THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES POETRY FOR CHILDREN LooU into our cliiklish faces; Sec you not nur willing^ hearts? The Children's Apfeat. Poetry for Children EDITED BY SAMUEL ELIOT Superintendent of Schools \^ - - ALTIIOKIZED FOIt LSE IN THE BOSTON PUBLIC SCHOOLS I S8o G-0 2o 3 Copyright, 1S79. Samuel Eliot. P/V 1 y ^iC PREFACE. * Thk illustrations of this volume are by different hands. Some of them appear so helpful in interesting the reader as to call fur cordial acknowledgment from the editor. Many poems naturally looked for in a collection like this are omitted, because found in our School Readers. rhe arrangement of these selections is intended to be elastic, changing from easier to harder pieces, and back again. It is also meant to be suggestive of the likeness or the difference between one poem and another, so as to ipiicken thought and feeling. Let us hope that every child in our Primary and Grammar classes will find something here to please him, ami that the teachers will encourage the children, first, to read only what is suited to them, and, next, to commit what they read to memory, as the be^t means of exercising that faculty and kindling the \\hole intelligence. May the love of poetry, and of the good that j.octry teaches, be the portion of our children 1 CONTENTS. Page The Children's Appeal . . i Infant Joy 3 Only a Baby Small .... 3 Pketty Cow 5 Twinkle, Twinkle, I-ittle Star ^5 The Robin Redbreasts . . 7 The Child's Hymn .... S The Fairies of the Caldon- Low 9 The Little Doves M The Chimney-Sweep . ... 'S The Death ok Master Tom- my Rook 'S My Good-fok-Xothing ... 22 The Children in the Moon . 23 Kitty in the Basket ... 26 Pussy--Cat 27 Little White Lily .... 29 Lily's Ball 3' The Poppy 33 Page Little Dandelion 34 The Violet 3^ The Race of the Flowers . 37 A Little Goose 3S Mary's Lamb 42 The Pet Lamb 43 Poor Susan 4^ Lucy Gray; or, Solitude . . 47 The Dying Child 5^ The Reaper and THE Flowers, S4 /Lullaby on an Infant Chief, 56 The Spartan Boy 5^ Nell and her Bird .... 58 The Sailor's Mother ... 60 The Little Girl's Lament . 62 The May Queen 65 On Another's Sorrow . . . 7S The Gleaner So The Children in the Wood, Si Old Christmas S9 A Visit from St. Nicholas . 93 VIU CONTENTS. Page Little JSTay o^ Freddie and tmk Ciif.ukv- Tree 06 The Tree 97 The Death of Cock Robin AND Jenny Wren. ... 98 Ranger 100 Ranger's Grave 103 LocHiNVAR 105 The Battle of Blenheim . loS The Soldier's Dream ... 112 The Burial ok Sir John Moore 113 Old Ironsides 116 Sweet Home nS The Traveller's Return . 119 The Ho.mes of England . . 120 Lord Ullin's Daughter . . 122 To My Mother 125 The Three Friends 26 Abou Ben Adhem a.nd the Angel ,,<; The Haunted Sprinc ... 129 A Fairy's Song 131 Nose and Eyes 132 The Wind in a Frolu ... 13^ The Lnchcape Rock .... 136 The Three Bells i^o A. ". t: ,.,3 The Child and the Angels . 144 Lord, teach a Little Child, 145 Pag .Sleep, Bahv, Sleep .... 141 The Little Dreamer ... 14- The Little Brother . . . 14J CoCK-A-DoODLE-DoO .... 14c A Little Girl's Letter . . 15c A Little Brown Bird ... 151 Eggs and Biros 152 Little Birdie jgj The Turxle-Dove's Nest . . 154 Dame Duck's First Lecture ON Education 155 Way to be Happy 15S The Strange Little Bov . . 159 My Jessie ,(53 Little L.\mh 164 The New Moon 165 The Busy Bee 167 The Ant jgg To a Butterfly 169 The Prisoner to a Kohin WHO came to his Window, 170 ''■'^'K ,yj, Mahel on Midsummer Day . 173 I Heard an Angei 1S4 Faith i.n God jg^ Nursery Song iSS The Angel's Whisper ... 190 The Old Arm-Chair ... 193 GrANDPAI'A jg. Father William 195 A Masquerade jg6 CONTENTS. IX Page The Graves ok a Household 19S George Nidiver 201 The Idle Shepherd-Boys . 204 Allen- \-Dale ...... 20S Robin Hood's Death and Burial 210 What the Winds Bring . . 214 In March 315 March 216 Child to a Rose 217 The Mountain and the Squir- rel 219 The Waky Trout 220 Boys' Play' and Gikls' Play" 221 John Gilpin 22_^ Contented John 235 I would I were a Note . . 236 Wishing 237 Give me a Wish 239 Under the Greenwood Tree 240 We are Seven 241 The Strange Child's Christ- mas 244 A Story- by the Fire . . . 24S Casahianca 250 Tom Bowling 252 Black-eyed Susan .... 253 The Sands of Dee .... 255 A Wet Sheet and .\ Flow- ing Sea 256 The Bay of Biscay . . . 257 Page The Wives of Brixham . . 259 The Northern Seas .... 263 Winstanley 266 The Death of Nelson . . . 279 How Sleep the Br.we ... 281 Charade 2S1 The Burial or the Minni- SINK 283 Mv Kate 285 Daybreak 2S7— Flowers 2S9 The Use of Flowers . . . 290 The Palm-Tree 291 The Emperor's Birds'-Nest, 294 To a Redbreast 296 The Beggar 297 John Barleycorn 299 There was a Jolly' Miller . 301 The Friar of Orders Gray- . 303 Blow, Blow, thou Winter Wind 308 Llewellyn and his Dog . . 309 The Boat of Grass .... 313 He Prayeth well who Lov- ETH WELL 319 Good-Night, Good-by' . . . 320 Life 3-1 The Better Land 322 Heaven 3^4 The Child's Desire .... 325 Children, Thank God • . . 326 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS Drawn and Engraved under the supervision of George T. Andrew. Page The Children's Appeal Miss Humphrey . Frontispiece Only a Baby Small F. T. Merrill 4 Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star . . . Garrett and Merrill ... 6 The Fairies of Caldon-Low F. T. Merrill 12 The Chimney-Sweep F. T. Merrill 16 The Death of Master Tommy Rook . E. H. Garrett 19 The Children in the Moon Miss Humphrey 33 Lily's Ball Miss Gorley 31 The Violet E. H. Garrett 36 Pussy-Cat F. T. Merrill 2S A Little Goose F. T. Merrill 3S Lucy Gray; or, Solitude Garrett and Merrill ... 47 The Re.\per and the Flowers .... Miss Humphrey 55 Nell and her Bird F. T. Merrill 58 The Little Girl's Lament Miss Humphrey 63 The Mav-Qleen Miss Humphrey 69 The Children in the Wood Garrett and Merrill . . 83,85 Old Chkist.mas F. T. Merrill 90 Freddie and the Cherry-tkee . . . . F. T. Merrill 96 Ranger \V. L. ShepparJ 100 Ranger's Grave E. H. Garrett. ...... 104 Lochinvar F. T. Merrill 107 The Battle of Blenheim Merrill and Garrett . . .110 The Burial of Sir John Moore . . . A. R. ]Vaud 114 Old Ironsides A. R. li'aud 116 Lo:tD Ulli.n's Daughter ^Urrill and Garrett . ■ . 122 The Thkee Friends F. T. Merrill 126 Tnii Haunted Spring Garrett and Merrill . . . 130 Xii LIST OF ILLUSTKATIONS. Page The Inciicahe Rock I. /{. ]\'ai^^-v . ;■ '/,; > 've spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I want to spin another — e sheet for Mary's bed, an apron for her mother ! ' •ith tliat I could not help but laugh, d I laughed out loud and free ; then on top of the Caldon-Low (If \v;i'^ no one left but me. ^fSt&ifJ THE FAllilE.S OF THE CALDON-LOW. 13 " And all on top of the Caldon-Low The mists were cold and gray, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones That round about me lay. " But, as I came down from the hill-top, I heard, afar below, How busy the jolly miller was, And how merry the wheel did go. " And I peeped into the widow's field. And sure enough were seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn All standing stiff' and green ! " And down by the weaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were high ; But 1 saw the weaver at his gate. With the good news in his eye ! '■'• Now this is all I heard, mother, And all that I did see ; So. prithee, make my bed, mother, For I'm tired as I can be ! " Mary Howitt. 14 THE LITTLE DOVES. THE LITTLE DOVES. High on the top of an old pine-tree Broods a mother-dove with her young ones tlnee. Warm over them is her soft, dow^ny breast. And they sing so sweetly in their nest. " Coo," say the little ones, " Coo," says she, All in their nest on the old pine-tree. Soundly they sleep through the moonshiny night, Each young one covered and tucked in tight ; Morn wakes them up with the first blush of light, And they sing to each other witli all tlicir might. " Coo," say the little. ones. etc. When in the nest they are all left alone. While their mother far for their dinner has ilown, Qiiiet and gentle they all remain. Till their mother the\- see come home again. Then " Coo," etc. When the\' are fed b\- their tender mother. One never will push nor crowd another : Each opens widely his own little bill, And he patiently waits, and gets his till. Then •' Coo," etc. THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP. 15 Wisely the mother begins by and by To make her young ones learn to fl}' ; Just for a little way over the brink, Then back to the nest as quick as a wink. And " Coo," etc. Fast grow the young ones, day and night. Till their wings are plumed for a longer flight ; Till unto the mat the last draws nigh The time when they all must say '* Good-by." Then " Coo," say the little ones, " Coo," says she, And away they fly from the old pine-tree. Carols, Hymns, and Songs. THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP. '' Sweep ho ! Sweep ho ! " He trudges on through sleet and snow Tired and hungry both is he, And he whistles vacantly. Sooty black his rags and skin, But the child is fair within. 16 THE CHLMXEY-,sWEEr. Ice and cold are better fkr Than his master's curses are. Mother of tliis little one, Couldst thou see thy little son " Sweep ho ! Sweep Jio ! '' He trudg-es on through sleet and snc At the great man's door he knocks, Which the servant-maid unlocks. Now let in with laugh and jeer, Tn his eye there stands a tear. THE CHIMNEY-SWEEP. 17 He is young, but soon will know How to bear both word and blow. " Sweep ho ! Sweep ho ! " In the chimney, sleet, and snow. Gladly, should his task be done, Were't the last beneath the sun. Faithfully it now shall be : But, soon spent, down droppeth he ; Gazes round, as in a dream ; Very strange, but true, things seem. Creeps he to a little bed, Pillows there his aching head ; And, poor thing ! he does not know There he lay long years ago. Mrs. Hooper. 18 THE DEATH OF MASTER TOMMY ROOK. THE DEATH OF MASTER TOMMY ROOK. A pair of steady rooks Chose the safest of all nooks, In the hollow of a tree to build their home ; And while they kept within They did not care a pin For any roving sportsman that might come. Their family of five Were all happy and alive ; And Mrs. Rook was careful as could be To never let them out, Till she looked all round about. And saw that they might wander far and free. She had talked to every one Of the dangers of a gun, And fondly begged that none of them would stir To take a distant flight, At morning, noon, or night. Before they prudently asked leave of her. But one fine sunny day, Towards the end of May, Young Tommy Rook began to scorn her power, /^' And said that he would fly Into the field close by, And walk among the daisies for an hour. " Stop, stop ! " she cried, alarmed, " I see a man that's armed, And he will shoot you, sure as you are seen ; Wait till he goes, and then. Secure from guns and men, We all will have a ramble on the green." But Master Tommy Rook, With a very saucy look. Perched on a twig, and plumed his jetty breast ; Still talking all the while, In a very pompous style. Of doing just what he might like the best. 20 THE DEATH OF MASTEE TOMMY KOOK. " I don't cai"e one bit," said he, ' ' For any gun you see ; i am tired of the cautions you bestow : I mean to have my way. Whatever vou may 533% And shall not asi<. when I may stay or go." "But, my son," the mother cried, " I only wish to guide Till you are wise and fit to go alone : I have seen much more of life, Of danger, woe, and strife, Than you. my child, can possibh' have known. "Just wait ten minutes liere, — Let that man disappear ; I am sure he means to do some evil thing : I fear you may be shot If you leave this sheltered spot ; So pray come back, and keep beside my wing." But Master Tommy Rook Gave another saucy look, And chattered out, "Don't care ! don't care I don't care !" And off he flew with glee, From his brothers in the tree. And liirhtcd on the field so green and fiiir. THE DEATH OF MASTER TOMMY ROOK. 21 He hopped about, and found All pleasant things around ; He strutted through the daisies, — but, alas ! A loud shot — bang ! — was heard, And the wounded, silly bird Rolled over, faint and dying, on the grass. " There, there, I told you so ! " Cried his mother in her woe, " I warned you with a parent's thoughtful truth : And you see that I was right When I tried to stop your flight, And said vou needed me to guide your vouth." Poor Master Tommy Rook Gave a melancholy look. And cried, just as he drew his latest breath : "Forgive me, mother dear. And let my brothers hear That disobedience caused my cruel death." Now, when his lot was told. The rooks, both young and old. All said he should have done as he was bid, — That he well deserved his fate : And I, who now relate His hapless story, really think he did. Ei.izA Cook. 22 MY GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. My GOOD-FOR-NOTHING. " What are you good for, my brave little man? Answer that question for me, if you can, — You, with your fingers as white as a nun, — You, with your ringlets as bright as the sun. All the day long, with your busy contriving. Into all mischief and fun you are driving : See if your wise little noddle can tell What you are good for. Now, ponder it well."