the hold. In Union is Strength, I am told; — No "Open Shop" rule for this Ark. There's an elephant loose in the hold, With the Steerage beginning to bark. No "Open Shop" rule for this Ark; I must avoid strikes at all cost, With the Steerage beginning to bark, And all our umbrellas are lost. I must avoid strikes at all cost; Shem and Ham are no help in a crack, And all our umbrellas are lost — My wife doesn't know how to pack. Shem and Ham are no help in a crack — They are young for their three hundred years; My wife doesn't know how to pack; My sons' wives are foolish with fears. 71 They are young for their three hundred years ;- Zoology's not in their line; — My sons' wives are foolish with fears; The head-work must always be mine. Zoology's not in their line, The weather, they vote, is a bore, The head-work must always be mine — Now why should the passengers roar ? The weather, they vote, is a bore. They wager 'twill be a short rain. Now why should the passengers roar ? They surely ought not to complain. They wager 'twill be a short rain, Though I said this would be the last boat; They surely ought not to complain; — Thank Goodness! we're safely afloat. 72 OCT 1S19U) One copy del. to Cat. Div. ^cT 18 mo