- Over the carpet the dear little feet Came with a patter to climb on my seat ; Two merry eyes, full of frolic and glee, Under their lashes looked up unto me ; Two little hands, pressing soft on my face. Drew me down close in a loving embrace ; Two rosy lips gave the answer so true, " Good to love you, mamma, — good to love you." Posies for Children. LMiENi^lN THE MOON Hearken, child, unto a story ! For the moon is in the sky, And across her shield of silver See two tinv cloudlets fly. Watch them closely, mark them sharply, As across the light they pass : Seem thev not to have the figures Of a little lad and lass? 24 THE CHILDREN IX THE :M00N. See, my child, across their shoulders Lies a little pole I and lo ! Yonder speck is just the bucket Swinging softly to and fro. It is said these little children. Many and many a summer night. To a little well far northward Wandered in the still moonlight. To the wayside-well they trotted, Filled their little buckets there ; And the moon-man, looking downward. Saw how beautiful they were. Qiioth the man. '• How vexed and sulky Looks the little rosy boy ! But the little handsome maiden Trips behind him full of joy. "To the well behind the hedgerow Trot the little lad and maiden ; From the well behind the hedgerow Now the little pail is laden. THE CHILDREN IN THE MOON. 25 " How they please me ! how they tempt me ! Shall I snatch them up to-night? — Snatch them, set them here forever In the middle of my light ? " Children, ay, and children's children, Should behold my babes on high ; And my babes should smile forever, Calling others to the sky ! " Never is the bucket emptv. Never are the children old, — Ever when the moon is shining We the children mav behold. 26 KITTY IN THE BASKET. KITTY IN THE BASKET. " Where is my little l^asket gone?" Said Charlie boy one day. " I guess some little boy or girl Has taken it away. "And kitty, too, I can't iind her. Oh, dear, what shall I do.'' I wish I could my basket find, And little kitty too. " I'll go to mother's room and look ; Perhaps she may be there, For kitty loves to take a nap In mother's easy-chair. " O mother ! mother ! come and look ! See what a little heap ! My kitty's in the basket here, All cuddled down to sleep." He took the basket carefully, And brought it in a minute, And showed it to his mother dear. With little kitty in it. Mrs. Follen. PUSSY-CAT. 27 PUSSr-CAT. Pussy-cat lives in the servants' hall, She can set up her back and purr ; The little mice live in a crack in the wall, But they hardly dare venture to stir ; For whenever they think of taking the air, Or filling their little maws. The pussy-cat says, " Come out if you dare ; I will catch you all with my claws." Scrabble, scrabble, scrabble ! went all the little mice, For they smelt the Cheshire cheese ; The pussy-cat said, " It smells very nice ; Now do come out, if you please." "Squeak!" said the little mouse. '^Squeak, squeal squeak ! " Said all the young ones too, — " We never creep out when cats are about, Because we're afraid of you." So the cunning old cat lay down on a mat By the fire in the servants' hall : " If the little mice peep they'll think I'm asleep ;" So she rolled herself up like a ball. •28 PUSSY-CAT. " Squeak ! " said the little mouse ; " we'll creep out And eat some Cheshire cheese : That silly old cat is asleep on the mat, And we may sup at our ease." Nibble, nibble, nibble ! went all the little mice, And they licked their little paws ; Then the cunning old cat sprang up from the mat, And caught them all with her claws. Aunt Effie's Rhymes. LITTLE WHITE LILY. 29 LITTLE WHITE LILT. Little white Lily Sat by a stone. Drooping and waiting Till the sun shone. Little white Lily Sunshine has fed ; Little white Lily Is lifting her head. Little white Lily Said, " It is good ; Little white Lily's Clothing and food." Little white Lily Drest like a bride ! Shining with whiteness, And crowned beside ! Little white Lily Droopeth with pain. Waiting and waiting For the wet rain. 30 LITTLE WHITE LILY. Little white Lily Iloldeth her cup ; Rain is fast falling And filling it up. Little white Lily Said, " Good again, When I am thirsty To have fresh rain. Now I am stronger, Now I am cool ; Heat cannot burn me, My veins are so full." Little wdiitc Lily Smells very sweet ; On her head sunshine, Rain at her feet. Thanks to the sunshine. Thanks to the rain ! Little white Lily Is happy again ! George MacDonald. LILT'S BALL Lily gave a pai'ty ; And her little playmates all, Gayly drest, came in their best, To dance at Lily's ball. Little Qiiaker Primrose Sat and never stirred, And, except in whispers, Never spoke a word. vSnowdrop nearly fainted Because the room was hot ; And went away, before the rest With sweet Forget-me-not. Pansy danced with Daffodil, Rose with Violet ; Silly Daisy fell in love With pretty Mignonette. 32 LILY'S BAI.L. But, when they danced the country-dance, One could scarcely tell Which of these two danced it best, — Cowslip or Heatherbell. Between the dances, when they all Were seated in their places, I thought I'd never seen before So many pretty faces. But, of all the pretty maidens I saw at Lily's ball, Darling Lily was to me The sweetest of them all. And, when the dance was over. They went downstairs to sup ; And each had a taste of honey-cake, With dew in a buttercup. And all were dressed to go away, Before the set of sun ; And Lily said " Good-by," and gave A kiss to every one. And before the moon or a single star Was shining overhead, Lily and all her little friends W^MC fast asleep in bed. Fun and Earnest. THE POPPY< 33 THE POPPY. High on a bright and sunny bed A scarlet poppy grew ; And up it held its staring head, And thrust it full in view. Yet no attention did it win By all these eflbrts made, And less unwelcome had it been In some retired shade. For though within its scarlet breast No sweet perfume was found, It seemed to think itself the best Of all the flowers around. From this I may a hint obtain, And take great care indeed. Lest I appear as pert and vain As is this gaudy weed. Jane Taylor. 34 LiTXLE dandi:liun. LITTLE DANDELION. Gay little Dandelion Lights up the meads, Swings on her slender foot, Telleth her beads. Lists to the robin's note Poured from above ; Wise little Dandelion Asks not for love. Cold lie the daisy banks Clothed but in green, Where, in the days agone. Bright hues were seen. Wild pinks are slumbering, Violets delay ; True little Dandelion Greeteth the ]\la\ . Brave little Dandelion I Fast falls the snow, Bending the daflbdil's ILiughty head low. LITTLE DANDELION. 35 Under that fleecy tent, Careless of cold, Blithe little Dandelion Counteth her gold. Meek little Dandelion Groweth more fair. Till dies the amber dew Out from her hair. High rides the thirsty sun. Fiercely and high ; Faint little Dandelion Closeth her eye. Pale little Dandelion, In her white shroud, Heareth the angel-breeze Call from the cloud ! Tiny plumes fluttering Make no delay ; Little winged Dandelion Soareth away. Helen B. Bostwick. /C>. THE VIOLET. Down in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew ; Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view. And yet it was a lovely flower, Its colors bright and fair I It might have graced a ros\' bower, Instead of hiding there. Yet tliere it was content to bloom. In modest tints arraved ; And there diffused its sweet joerfume Within the silent shade. Then let mc to the \alley go. This pretty flower to see, That I mav also learn to [ARY'S 1>AMB. MART'S LAMB. Mary had a little lamb, Its fleece was white as snow ; And everywhere that JSIary went, The lamb was sure to go. He followed her to school one day. — That was against the rule ; It made the children laugh and play. To see a lamb at school. So the teacher turned him out, But still he lingered near. And waited patiently about, Till Mary did appear. Then he ran to her, and laid His head upon her arm. As if he said, " I'm not afraid, — You'll keep me from all harm." " What makes the lamb love Mary so?" The eager children cry. " Oh, Mary loves the lamb, you know," The teacher did reply. MRb. Hale. THE PET LAMB. 43 THE PET LAMB. The dew was falling fast, the stars began to blink ; I heard a voice: it said, *' Drink, pretty creature. drink ! " And, looking o'er the hedge, before me I espied A snow-white mountain lamb, with a maiden at its side. No other sheep were near, the lamb was all alone, And by a slender -cord was tethered to a stone ; With one knee on the grass did the little maiden kneel. While to that mountain lamb she gave its evening meal. The lamb, while from her hand he thus his supper took, Seemed to feast with head and ears ; and his tail with pleasure shook. " Drink, pretty creature, drink," she said in such a tone, That I almost received her heart into my own. 'Twas little Barbara Lewthwaite, a child of beauty rare ! I watched them with delight : they were a lovely pair. Now with her empty can the maiden turned away ; But, ere ten yards were gone, her footsteps did she stay. 44 THE PET LAMB. Towards the lamb slie looked ; and froin that shady place I, unobserved, could see the workings of her face : If Nature to her ton^jue could measured numbers brinsf. Thus, thought I, to her lamb that little maid might sing : — " What ails thee, young one.^ What.' Why pull so at thy cord.'' Is it not well with thee.' well both for bed and board .^ Thy plot of grass is soft, and green as grass can be ; Rest, little young one, rest: what is't that aileth thee.' " Rest, little young one. rest; thou hast forgot the day When my father found thee first in places far away : Many flocks were on the hills, but thou wert owned by none. And thy mother from thy side for evermore was gone. " He took thee in his arms, and in pih- brought thee home : A blessed day for thee ! Then whither wouldst thou roam ? A faithful nurse thou hast : the dam that did thee yean UjDon the mountain-tops no kinder could have been. THE PET LAMB. 45 " Thou know'st that twice a day I have brought thee in this can Fresh water from the brook, as clear as ever ran ; And twice in the day, when the ground is wet with dew, I bring thee draughts of milk, — warm milk it is and new. " It will not, will not rest ! — poor creature, can it be That 'tis thy mother's heart which is working so in thee ? Things that I know not of belike to thee are dear, And dreams of things which thou canst neither see nor hear." As homeward through the lane I went with lazy feet, This song to myself did I oftentimes repeat ; And it seemed, as I retraced the ballad line by line, That but half of it was hers, and one-half of it was mine. Again, and once again, did I repeat the song ; "Nay," said I, " more than half to the damsel must belong, For she looked with such a look, and she spake with such a tone, That I almost received her heart into mine own." Wordsworth. 46 POOR SUSAN. POOR SUSAN. At the corner of Wood Street, when davHglit appears, There's a thrush that sings loud. — it has sung for three years ; Poor Susan has passed by the spot, and has heard In the silence of morning the song of the bird. 'Tis a note of enchantment ; what ails her ? She sees A mountain ascending, a vision of trees ; Bright \olumes of vapor through Lothbury glide, And a river flows on through the vale of Cheapside. Green pastures she views in the midst of the dale. Down which slie so often has tripped with her pail ; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth that she loves. She looks, and her heart is in heaven ; but they fade, — The mist and the river, the hill and the shade : The stream will not flow, and the hill will not rise, And the colors have all passed away from her eyes. Wordsworth. 'So mate, no comrade, Lucy knew ; She dwelt on a wide moor, The sweetest thing that ever grew Besfde a human door. 48 LUCY (iRAY; OK, SOLITUDE. " To-night will be a stormy night, — You to the town must go ; And take a lantenu child! to light Your mother througli the snow." " That, father, will I gladh- do ; 'Tis scarcely afternoon, — The minster clock has just struck two, And yonder is the moon." At this the father raised his hook And snapped a fagot band : He plied his work ; and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Not Wither is the mountain roe ; With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke. The storm came on before its time : She wandered up and down, And many a hill THE PEOWEllS. THE REAPER AND THE FLOWERS. There is a reaper whose name is Death, And, with his sickle keen. He reaps the bearded grain at a breath, And the flowers that grow between. " Shall I have nought that is fiiir?" saith he ; " Have nought but the bearded grain? Though the breath of these flowers is sweet to me, I will give them all back again." He gazed at the flowers with tearful eyes, He kissed their drooping leaves ; It was for the Lord of Paradise He bound them in his sheaves. " My Lord has need of these flowerets gay," The reaper said, and smiled ; "Dear tokens of the eartli are they. Where he was once a child. " They shall all bloom in fields of light, Transplanted by my care, And saints, upon their garments white. These sacred blossoms wear." THE REAPER .VXD THE FLOWERS. 00 And the mother gave, in tears and pain, The flowers she most did love : She knew she should find them all again In the fields of licjht above. Oh, not in cruelty, not in wrath, ^ I\^^^ ' The reaper came that day ; ^& I 'Twas an angel visited the green ^g earth, S !(8^'^ \ And took the flowers awav. Longfellow. 56 LULLABY ON AX LNFAXT CHIEF. LULLABY ON AN LNFANT CHLEF. Oh, hush thee, ni}' babv. thy sire was a knight. Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright ; The woods and the glens, from the towers we see. They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee. Oh, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows. It calls but the warders that guard thy repose ; Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red. Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed. Oh, hush thee, my baby, the time will soon come When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum ; Then husli tliee. my darling, take rest while you may. For strife comes with manh(;od, and waking with day. Scott. THE SPARTAN BO 7". When I the memoi-y repeat Of the heroic actions great. Which, in contempt of pain and death. Were done by men who drew their breath THE SPARTAN HOY. 57 In ages past, I find no deed That can in fortitude exceed The noble boy, in Sparta bred. Who in the temple ministered. By the sacrifice he stands, The lighted incense in his hands ; Through the smoking censer's lid Dropped a burning coal, which slid Into his sleeve, and passed in Between the folds, e'en to the skin. Dire was the pain which then he proved, But not for this his sleeve he moved, Or would the scorching ember shake Out from the folds, lest it should make Any confusion, or excite Disturbance at the sacred rite ; But close he kept the burning coal, Till it eat itself a hole In his flesh. The standers-by Saw no sign, and heard no cry, All this he did in noble scorn, And. for he was a Spartan born. Mary Lamb. 58 NELL AND HER BIRD, NELL AND HER BIRD. M^ OOD-BY, little birdie ! Fly to the sk} , Singing and singing A merry good-by. Tell all the birdies Flying above, Nell, in the garden. Sends them her love. Tell how T found you. Hurt, in a tree ; Then, when they're wounded, They'll come right to me. I'd like to go with vou. If I could fly ; It must be so beautiful Up in the sky ! Why, little birdie — Why don't you go ? You sit on my finger. And shake your head. "■ No ! " NELL AND HER BUiD. - 59 He's oft'! Oh, how quickly And gladly he rose ! I know he will love me Wherever he goes. I know — for he really Seemed trying to say : "My dear little Nelly, I can't go away." But just then some birdies Came flying along, And sang, as they neared us, A chirruping song ; And he felt just as I do When girls come and shout Right under the window. " Come, Nellv — come out ! It's wrong to be sorry ; I ought to be glad ; But he's the best birdie That ever I had. Mrs. Douge. 60 THE SAILOR'S MOTHER. THE SAILORS MOTHER. One morning (raw it was and wet, A foggy day in winter-time) A woman on the road I met, Not old, thongh something past her prime ; Majestic in her person, tall and straight, And like a Roman matron's was her mien and srait. The ancient spirit is not dead ; Old times, thought I, arc breathing there ; Proud was I that my country bred Such strength, a dignity so fair. vShe begged an alms, like one in poor estate. I looked at her again, nor did my pride abate. When from these lofty thoughts I woke, With the first word I had to spare I said to her, "Beneath your cloak What's that which on your arms you bear.'*' She answered, soon as she the question heard, " A simple burden, sir, — a little singing-bird." THE SAILOR'S MOTHER. 61 And thus continuing, she said, '' I had a son, who many a day Sailed on the seas : but he is dead ; In Denmark he was cast away ; And I have travelled very far, to see What clothes he might have left, or other projDerty. " The bird and cage they both were his ; 'Twas my son's bird ; and neat and trim He kept it : many voyages His singing-bird hath gone with him. When last he sailed he left the bird behind ; As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind. " He to a fellow-lodger's care Had left it to be watched and fed, Till he came back again ; and there I found it when my son was dead ; And now, — God help me for my little wit ! — I trail it with me, sir ! he took so much delight in it." Wordsworth. THE LITTLE GIRUS LAMENT. Is Heaven a long way off, mother ? I watch through all the day, To sec my father coming back And meet him on the way. And when the night comes on I stand Where once I used to wait, To see him coming from the fields And meet him at tlie gate ; Then I used to put my hand in his, And cared not more to play ; But I never meet him coming now. However long I stay. THE LITTLE GIRL'S LAMENT. 63 And you tell me he's in Heaven, and far. Far happier than we, And loves us still the same ; but how, Dear mother, can that be ? For he never left a single day For market or for fair, But the best of all that father saw He brought for us to share. He cared for nothing then but us ; I have heard father say That coming back made worth his while Sometimes to go away. He used to say he liked our house Far better than the Hall ; He would not change it for the best, The grandest place of all. And if where he is now, mother, All is so good and fair. He would have come back long ago To take us with him there. He never would be missed from Heaven ; I have heard father say How many angels God has there. To praise Him night and day ; 64 'J'HK l.ri'TLK GIRL'S LAMENT. He never would be missed in Heaven. From all that blessed throng. And we — oh ! we have missed him here So sadlv and so long! l^ut it" he came to fetch us. then I would hold his hand so fast, 1 would not let it go again Till all the way was past. He'd tell me all that he has seen. But I would never say How dull and lonely we have been Since he went far away. When you raised me to the bed, mother. And I kissed him on the cheek, His cheek was pale and very cold, And his voice was low and weak. And vet I can rememl)cr well Each word that he spoke then, For he said I must be a dear, good girl, And we should meet again ! And, oh ! but I have tried since then To be good through all the day ; I've done w'hate'er you bid me, mother, Yet father stays away ! THE MAY QUEEN. 65 Is it because God loves him so? — I know that in His love He takes the good away from earth, To live with Him above ! Oh that God had not loved him so ! For then he might have stayed, And kissed me as he used at nights, When bv his knee I played. Olrthat he had not been so good, So patient, or so kind ! Oh, had but we been more like him. And not been left behind ! DoKA Green WELL. THE MAT ^UEEN. Part I. You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear ; To-morrow'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year ; Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest dav ; For I'm to be Qiieen o' the May, mother, I'm to be Qiieen a' the May. ^^ '^'iJIi; -^lAY QUEEX. There's many a black, black eye. they sa^-. but noi bright as mine ; There's Margaret and Mary, there's Kate and Carolir But none so foir as little Alice in all the land, thev s: So I m to be Q.ueen o' the Mav. mother, I'm t; (Jueen o' the May, If you^d.;^ „„, ,„„ ,„„ ,„,„, ^^.,,^,,^ ^,^^ ;^^^^ ^^^^. ^^ For I'm to be Queen o' i-li^. Ar queen o' tHuly" -■ '"°"'"- '"■" '" As I a,„K. up ,lK. v,,IU.v. wl,„u, tl,i„l< v„u sl,„u|,| I see \c.ster(la\- to''^"- ini ■ """"'"'™"'P^'--s' No burial these pretty babes Of any man receives. Till Robin Redbreast painfully Did cover them with leaves. And now the heavy wrath of God Upon their uncle fell ; Vea, fearful fiends did haunt his house, His conscience felt a hell. 88 THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD. His barns were fired, his goods consumed, His lands were barren made ; His cattle died within the field, And nothing with him stayed. And in a voyage to Portugal Two of his sons did die ; And, to conclude, himself was brought Unto much misery. He pawned and mortgaged all his lands Ere seven years came about ; And now, at length, this wicked act By this means did come out : The fellow that did take in hand These children for to kill Was for a robbery judged to die. As was God's blessed will. Who did confess the very truth That is herein expressed : The uncle died, while he, for debt, Did in a prison rest. OLD CPIRISTxMAS. 89 A WORD OF ADVICE TO EXECUTORS. All ye who be executors made, And overseers eke, Of children that be fatherless, And infants mild and meek, Take vou example by this thing, And yield to each his right ; Lest God, bv such like misery, Your wicked deeds requite. OLD CHRISTMAS. Now, he who knows old Christmas, He knows a carle of worth ; For he is as good a fellow As any upon the earth. He comes warm-cloaked and coated And buttoned up to the chin : And soon as he comes a-nigh the door We open and let him in. 90 OLD rillilSTMAS. We know he will not fail us. So we sweep the hearth up clean ; We set for him the old arm-chair, And a cushion whereon to lean. And with sprigs of holly and ivy We make the house look gay, Just out of old regard to him, — For 'twas his ancient way. OLD CHRISTMAS. 91 He comes with a cordial voice That does one good to hear, He shakes one heartily by the hand, As he liath done many a year. And after the little children He asks in a cheerful tone, Jack, Kate, and little Annie ; He remembers them every one ! What a fine old fellow he is ! With his faculties all as clear, And his heart as warm and light As a man in his fortieth year ! What a fine old fellow, in troth ! No tone of your griping elves, Who, with plenty of money to spare, Think only about themselves. Not he ! for he loveth the children, And holiday begs for all ; And comes with his pockets full of gifts For the great ones and the small. And he tells us witty old stories, And singeth with might and main ; And we talk of the old man's visit Till the day that he comes again. 92 A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. And all the workhouse children He sets them in a row, And giveth them rare plum-pudding, And twopence apiece also. He must be a rich old fellow, — What money he gives away ! There's not a lord in England Could equal him any dav ! Good luck unto old Christmas, And long life, let us sing, For he doth more good unto the poor Than many a crowned king ! Mary Hdwitt. A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. 'Twas the night before Christmas, wiicn all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not c\en a mouse ; The stockings were hung bv the chimnc\- with care. In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would lie there ; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. 93 And mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter nap, — When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter. Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a lustre of midday to objects below ; When what to my wondering eyes should appear But a miniature sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick. More rapid than eagles his coursers they came. And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name : " Now, Dasher ! now, Dancer ! now, Prancer and Vixen ! On ! Comet, on ! Cupid, on ! Dunder and Blixen 1 — To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall ! Now, dash away, dash away, dash away all ! " As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So up to the house-top the coursers they flew. With the sleigh full of tovs — and St. Nicholas too. And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. 94 A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were alTtarnished with ashes and soot» A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes, how they twinkle ! his dimples, how merry I His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry ; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, And the beard on his chin was as w hite as the snow. The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth. And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath. He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. He was chubby and plump — a right jolly old elf; And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself. A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread. He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all tlie stockings ; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose. And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose. He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle. And away they all flew like the down of a thistle : But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, " Happy Christmas to all. and to all a good-night I " C. C. Moore. LITTLE ]SLiY. 95 LITTLE MAT. Have you heard the waters singing, Little May, Where the willows green are bending O'er their way ? Do vou know how low and sweet, O'er the pebbles at their feet. Are the words the waves repeat. Night and day ? Hav^e you heard the robins singing. Little one. When the rosy dawn is breaking, — When 'tis done? Have you heai'd the wooing breeze, In the blossomed orchard trees. And the drowsy hum of bees In the sun ? All the earth is full of music. Little May, — Bird, and bee, and water singing On its wav. fri:ddie and the chekry-tree. Let their silver voices fall On thy heart with happy call : " Praise the Lord, who loveth all," Night and day, Little May. Mrs. Miller, o>*=;c FREDDIE AND THE CHERRY-TREE. REDDIE saw some fine ripe cherries Hanging on a cherry-tree, And he said, '* Yon pretty cherries, Will vou not come down to me?" ''Thank you, kindly," said a cherry ; " W'c would rather stay up here ; If we ventured down this morning, ^'ou would eat us up, I fear." One. the llnest of the cherries, Dangled from a slender twig. "You are beautiful," said Freddie, '• Red and ripe, and oh, how big! " THE TREE. ^"^ " Catch me," said the cherry, ^' catch me, Little master, if you can."— •• 1 would catch you soon," said Freddie, '•Tf I were a grown-up man." Freddie jumped, and tried to reach it. Standing high upon his toes ; But the cherry bobbed about. And laughed, and tickled Freddie's nose. "Never mind," said little Freddie, " I shall have them when it's right." But a blackbird whistled boldly, " I shall eat them all to-night." Aunt Effie's Rhymes. THE TREE. The Tree's early leaf-buds were bursting their brown : -Shall I take them away?" said the Frost, sweeping down. " No, leave them alone Till the blossoms have grown," Frayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown. 98 DEATH OF COCK ROBIN AND JEXXY WREX. The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung : " Shall I take them away?" said the wind, as he swung. '• No, leave them alone Till the berries have grown," Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung. The Tree bore his fruit in the midsummer glow: Said the girl, '' May I gather thy berries now?" — " Yes, all thou canst see : Take them ; all are for thee," Said the Tree, while he bent down his laden boughs low. BjORNSON. *o>*;oo THE DEATH OF COCK ROBIN AND JENNY WREN. 'Twas a cold autumn morning when Jenny Wren died, Cock Robin sat by for to see, And when all was over he bitterly cried, So kind and so loving was he. He buried her under the little moss-heap That lies at the foot of the yew. And by day and by night he sat near her to weep, Till his feathers were wet with the dew. DEATH OF COCK ROBIN AND JENNY WREN. 99 " O Jenny, I am tired of lingering here, Through the dreary, dark days of November, And I'm thinking of nothing but you, Jenny dear, And your loving, fond ways I remember. " I think how you looked in your little brown suit, When you said that you'd always be mine ; With your fan in your hand, how you glanced at the fruit. And said you liked cherries and wine ! " I think of the sweet, merry days of the spring, Of the nest that we built both together, Of the dear little brood nestled under your wing. And the joys of the warm summer weather." And as he lamented, the rain did down pour Till his body was wet through and through ; And he sang, " Dearest Jenny, my sorrows are o'er, And I'm coming, my true love, to you." So he gathered some brown leaves to lay by her side, And to pillow his poor, weary head, And sang, '■'Jennv, my lost one, my fond one, my bride," Till the gallant Cock Robin fell dead. Gekua Fay. 100 RANGER. RANGER. A little boat in a cave, And a child there fast asleep, Floating out on a wave, Out to the perilous deep, — Out to the living waters. That brightly dance and gleam, And dart their foam about him, To wake him from his dream. He rubs his pretty eyes. He shakes his curly head. And says, with great surprise, " Why, I'm not asleep in bed I " The boat is rising and sinking Over the sailors' graves ; And he laughs out. '' Isn't it nice, Playing see-saw with the waves .^" Alas! he little thinks Of the grief <.n\ the far-oH" sands. Where his mother trembles and shrinks. And his sister wrings her hands ; Watching in speechless terror The boat and the flaxen head. Is there no hope of succor.^ Must they see him drowned or dead."* ^4; They see him living now. Living and jumping about ; p He stands on the giddy prow. With a merry laugh and shout. Oh ! spare him ! spare him I spare him Spare him. thou cruel deep ! - The child is swept from the prow. And the wild waves dance and leap. 1 02 RAXGER. They run to the edge of the shore, They stretch out their arms to him ; Knee-deep they wade, and more ; But alas ! they cannot swim. Their pretty, pretty darHng ! His little hat floats by ; They see his frightened face ; They hear his drowning cry. Something warm and strong Dashes before them then. Hairy and curly and strong. And brave as a dozen men ; Bounding, panting, gasping, Rushing straight as a dart ; Rcadv to die in the cause, — A dog with a loyal heart. He fights with the lighting sea, He grandlv wins his prize ! Mother ! he brings it thee With triumph in his eyes. He brings it tlice. O mother! His burden pretty and pale ; He lays it down at thy feet, And wags his honest old tail. KANGEK'S GRAVE. 103 O dog, SO faithful and bold ! O dog, so tender and true ! You shall wear a collar of gold, — And a crown, if you like it, too ; O Ranger ! in love and honor Your name shall be handed down ; And children's hearts shall beat At the tale of your renown. Poems for a Child. RANGERS GRAVE. He's dead and gone ! he's dead and gone ! And the lime-tree branches wave, And the daisy blows, And the green grass grows, Upon his grave. He's dead and gone ! he's dead and gone ! And he sleeps by the flowering lime. Where he loved to lie. When the sun was high, In summer time. We'\e laid him tlicic. \\hcie the blessed an Disports with the lovely light. And raineth showers i™ 7 i Of those sweet flowers, -"JJiVj^, '2 So silver white. Where tlie blackbird sings, and the wild bee's wings IMake music all day long, And the cricket at night (A duskv sprite 1) Takes up the song. LOCHINVAR. 105 He loved to lie where his wakeful eye Could keep me still in sight, Whence a word or a sign, Or a look of mine, Brought him like light. Nor word nor sign, nor look of mine, From under the lime-tree bough. With bark and bound. And frolic round, Shall bring him now. But he taketh his rest, where he loved best In the days of his life to be. And that place will not Be a common spot Of earth to me. Mrs. Southev. LOCHINVAR. Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west ; Through all the wide Border his steed was the best. And save his good broadsword he weapons had none ; He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. 106 LOCHINVAE. He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske river where ford there was none ; But, ere he aHghted at Netherby gate. The bride had consented, the gallant came late : For a laggard in love and a dastard in war Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered tlie Netherby hall, Among bridesmen and kinsmen, and brothers and all : Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word) , " Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our l)ridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" "I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied ; — Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide ; And now I am come, with this lost love of mine To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There arc maidens in Scotland more lovely by far That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." The bride kissed the go])let ; the knight took it up : He quailed off the wine, and he threw down the cup. She looked down to lilush, and she looked up to sigh. With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar. — " Now tread we a measure ! " said vounsf Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace ; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume. And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better by far To have matched our fair cousin with voung Lochinvar." 108 THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached tlie hall door and the charger stood near ; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! " She is won I we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur I They'll have fleet steeds that follow ! " quoth young Loch invar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Nethcrby clan ; Forsters, Fenwicks, and IMusgraves, they rode and they ran ; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee ; But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. vSo daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar.^ Scott. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM, It was a summer's evening. Old Kaspar's work was done. And he before his cottage door Was sitting in the sun ; And by him sported on the green His little orrandchild Wilhelmine. THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. 109 She saw her brother Peterkin Roll something large and round, Which he, beside the rivulet, In playing there, had found. He came to ask what he had found. That was so large, and smooth, and round. Old Kaspar took it from the boy. Who stood expectant by ; And then the old man shook his head. And, with a natural sigh, '' 'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he, " Who fell in the great victory ! " I find them in the garden. For there's many here about ; And often. when I go to plough. The ploughshare turns them out ; For many thousand men," said he, " Were slain in that great victorv ! " " Now, tell us wdiat 'twas all about," Young Peterkin he cries ; And little Wilhelmine looks up With wonder-waiting eves ; " Now tell us all about the war. And w'hat they killed each other for." " Who put the French to rout ; But what they killed each othcM- for I could not well niake out. But everybody said," nuoth he, '' That 'twas a famous victory ! THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM. Ill " Mv fiither lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by : They burned his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly ; So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. " With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide ; And many a childing mother then And new-born baby died. But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. " They say it was a shocking sight After the field was won ; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun. But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victorv. '' Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won, And oiu" good Prince Eugene." — " Whv, 'twas a very wicked thing ! " Said little Wilhelmine. " Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he, " It was a famous victory ! 112 THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. " And everybody praised the Duke Who this great fight did win," — " But what good came of it at hist? " Qiioth httle Peterkin. " ^Vhy, that I cannot tell," said he, " But 'twas a famous victory ! " SOCTHEV. THE SOLDIERS DREAM. Our bugles sang truce — for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky ; And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered. The weary to sleep and the wounded to die. When reposing that night on mv pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again. Methought from tlie battle-field's dreadful array, Far, far I had roamed on a desolate track : 'Twas autumn, and sunshine arose on the way To the h(;nie of my fathers, that welcomed me back. Tim BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 113 I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young ; I heard my own mountain goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part ; My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er. And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart, " Stay, stay with us, — rest, thou art weary and worn ; " And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay ; But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn, And the voice in my dreaming ear melted aw^ay. Campbell. oOitHo* T//£ BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note. As his corse to the ramparts we hiu'ried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. 114 THE BURIAL OF SIR JOirN' MOORE. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning, By the strugghng moonbeams' mistv light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet or in shroud we wound him ; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. 115 Few and short were the praj^ers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, ' And we bitterly thought of the morrow. We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed. And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone. And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on In the s:rave where a Briton has laid him. But half of our heavy task was done. When the clock struck the hour for retiring ; And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing. Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory ; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, But we left him alone with his glory. Wolfe. 116 OLD IKOXSlDEis. OLD IROXSIDES. Ay, tear her tattered ensign down ! Long has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky ; Beneath it rung the battle shout, And burst the cannon's roar ; The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with heroes' ])lood, Where knelt the vanquished foe, When winds were hurrying o'er the flood. And wa\"es were white below. No more shall feel the victors tread, Or know the conquered knee ; — The harpies of tiic shore shall pluck The cajrle of the sea I Oh, better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave ; Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave ; fc Nail to thp mast her holy flag, Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, The lightning and the gale ! Holmes. 118 SWEET HOME. SWEET HOME. 'Mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam, Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home ! A charm from the skies seems to hallow us here, Which, seek through the world, is ne'er met with else- where. Home, home, sweet home ! There's no place like home ! An exile from home, splendor dazzles in vain! Oh, give me my lowly thatched cottage again ! The birds singing gayly that came at my call : — Oh, give me sweet peace of mind, dearer than all I Home, home, sweet home ! There's no place like home ! Paynk. THE TKAVELLEKS RETURN. 1113 THE TRAVELLER'S RETURN. Sweet to the morning traveller The song amid the sky, Where, twinkling in the dewy light, The skylark soars on high. And cheering to the traveller The gales that round him play. When faint and heavily he drags Along his noontide way. And when beneath the unclouded sun Full wearily toils lie. The flowing water makes to him A soothing melody. And when the evening light decays, And all is calm around. There is sweet music to his ear In the distant sheep-bell's sound. But, oh ! of all delightful sounds Of evening or of morn, The sweetest is the voice of love That welcomes his return. SOUTIIEV. 120 THE HOMES OF EX(iLANI). THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. The stately Homes of England ! How beautiful they stand, Amidst their tall, ancestral trees, O'er all the pleasant land ! The deer across their greens\\ard boiuid. Through shade and sunny gleam. And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream. The merry Homes of England ! Around their hearths by night, What gladsome looks of household loye Meet in the ruddy light ! There woman's yoice flows forth in song. Or childish tale Is told, Or lips move tunefully along Some glorious page of old. The blessed Homes of England ! How softly on their bowers Is laid the holy quietness That breathes from Sabbath hours! THE HOMES OF ENGLAND. 121 Solemn, yet sweet, the church bells' chime Floats through their woods at morn ; All other sounds, in that still time, Of breeze and leaf are born. The cottage Homes of England ! By thousands on her plains They're smiling o'er the silv'ry brooks, And round the hamlet fanes. Through glowing orchards forth they peep, Each from its nook of leaves ; And fearless there the lowly sleep, As the bird beneath their eaves. The free, fair Homes of England ! Long, long, in hut and hall, Mav hearts of native proof be reared To guard each hallowed wall ! And green forever be the groves. And bright the flowery sod, Where first the child's glad spirit loves Its country and its God ! Mrs. Hemans. A chieftain to the Highlands bound Cries, " Boatman, do not tarry ! And I'll give thee a silver pound To 1"! iw us 1 i\r til "^^'i^'^^taHft.. Duld cross Lochgylc, This dark and stormy water.'" — Oh, I am chief of Ulva's isle, And this. Lord Ullin's daughter. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGIITEK. 123 " And fast before her father's men Three days we've fled together ; For, should he find us in the glen, My blood would stain the heather. " His horsemen hard behind us ride ; Should they our steps discover. Then who would cheer my bonny bride When they have slain her lover?" Out spoke the hardv island wight, •'I'll go, my chief — I'm ready: — It is not for your silver bright, But for your winsome ladv ; " And by my word, the bonny bird In danger shall not tarry ; So, though the waves are raging white, I'll row you o'er the ferrv." By this the storm grew loud apace. The Wflter-wraith was shrieking, And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still as wilder blew the wind. And as tho night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men. Their tramping sounded nearer. 124 LOlll) ULLIN'S DAUGIITEK. " Oh, haste thee, haste ! " the hxdy cries ; '• Though tempests I'ound us gather ; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father." The boat has left a stormy land, A stormy sea before her, — When, oh ! too strong for human hand. The tempest gathered o'er her. And still they rowed amidst the roar Of waters fast prevailing ; Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore. — His wrath was changed to wailing. For sore dismayed, through storm and shade, His child he did discover : One lovely hand she stretched for aid, And one was round her lover. " Come back ! come back I " he cried in grief, " Across this storm}' water ; . And I'll forgive your Highland chief, My daughter ! — O my daughter ! " 'Twas vain : the loud waves lashed the shore, Return or aid preventing ; The waters wild went o'er his child, And he was left lamenting. Campbell TU MY MOTHER. 125 TO Mr MOTHER. And canst thou, mother, for a moment think That we, thy children, when old age shall shed Its blanching honors on thy weary head, Could from our best of duties ever shrink.^ Sooner the sun from his bright sphere shall sink, Than we ungrateful leave thee in that day. To pine in solitude thv life away, Or shun thee tottering on the grave's cold brink. Banish the thought ! — where'er our steps may roam, O'er smiling plains, or wastes without a tree, .Still will fond memorv point our hearts to thee, And paint the pleasures of thv peaceful home ; While duty bids us all thy griefs assuage, And smooth the pillow of thy sinking age. KiRKE White. 126 TIIE THEEE FRIENDS. THE THREE FRIENDS. Three \oiuig girls in friendship met, Mar}', Martha, Margaret. Margaret was tall and fair, Martha shorter bv a hair ; THE THREE FRIEXDS. 127 If the first excelled in feature, The other's grace and ease were greater ; Mary, though to rival loth, In their best gifts equalled both. They a due proportion kept ; Martha mourned if Margaret wept ; Margaret joyed when any good She of Martha understood ; And in sympathy for either Mary was outdone by neither. Thus far, for a happy space. All three ran an even race, A most constant friendship proving, Equally beloved and loving ; All their wishes, joys, the same ; . Sisters only not in name. Charles Lamb. 128 ABOU EEX ADHEM AND THE ANGEE. AbouBenAdhem (may his f.-JK • Awo,-'.>> a, ookn,.de„,^;^::™™-:;''^'-'. Answered " Ti,,> ^^^^ecaccoid "Andi;;;i„e'^^^er:::,r,r--'-'ovetheLo,,. Replied the an.el. m" j! , "''•■•■'■' "°' »•" "'■■^--.„„e,.,twthi:i:z:::r^- i^t:;:?^!::':;;;:::-"^""'- Thene.tni,ht Ancuho„;d'h':,eT::o"'";™''"'" "»"'"• ' A"'^!o:BenAdhe^. t™7:;,e^^^^^^^^^^ Leigh Hunt. THE H.\UNTED SPRING. 129 THE HAUNTED SPRING. Gayly through the mountain glen The hunter's horn did ring, As the milk-white doe Escaped his bow, Down h\ the haunted spring. In vain his silver horn he wound. — 'Twas echo answering back ; For neither groom nor baying hoimd Was on the hunter's track : In vain he sought the milk-white doe That made him strav and 'scaped his bow, For, save himself, no living thing Was by the silent haunted spring. The purple heath-bells, blooming fair, Their fragrance round did fling, As the hunter lay, At close of day, Down by the haunted spring. A lady fair, in robe of white, To greet the hunter came ; She kissed a cup with jewels bright, And pledged him by his name. 130 THE HAUNTED SPRING. "O lady fair," the hunter cried, " Be thou mv love, mv blooming bride, — A bride that well might grace a king I Fair lady of the haunted sj^ring." V 3A^.*, In tlie fountain clear she stooped, And forth she drew a ring ; And that loved knight His faith did plight Down by the haunted spring. A FAIRY'S SONG. 131 But since that day his chase did stray, The hunter ne'er was seen, And legends tell he now doth dwell Within the hills so green ; But still the milk-white doe appears. And wakes the peasants' evening fears, While distant bugles faintly ring Around the lonely haunted spring. Lover. A FAIRY'S SONG. Over hill, over dale, Through bush, through briar, Over park, over pale. Through flood, through fire, I do wander everywhere. Swifter than the moon's sphere ; And I serve the Fairy Qiieen, To dew her orbs upon the grcen. The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; In their gold coats spots you see, — These be rubies, fairy favors, In those freckles live their savors. I must go seek some dew-drops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. Shakespeare. 132 NOSE AND EYES. NOSE AND ETES. Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose ; The spectacles set them unhappily wrong ; The point in dispute was, as all the world knows. To which the said spectacles ought to belong. So the Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning; While Chief-justice Ear sat to balance the laws, So fanied for his talent in nicely discerning. "In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear. And your lords]]i[)," he said, '"■ will undoubtetlly find. That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear, — Which amounts to possession time out of mind." Then holding the spectacles up to the court, — " Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle As wide as the ridge of the Nose is ; in short, Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle. "Again, would your lordshij) a moment suppose ('Tis a case that has happened, and may be again) That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, Pray who would or who could wear spectacles then } NOSE AND EYES, 133 " On the whole it appears, and my argument shows, With a reasoning the court will never condemn. That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, And the Nose was as plainly intended for them." Then, shifting his side, as a lawyer knows how. He pleaded again in hehalf of the Eyes ; But what were his arguments fe\v people know. For the court did not think they were equally wise. So his lordship decreed, with a grave, solemn tone, Decisive and clear, without one if or btit^ — That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on, By daylight or candle-light. Eyes should be shut. COWPER. 134 THE WIXU IN A ITIOLIC. THE WIND IN A FROIIC. The wind one morning sprang up from sleep. Saying, '' Now for a frolic ! now for a leap ! Now for a madcap galloping chase ! I'll make a commotion in every place ! " So it swept witli a bustle right through a great town, Creaking the signs, and scattering down Shutters, and whisking, with merciless squalls, Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls. There never was heard a much lustier shout. As the apples and oranges tumbled about ; And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize. Then away to the (iclds it went Itlustering and humming, And the cattle all wondered whatc\cr was coming. It plucked by their tails the grave, matronly cows, And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows, Till, oflcnded at such a familiar salute. They all turned their backs and stood silently mute. So on it went, capering and playing its pranks ; Whistling with reeds on the broad river banks ; THE WIND IN A FROLIC. 135 Puffing the birds, as they sat on the spray, Or the traveller grave on the king's highway. It was not too nice to bustle the bags Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags. 'Twas so bold that it feared not to play its joke With the doctor's wig, and the gentleman's cloak. Through the forest it roared, and cried gayly, " Now, You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow ! " And it made them bow without more ado. Or it cracked their great branches through and through. Then it rushed like a monster o'er cottage and farm, Striking their inmates with sudden alarm ; And they ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm. There were dames with their kerchiefs tied over their caps. To see if their poultry were free from mishaps ; The turkeys they gobbled, the geese screamed aloud, And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd ; There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on, Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone. But the wind had passed on, and had met in a lane With a school-boy, who panted and struggled in vain, For it tossed him, and twirled him, tlicn passed, and he stood With his hat in a pool, and his shoe in the mud. William Ilowrrr. 136 THE IXCIICAPE ROCK. 777^ INCH CAPE ROCK. No stir in tlie air, no stir in the sea : The ship was still as she could be ; Her sails from heaven received no motion, Her keel was steady in the ocean. Without either sign or sound of their shock The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock ; So little thev rose, so little thev fell. They did not move the Inchcape Bell. The Abbot of Abcrbrothok Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock ; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning runsr. When the rock was hid by the surge's swel The mariners hoard the warning bell ; And then they knew the perilous rock. And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothok. THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 137 The sun in heaven was shining gay, All things were joyful on that day ; The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round, And there was joyaunce in their sound. The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen A darker speck on the ocean green ; Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck. And he fixed his eyes on the darker speck. He felt the cheering power of spring. It made him whistle, it made him sing ; His heart was mirthful to excess, — But the Rover's mirth was wickedness. His eye was on the Inchcape float : Qiiotli he, "■ My men, put out the boat, And row me to the Inchcape Rock, And I'll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothok." The boat is lowered, the boatmen row, And to the Inchcape Rock they go ; Sir Ralph bent over from the boat. And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float. Down sank the bell \\ ith a gurL;lin;j,' sound, The bubbles rose and burst around ; • Qiioth Sir Ralph, ''The next who comes to the Rock Won't bless the Abbot of Aberbrothok." Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away, He scoured the seas for many a day ; And now, grown rich with plundered store. He steers his course for Scotland's shore. THE INCHCAPE ROCK. 139 So thick a haze o'erspreads the sky ' They cannot see the sun on high ; The wind hath blown a gale all day, At evening it hath died away. On the deck the Rover takes his stand ; So dark it is they see no land. Qiioth Sir Ralph, " It will be lighter soon, For there is the dawn of the rising moon." '' Canst hear," said one, " the breakers roar.^ — For methinks we should be near the shore." " Now where we are I cannot tell, But I wish I could hear the Inchcape Bell." They hear no sound ; the swell is strong ; Though the wind hath fallen they drift along, Till the vessel strikes with a shivering shock : — •' O Christ ! it is the Inchcape Rock ! " vSir Ralph the Rover tore his hair. And beat his breast in his despair ; The waves rush in on every side, And the ship sinks down beneath the tide. SOUTHEV 140 THE THREE BELLS. THE THREE BELLS. Beneatli the low-hung night cloud That raked her splintering mast The good ship settled slowly, The cruel leak gained fast. Over the awful ocean Her signal guns pealed out. Dear God ! was that thy answer From the horror roimd about.'' A voice came down the wild wind, " Ho ! ship ahoy ! " its cry ; " Our stout Three Bells of Glasgow Shall lay till daylight by ! " Hour after hour crept slowl}', Yet on the heaving swells Tossed up and down the ship-lights. The lights of the Three Bells \ And ship to ship made signals, Man answered back to man. While oft, to cheer and hearten, The Three Bells nearer ran ; THE THREE HELLS. 141 And the captain from her taffrail Sent clown his liopeful cry ; " Take heart ! Hold on ! " he shouted, '' The Three Bells shall lay by I " i^^v^R. All night across the waters The tossing lights shone clear ; All night from reeling taffrail The Three Bells sent her cheer, 142 THE THREE BELLS. And when the dreary watches Of storm and darkness passed, Just as the wreck lurched under, _ All souls were saved at last. Sail on, Three Bells, forever. In grateful memor}^ sail ! Ring on, Three Bells of rescue, Above the wave and gale ! Type of the Love eternal. Repeat the Master's cr}'-, As tossing through our darkness The lights of God draw nisfh ! Whittier. A, B, C. 143 A, B, C. By Alpine lake, 'neath shady rock, The herd-boy knelt beside his flock. And softly told, with pious air, His alphabet as evening prayer. Unseen, his pastor lingered near : "My child, what means the sound I hear?" — "May I not in the worship share. And raise to Heaven my evening prayer? " Where'er the hills and valleys blend, The sovmds of praver and praise ascend." — "My child, a prayer vours cannot be -• You've only said your A, B, C." " I have no better way to pray, — All that I know to God I say : I tell the letters on mv knees ; He makes the words himself to please." Posies for Children. CHILD AND THE ANGELS. The Sabbath's sun was setting low, Amidst the clouds at even ; " Our Father." breathed a voice be- low, — " Our Father, who art in heaven." Beyond the eartli, beyond the clouds, Those infant words were given ; '' Our Fatlicr," angels sang aloud — "Father, who art in heaven." Thy kingdom come," still from the ground. That cliildHke voice did pray ; Thy kingdom come," God's hosts resound, Far up tlic starry way. LORD, TEACH A LITTLE CHILD. 145 " Thy will be done," with little tongue, That lisping love implores ; " Thy will be done," the angelic throng Sing from the heavenly shores. " Forever," still those lips repeat Their closing evening prayer ; " Forever," floats in music sweet, High midst the angels there. C. Swain. o>a>ic LORD, TEACH A LITTLE CHILD. L Lord, teach a little child to pray, And, oh, accept my prayer. Thou hearest all the words I say, For Thou art everywhere. A little sparrow cannot fall Unnoticed, Lord, by Thee ; And though I am so young and small, Thou carest still for me. Teach me to do whate'er is right. And when I sin, forgive ; And make it still my chief delight To love Thee while I live. 146 SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP. SLEEP. BABY. SLEEP. Sleep, baby, §leep. ! , Thy father watcnes the sliecp ; y Thy mother is sliaking the dreamland tree, And down comes a little dream on thee. .Sleep, babv, sleep ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! The large stars are the sheep ; The little stars are the lambs, J[ guess ; And the gentle moon is the shepherdess. Sleep, baby, sleep ! Sleep, baby, sleep ! Our Saviour loves His sheep : He is the Lamb of God on high. Who for our sakes came down to die. Sleep, baby, sleep ! From the German. TILE LITTLE DREAMER. 147 THE LITTLE DREAMER. A little boy was dreaming, Upon his nurse's lap, That the pins fell out of all the stars, And the stars fell into his cap. So, when his dream was over. What should that little boy do .? Why, he went and looked inside his cap, And found it wasn't true. Nursery Nonsense. 148 THE L1TT1J-: HKOTHEK. THE LITTLE BROTHER. Little brother in a cot, Baby, bab}- ! Shall he have a pleasant lot ? — Maybe, maybe ! Little brother in a nap. Baby, baby ! Bless his tiny little cap, Noise far away be ! With a rattle in his hand. Baby, baby ! Dreaming, — who can understand Dreams like this, what they be? When he wakes, kiss him twice. Then talk and gav be ; Little cheeks, soft and nice, Baby, baby ! Lu.LU'UT Levee. COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO. 149 COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO. A little boy got out of bed, — 'Twas only six o'clock, — And out of window poked his head, And spied a crowing cock. The little boy said, " Mr. Bird, Pray tell me who are you } " And all the answer that he heard Was, " Cock-a-doodle-do ! " " What would you think, if you were me," He said, " and I were you.^" But still that bird provokingly Cried, " Cock-a-doodle-do ! " " How many times, you stupid head. Goes three in twenty-two ? " That old bird winked one eye, and said Just " Cock-a-doodle-do ! " He slammed the window down again, When up that old bird flew ; And, pecking at the window-pane, Cried, " Cock-a-doodle-doodle-doodle-do ! " Nursery Nonsense. Dear Grandma, I will try to write A very little letter : If I don't spell the words all right, Why, next time I'll do better. My little rabbit is alive. Anil likes his milk and clover; He likes to see mc very much. But is afraid of Rover. A LITTLE BKOWN BIRD. 151 I've got a dove, as white as snow, I call her '^ Polly Feather ; " She flies and hops about the yard In every kind of weather. I think she likes to see it rain, For then she smooths her jacket ; And seems to be so proud and vain, The turkeys make a racket. The hens are picking oft' the grass And singing very loudly ; While our old peacock struts about And shows his colors proudly. I guess I'll close my letter now, I've nothing more to tell ; Please answer soon, and come to see Your loving little Nell ! Wisconsin Farmer. A LITTLE BROWN BIRD. A little brown bird sat on a stone ; The sun shone thereon, but he was alone. " O pretty bird, do vou not weary Of this gay summer so long and dreary.''" 152 EGGS AND BIRDS. The little bird opened his bright black eyes, And looked at me with great surprise ; Then his joyous song broke forth, to say, " Weary of what? I can sing all dav." Posiiis FOR Children. »OJ«««>0 EGGS AXD BIRDS. " Where is the little lark's nest. My father showed to me ? And where the pretty lark's eggs ? " Said master Lori Lee. At last he found the lark's nest, But eggs were none to see. "Why are you looking down there.'*" Sang two young larks on high ; " We've broke the shells that he"ld us, And found a nest on high." And the happy birds went singing Far up the morning sky. LiLLiruT Levee. LITTLE BIRDIE. 153 LITTLE BIRDIE. What does little birdie say, In her nest, at peep of day? "• Let me fly," says little birdie, '' Mother, let me fly away." — " Birdie, rest a little longer, Till the little wings are stronger." So she rests a little longer, Then she flies away. What does little baby say. In her bed, at peep of day.'' Baby says, like little birdie, " Let me rise and fly away." — " Baby, sleep a little longer, Till the little limbs are stronger. If she sleeps a little longer, • Baby, too, shall fly away." Tennyson. 154 THE TURTLE-DOVE'S NEST. THE TURTLE DOVE'S NEST ERY high in the pine tree The httle turtle-dove Made a pretty httle nursery, To please her little love. She was gentle, she was soft, And her large tlark e}e Often turned to her mate, Who was sitting close by. " Coo," said the turtle-dove ; " Coo," said she. '• Oh, I love thee," said the turtle-dove ; •• And / love thee.'' In the long shady branches Of the dark pine tree, How happy were the doves In their little nursery! Tiic young turtle-doves Never quarrelled in the nest, For they dearly loved each other. Though they loved their mother best ; DAME DUCK'S FIEST LECTURE. 155 " Coo," said the little doves ; " Coo," said she. And they played together kindly In the dark pine tree. In this nursery of yours, Little sister, little brother, Like the turtle-dove's nest — Do you love one another.'' Are you kind, are you gentle. As children ought to be .'' Then the happiest of nests Is your own nui"sery. Aunt Effie's Rhymes. o^^c DAME DUCK'S EIRST LECTURE ON EDUCATION. Old Mother Duck has hatched a brood Of ducklings, small and callow : Their little wings are short, their down Is mottled gray and yellow. 156 DAME DUCK'S FIK8T LECTL'EE. There is a quiet little stream, That runs into the moat, Where tall green sedges spread their leaves, And water-lilies float. Close by the margin of the brook The old duck made her nest Of straw, and leaves, and withered grass, And down from her own breast. And there she sat for four long weeks. In rainy days and fine. Until the ducklings all came out — Four, five, six, seven, eight, nine ! One peeped out from beneath her wing, One scrambled on her back ; " That's very rude," said old Dame Duck. " Get oft'! quack, quack, quack, quack ! " " 'Tis close," said Dame Duck, shoving out The egg-shells with her bill ; " Besides, it never suits young ducks To keep them sitting still." So, rising from her nest, she said, " Now, children, look at me : A well-bred duck should waddle so, From side to side — d'ye see .'' " DAME DUCK'S FIRST LECTURE. 157 " Yes," said the little ones, and then She went on to explain : " A well-bred duck turns in its toes As I do — try again." " Yes," said the ducklings, waddling on ; " That's better," said their mother ; " But well-bred ducks walk in a row, Straight — one behind another." "Yes," said the little ducks again. All waddling in a row ; "Now to the pond," said old Dame Duck — Splash, splash ! and in they go. " Let me swim first," said old Dame Duck, " To this side, now to that ; There, snap at those great brown-winged flies, They make young ducklings fat. " Now when you reach the poultry-yard, The hen-wife, Molly Head, Will feed you, with the other fowls. On bran and mashed-up bread ; " The hens will peck and fight, but mind, I hope that all of you Will gobble up the food as fast As well-bi-ed ducks should do. 158 WAY TO 1?E HAPPY. " You'd better get into the dish, Unless it is too small ; In that case I should use ni}* foot, And overturn it all." The ducklings did as they were bid. And found the plan so good, That from that day the other fowls Got hardlv any food. Aunt Effie's Rhymes. WA2^ TO BE HAPPT. How pleasant it is at the end of the day No follies to have to repent ; But reflect on the past, and be able to say That my time has been properly spent. When I've done all my business with patience and care, And been good, and obliging, and kind, I lie on my pillow and sleep away there, With a happy and peaceable mind. But instead of all this, if it must be confessed That I careless and idle have been, I lie down as usual, and go to my rest, But feel discontented within. THE STRANGE LITTLE BOY. 169 Then, as I don't like all the trouble I've had, In future I'll try to prevent it ; For I never am naughty without being sad. Or good without being contented. Jane Taylor. THE STRANGE LITTLE BOY. Here is a little boy, Look at him well : Think if you know him ; If you do, tell. I will describe him, That you may see If he's a stranger To you and to me. He has two hands That can manage a top. And climb a tall chestnut To make the nuts drop. They're just full of business, With ball, hoop, and swing; Yet are never too busy To do a kind thinsf. IGO THE STRANGE LI TTI.K I'.( tY He has two feet Tliat can run up and down 0\er tlie country And all about town. V. r^sje- X. I should think they'd be tired, — Thcv never are still ; But they're ready to run for vou Whither you will. THE STRANGE LITTLE BOY. 161 He lias two eyes, Always busy and bright, And looking at something From morning till night. They help him at work. They help him at play, And the sweet words of Jesus They read every day- He has two ears : Oh, how well he can hear The birds as they sing, And the boys as they cheer ! They are out on the Common, And for him they call ; But one word from his mother He hears first of all. He has a tongue That moves like a sprite : It begins in the morning As soon as the light. It's the best little tongue You can anywhere find. For it always speaks truth, And it always is kind. Posies for Chu.dren. ''-^^^c-^:. MT JESSIE. My Jessie lives beyond the town. Just where the moorland, bare and brown, Looks over to the sea : A little maid of lowly birth. But, oh ! of all the girls on earth, The dearest . The valley rings with mirth and joy ; Among the hills the echoes play A never, never-ending song, To welcome in the May. The magpie chatters with delight ; The mountain raven's youngling brood Have left the mother and the nest, And they go rambling east and west In search of their own food ; Or through the glilt'ring vapors dart In verv wantonness of heart. Beneath a rock, upon the grass, Two boys are sitting in the sun ; It seems they have no work to do, Or that their work is done. THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS. 205 On pipes of sycamore they play The fragments of a Christmas hymn ;• Or with that plant which in our dale We call stag-horn, or fox's tail, Their rusty hats they trim : And thus, as happy as the day, Those shepherds wear the time away. Along the river's stony marge The sand-lark chants a joyous song ; The thrush is busy in the wood. And carols loud and strong ; A thousand lambs are on the rocks, All newly born ; — both earth and sky Keep jubilee ; and more than all, Those boys with their green coronal ; They never hear the cry, That plaintive cry ! which up the hill Comes from the depth of Dungeon-Ghyll. Said Walter, leaping from the ground, '' Down to the stump of yon old yew We'll for our whistles run a race." Away the shepherds flew. They leapt — they ran — and when they came Right opposite to Dungeon-Ghyll, Seeing that he should lose the prize. " StoD ! " to his comrade Walter cries. 20G THE IDLE SlIEPIIEllD-BOYS. James stopped with no good Avill ; Said Walter then, " Your task is here, 'Twill keep you working half a year. " Now cross where I shall cross — come on. And follow me where I shall lead." The other took him at his word. But did not like the deed. It was a spot which you may see If ever you to Langdale go : Into a chasm a mighty block Hath fallen, and made a bridge of rock ; The gulf is deep below ; And in a basin black and small Receives a mighty waterfall. With staff' in hand across the cleft The challenger l)egan his march ; And now. all eyes and feet, hath gained The middle of the arch. When, list! he hears a piteous moan — Again! — his heart within liini dies — Ilis pulse is stopped, his breath is lost. He totters, pale as any ghost. And, looking down, he spies A lamb that in the pool is pent Within that black and frightful rent. THE IDLE SHEPHERD-BOYS. 207 The lamb had slipped into the stream, And safe without a bruise or wound The cataract had borne him down Into the gulf profound. His dam had seen him when he fell ; She saw him down the torrent borne ; And, while with all a mother's love She from the lofty rocks above Sent forth a cry forlorn, The lamb, still swimming round and round, Made answer to the plaintive sound. When he had learnt what thing it was That sent this rueful cry, I ween The boy recovered heart, and told The sight which he had seen. Both gladly now deferred their task ; Nor was there wanting other aid, — A poet, one who loves the brooks Far better than the sages' books, By chance had thither strayed ; And there the helpless lamb he found, By those huge rocks encompassed round. He drew it gently from the pool. And brought it forth into the light ; The shepherds met h4m with his charge. An unexpected sight I 208 ALLEN-A-D.\LE. Into their arms the himb thev took : Said the}-, " lie's neither maimed nor scarred." Then up the steep ascent they hied, And phiced him at his mother's side ; And gently did the bard Tliose idle shepherd-boys upbraid. And bade them better mind their trade. Wordsworth. ALLEN-A-DALE. AUen-a-Dalc has no fagot for burning, Allen-a-Dale has no furrow for turning, Allen-a-Dale has no fleece for the spinning, Yet Allen-a-Dale has red gold for the wiiming. Come, read me my riddle ! come, hearken my tale, And tell me the craft of bold Allen-a-Dale. The Baron of Ravensworth prances in pride. And he views his domains upon Arkindale side, The mere for his net, and the land for his game. The chase for the wild, and the park for the tame ; Yet the fish of the lake and the deer of the vale Are less free to Lord Dacre than Allen-a-Dale. AI>LEX-A-DALE. 209 AlIen-a-Dale was ne'er belted a knight, Though his spur be as sharp, and his blade be as bright ; Allen-a-Dale is no baron or lord. Yet twenty tall yeomen will draw at his word ; And the best of our nobles his bonnets will vail. Who at Rere-cross on Stanmore meets Allen-a-Dale. Allen-a-Dale to his wooing is come ; The mother, she asked of his household and home : "■ Though the castle of Richmond stand fair on the hill, My hall," quoth bold Allen, "shows gallanter still ; 'Tis the blue vault of heaven, with its crescent so pale, And with all its bright spangles ! " said Allen-a-Dale. The father was steel, and the mother was stone ; They lifted the latch, and they bade him be gone ; But loud, on the morrow, their wail and their cry : He had laughed on the lass with his bonu}' black eye. And slie fled to the forest to hear a love-tale. And the youth it was told by was Allen-a-Dale. Scott. 210 ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAl^. ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL, When Robin Hood and Little John Went o'er yoia bank of broom, Said Robin Hood to Little John, " We have shot for many a pound ; " But I am not able to shoot one shot more, — My arrows will not flee ; But I have a cousin lives down below. Please God, she will bleed me." Now Roljin is to fair Kirkley gone, As fast as he can win ; But before he came there, as wc do hear, He was taken very ill. And when that he came to fair Kirklcv Hall, He knocked all at the ring, But none was so ready as his cousin herself For to let bold Robin in. " Will you please to sit down, cousin Robin," she said, " And drink some beer with me.^" — "No, 1 will neither eat nor drink Till I am blooded by thee." ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BUKIAL. 211 " Well, I have a room, cousin Robin," slie said, '• Which you did never see, And if you please to walk therein, You blooded by me shall be." She took him by the lily-white hand, And led him to a private room. And there she blooded bold Robin Hood Whilst one drop of blood would run. She blooded him in the vein of the arm. And locked him up in the room ; There did he bleed all the livelong dav. Until the next day at noon. He then bethought him of a casement door, Thinking for to be gone : He was so weak he could not leap, And he could not get down. He then bethought him of his bugle-horn. Which hung low down to his knee ; He set his horn unto his mouth, And blew out weak blasts three. Then Little John, when hearing him. As he sat under the tree, " I fear my master is near dead. He blows so wear i lee." •_>12 ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL. Then Little John to lair Kirkley is gone, As fast as he can flee ; But when he came to Kirkley Hall, lie broke locks two or three ; rntil lie came bold Robin to, Then he fell on his knee : •'A boon, a boon," cries Little John. '■ Master, I I)e^- of thee." '•What is that l)oon," (lUoUi Robin Hood, •• Liltle Tohu. thou be-^s of me?" — I is. to burn fail- Kirkk-y Hall. Vnd all thrir minncric." ROBIN HOOD'S DEATH AND BURIAL. 213 " Now nay, now nay," quoth Robin Hood, " That boon I'll not grant thee ; I never hiu't woman in all ni}" life, Nor man in woman's companie. " I never hurt fair maid in all my time. Nor at my end shall it be. But give me my bent bow in my hand. And a broad arrow I'll let flee, '• And where this arrow is taken up. There shall my grave digged be. Lay me a green sod under my head, And another at my feet, " And lay my bent bow by my side. Which was my music sweet ; And make my grave of gravel and green, Which is most right and meet. " Let me have length and breadth enough, With a green sod under my head, That they may sa}-, when I am dead, Here lies bold Robin Hood." These words thev I'eadily promised him. Which did bold Robin please ; And there they buried bold Robin Hood. Near to the fair Kirkleys. Old B.vllad. 214 WHAT THE WINDS BRIXG. WHAT THE ]VINDS BRTYG. " Which is the wind that brings the cold?" — " The North-wind, -Freddy — and all the snow ; And the sheep will scamper into the fold, When the North besfins to blow/' " Which is the wind that brings the heat?" — " The South-wind, Katy ; and corn will grow. And peaches redden, for von to eat. W^hen the South bcsfins to blow." " Which is the wind that brings the rain? " — " The East-wind, Arty ; and farmers know That cows come shivering up the lane. When the East begfins to blow." " Which is the wind that brings the tlowers?" — " The West-wind, Bessy ; and soft and low The birdies sing in the summer hours, When the West begins to blow." Stedman. IN MARCH. 215 IN MARCH. The cock is crowing, The stream is flowing, The small birds twitter, The lake doth glitter, The green field sleeps in the sun ; , The oldest and youngest Are at work with the strongest ; The cattle are grazing. Their heads never raising; There are forty feeding like one ! Like an army defeated. The snow hath retreated, And now doth fare ill On the top of the bare hill ; The ploughboy is whooping — anon — anon. There's joy in the mountains ; There's life in the fountains ; Small clouds are sailing, Blue sky prevailing ; The rain is over and gone ! Wordsworth. 216 IMARCH. MARCH. The stormy March is come at hist, With wind, and cloud, and changing skies; I hear the riishing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies. Ah, passing few are they who speak, Wild, stormy month ! in praise of thee ; Yet, though thy winds are loud and bleak, Thou art a welcome month to me. For thou, to northern lands, again The glad and glorious sun dost bring, And thou hast joined the gentle train. And wear'st the gentle name of Spring. And, in thy reign of blast and storm, Smiles many a long, bright, simny day. When the changed winds are soft and warm. And heaven puts on the blue of Maw Thou bring'st the hope of tliosc calm skies. And that soft time of sunny showers, When the wide bloom, on earth that lies. Seems of a brighter world than ours. Bryant. CHILD TO A ROSE. 217 CHILD TO A ROSE. HITE Rose, talk to me ; I don't know what to do. Why do you say no word to me, Who say so much to you ? I'm bringing you a httle rain ; And I shall be so proud, If, when you feel it on your face, You take me for a cloud. Here I come so softly, You cannot hear me walking : If I take you by surprise, I may catch you talking. White Rose, are you tired Of staying in one place.'' Do you ever wish to see The wild flowers face to face } Do you know the woodbines. And the big brown crested reeds .^ Do you wonder how they live So friendly with the weeds "i 218 CHILD TO A KOSE. Have you any work to do When you've finished growing? Shall you teach your little buds Pretty ways of blowing? Do you ever go to sleep ? Once I woke by night And looked out of the window, And there you stood moon-white, — Moon-white in a mist of darkness, — With never a word to say ; But you seemed to move a little, And then I ran away. I should have felt no wonder After I hid my head, If I had found you standing Moon-white beside my bed. White Rose, do you love me? I only wish you'd say. I would work hard to please you, If I but knew the way. It seems so hard to be loving, And not a sign to see But the silence and the sweetness For all as well as me. THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL. 219 I think voii nearly perfect, In spite of all your scorns ; But, White Rose, if I were you, I wouldn't have those thorns. Poems for a Child. THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL. The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel, And the former called the latter " Little prig I " Bun replied, " You are doubtless very big, But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together To make up a year, And a sphere : And I think it no disgrace / To occupy my place. If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry ; I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track. Talents differ ; all is well and wisely put ; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut." r, \v. Emerson. 220 THE WARY TROUT. THE WART TROUT. Down in the deep Dark holes I keep, And diere in the noontide I float and sleep By the hemlock log, And the springing bog, And the arching alders I lie incog. The angler's fly Comes dancing by, But never a moment it cheats my eye ; For the wary trout Is not such a lout As to be by a wading boy pulled out. King of the brook. No fisher's hook Fills me with dread of the toiling cook ; But here I lie And laugh as they try ; Shall I bite at their bait? No, no : not I. But when the streams, With moonli^M»_-^ |h^ ^?. Whereat his horse did snort, as he Had heard a lion roar, And galloped ofi' with all his might. As ho had done before. JOHN GILPm. 233 Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig ; He lost them sooner than at first ; For why ? — they were too big. Now, Mistress Gilpin, when she saw Her husband posting down Into the country far away, Slie pulled' out half-a-crown : And thus unto the youth she said That drove them to the "Bell," " This shall be yours when you bring back My husband safe and well." The youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back amain ; Whom in a trice he tried to stop By catching at his rein ; But not performing what he meant, And gladly would have done. The frighted steed he frighted more. And made him faster run. Away went Gilpin, and away Went postboy at his heels ; The postboy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering: of the wheels. 234 JOHN r4iLPiN. Six gentlemen upon the road. Thus seeing Gilpin fly With postboy scamp'iing in the rear, They raised the hue and cry : " Stop thief! stop thief! a highwayman ! " Not one of them was mute ; And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit. * And now the turnpike-gates again Flew open in short space. The tollmen thinking as before That Gilpin rode a race. And so he did ; and won it too, ' For he got first to town ; Nor stopped till where he had got up He did again get down. Now let us sing, Long live tlie king, And Gilpin, long li\e he : And when he next doth ride abroad. May I be there to see ! COWPER. COXTEXTED .KUIX. 235 CONTENTED JOHN. One honest John Tomkins, a hedger and ditcher, Although he was poor, did not want to be richer ; For all such vain wishes in him were prevented By a fortunate liabit of being contented. Though cold was the weather, or dear was the food, John never was found in a murmuring mood ; For this he was constantly heard to declare, — What he could not prevent he would cheerfully bear. " For why should I grumble and murmur? " he said ; " If I cannot get meat, I can surely get bread ; And, though fretting may make my calamities deeper, Tt can never cause bread and cheese to be cheaper." If John was afflicted with sickness or pain, He wished himself better, but did not complain. Nor lie down and fret in despondence and sorrow, But said that he hoped to be better to-morrow. If any one wronged him or treated him ill. Why, John was good-natured and sociable still ; For he said that revenging the injury done Would be making two rogfues when there need be but one. 236 I WOULD I WERE A NOTE. And thus honest John, though his station was humble, Passed tlirough this sad world without even a grumble ; And I wish that some folks, who are greater and richer. Would copy John Tomkins. the hedger and ditcher. Jane Taylor. D>«-^ Across the sands o' Dee." ^j^^ The western wind was wild and dank wi' foam, ^^m And all alone went she. The creeping tide came up along the sand. And o'er and o'er the sand. And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see ; The blinding mist came down and hid the land And never home came she. Oh, is it weed, or fish, or floating hair — And tress o' golden hair, O' drowned maiden's hair, Above the nets at sea ? Was never salmon yet that shone so fair, Among the stakes o' Dee." 256 A WET SHEET AXD A FEOWES'G SEA. They rowed her in across the rolHng foam. The cruel, crawHng foam. The cruel, hungry foam. To her grave beside the sea : But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home. Across the sands o' Dee. KlNCSLEY. oJOic A WBT SHEET AND A FLOWING SEA. A wet sheet and a flowing sea, A wind that follows fast, And fills the white and rustling sail. And bends the gallant mast ; And bends the gallant mast, mv boys ! While, like the eagle free. Away the good ship flies, and leaves Old England on the lee. " Oh, for a soft and gentle wind ! " I heard a fair one cry ; But oh, give me the swelling breeze. And white waves heaving high ; T?n-: ]?AY OF BISCAY. 257 And Nvhite waves' heaving high, my boys, The good ship tight and free ! The world of waters is our home, And merry men are we. There's tempest in von horned moon, And Hghtning in yon cloud ; And hark the music, mariners ! The wind is piping loud ; The wind is piping loud, my boys ! The lightning flashing free, While the hollow oak our palace is, Our heritage the sea. Cunningham. ooXKoo THE BA7' OF BIS CAT. Loud roared the dreadful thinider, The rain a deluge showers. The clouds were rent asunder By lightning's vivid powers ; The night both drear and dark, Our poor devoted bark There she lay till next day, In the Bay of Biscay, O ! 258 THE BAY OF BISCAY. Now dashed upon the billow, Our opening timbers creak ; Each fears a watery pillow, — None stops the dreadful leak ; To cling to slippery shrouds Each breathless seaman crowds. As she lay, till the day, In the Ba}' of Biscay, O ! At length the wished-for morrow Broke through the hazy sky ; Absorbed in silent sorrow, Each heaved a bitter sigh ; The dismal wreck to view Struck horror to the crew. As she lay, on that day, In the Bav of Biscay, O ! Her yielding timbers sever, Her pitchy seams are rent, When Heaven, all bounteous ever. Its boundless merc^■ sent ; A sail in sight appears. We hail her with three cheers : Now we sail, with the gale. From the Bay of Biscay, O! Cherry. THE WIVES OF BRIXHAM. 259 THE WIVES OF BRIXHAM. A TRUE STORY. The merrv boats of Brixham f Go out to search the seas ; A staunch and sturdy fleet are they, Who love a swinging breeze ; And before the woods of Devon, And the silver clifts of Wales, You may see, when summer evenings fall. The light upon their sails. But when the year grows darker, And gray winds hunt the foam. They go back to Little Brixham, And ply their toil at home. And thus it chanced one winter's night, When a storm began to roar. That all the men were out at sea. And all the wives on shore. 260 11 IK WIVES OF BKIXHAM. Then as the wind grew fiercer, The women's cheeks grew^ white. — It was fiercer in the twilight. And fiercest in the night. The strong clonds set themselves hke ice, ^Vithout a star to melt : The blackness of the darkness Was darkness to be felt. The old men they were anxious, They dreaded what the}- knew ; What do vou think the women did.-* Love taught them wdiat to do ! Outspake a wnfe, " We've beds at home, We'll l)urn them for a light. — Give us the men, and the bare ground, We want no more to-night." Thev took the grandame's blanket. Who shivered and bade them go They took the baby's pillow. Who could not say them no ; And they heaped a great fire on the pier, And knew not all the while If thev were heaping a bonfire. Or onl\ a funeral pile. — —ll^lfel' W tl ^1*=^ And fed with precious food, the flame Shone bravely on the black, Till a cry rang through the people. "A boat is coming back ! " Staggering diml). thiough the fog Come shapes of feai and doubt. But \\ lien the (list pi o\\ sti ikes the piei Cannot \ou heai them shout? 262 THE WIVES OF BRIXIIAM. Then all along the breath of flame, Dark figures shrieked and ran, With, •' Child, here comes your father ! '' Or, " Wife, is this your man?" And faint feet touch the welcome shore, And wait a little while ; And kisses drop from frozen lips. Too tired to speak or smile. So, one by one, thev struggled in All that the sea would spare : We will not reckon through our tears The names that were not there ; But some went home without a bed, When all the talc was told. Who were too cold with sorrow To know the night was cold. And this is what the men must do Who work in wind and foam ; And this is what the ^^■omcn bear Who watch for them at home. So when you see a Brixham boat Go out to face the gales. Think of the love that travels Like light upon her sails ! Poems for a Child. THE NORTHERN SEAS. 263 THE NORTHERN SEAS. Up ! up ! let us a voyage take ; Why sit we here at ease ? Find us a vessel tight and snug, Bound for the Northern Seas. I long to see the northern lights With their rushing splendors fly, Like living things with flaming wings, Wide o'er the wondrous sky. I long to see those icebergs vast, With heads all crowned with snow, Whose green roots sleep in the awful deep, Two hundred fathoms low. I long to hear tiie thundering crash Of their terrific fall. And the echoes from a thousand clifls Like lonely voices call. There shall we see the fierce white bear, The sleepy seals aground. And the spouting whales that to and fro Sail with a dreary sound. There may \vc IrcaU i>n dcpil That the liairy mammoth liidc ; Perfect as when, in times of old. The mighty creature died. im:^: And while the unsctting sun shines on j ^- Through the still heaven's deep blue, We'll traverse the azure waves, the IukK Of the dread sea-horse to view. ^ i^' '■»< :_> THE NORTHERN SEAS. 265 We'll pass the shores of solemn pine, Where wolves and black bears prowl ; And away to the rocky isles of mist, To rouse the northern fowl. Up there shall start ten thousand wings With a rustling, whistling din ; Up shall the auk and fulmar start, All but the fat penguin. And there in the wastes of the silent sky, With the silent earth below. We shall see far oft' to his lonely rock The lonely eagle go. Then softly, softly will we tread By inland streams, to see Where the pelican of the silent North Sits there all silently. Mary tlowiTT. 266 wrs-.sTAXi.EY. WINSTANLET. Winstanley's deed, you kindly folk. With it I fill my lay. And a nobler man ne'er walked the world. Let his name be what it may. The good ship Snowdrop tarried long ; Up at the vane looked he ; " Belike," he said, for the wind had dropped, " She lieth becalmed at sea." The lovely ladies locked within, x'Vnd still would each one say, '' Good mercer, be the ships come up.'" — But still he answered, " Nay." Then stepped two mariners down the street, With looks of grief and fear : " Now, if Winstanley be your name, We bring you evil cheer ! " For the good ship Snowdrop struck. — she struck On the rock, — the Eddystone. And down she went with threescore men, We two being left alone. WINSTANLEY. 267 " Down in the deep with freight and crew, Past any help she Hes, And never a bale has come to shore Of all thy merchandise." " For cloth o' gold and comely frieze." Winstanley said and sighed, " For velvet coif, or costly coat. They fathoms deep may bide. " O thou brave skipper, blithe and kind, O mariners, bold and true. Sorry at heart, right sorry am I, A-thinking of yours and you. " Many long days Winstanley's breast Shall feel a weight within. For a waft of wind he shall be 'feared, And trading count but sin. " To him no more it shall be joy To pace the cheerful town, And see the lovelv ladies gay Step on in velvet gown." The Snowdrop sank at Lammas tide, All imder the veastv spra}- ; On Christmas Eve the brig Content Was also cast away. 268 WINSTANLEY. He little thought o' New Year's night. vSo jolly as he sat then, While drank the toast and praised the roast The round-faced Aldermen. — - He little thought on Plymouth Hoe, With every rising tide, How the wave washed in his sailor lads, And laid them side by side. There stepped a stranger to the board : " Now, stranger, who be ye? " He looked to right, he looked to left, And " Rest you merry," quoth he ; "For vou did not see the brig go down. Or ever a storm had l)lown : For Nou did not see the white wave rear At the rock, — the Eddy stone. '• She drave at the rock \\ ith sternsails set; Crash went the masts in twain ; She staggered back with her mortal blow, Then leaped at it again. " There rose a great crv, bitter and strong ; The misty moon looked out ! And the water swarmed with seamen's heads. And the wreck was strewed about. "VVEN^STANLEY. 269 " I saw her mainsail lash the sea, As I clung to the rock alone ; Then she heeled over, and down she went, And sank like any stone. " She was a fair ship, but all's one ! For naught could bide the shock." — " I will take horse," Winstanley said, " And see this deadly rock. " For never again shall bai"k o' mine Sail o'er the windy sea. Unless, by the blessing of God, for this Be found a remedy." Winstanley rode to Plymouth town All in the sleet and the snow ; And he looked around on shore and sound, As he stood on Plymouth Hoe. Till a pillar of spray rose far away, And shot up its stately head. Reared, and fell over, and reared again : " Tis the rock ! the rock ! " he said. Straight to the Mayor he took his way : " Good Master Mavor," quoth he, " I am a mercer of London town, And owner of vessels thi'ee. 270 WINSTANLEY. " But for your rock of dark renown, I had five to track the mahi." — " You are one of many," the old Mayor said, " That of the rock complain. " An ill rock, mercer ! vour words ring riglit. Well with my thoughts they chime. For mv two sons to the world to come It sent before their time." " Lend me a lighter, good Master Mayor, And a score of shipwrights free ; For I think to raise a lantern tower On this rock o' destiny." The old Mayor laughed, but sighed also : " Ah, youth," quoth he, " is rash ; Sooner, young man, thou'lt root it out From the sea that doth it lash. '' Who sails too near its jagged teeth, He shall have evil lot : For the calmest seas that tumble there Froth like a boiling pot. " And the heavier seas few look on nigh. But straight they lay him dead ; A seventy-gun-ship, sir! — thev'll shoot Higher than lier mast-head. WINSTAXLEY. 271 " Oh, beacons sighted in the dark, They are right welcome things, And pitch-pots flaming on the shore Show fair as angel wings. ■ " Hast gold in hand? then light the land, It 'longs to thee and me ; But let alone the deadly rock In God Almighty's sea." Yet said he, " Nay, — I must away, On the rock to set m}- feet ; My debts are paid, my will I made. Or ever I did thee greet. " If I must die, then let me die By the rock, and not elsewhere ; If I may live, oh let me live To mount my light-house stair." The old Mavor looked him in the foce. And answered, " Have thy way ; Thy heart is stout, as if round about It was braced with an iron stay : " Have thy will, mercer ! choose thy men, Put oft^ from the storm-rid shore ; God with thee be, or I shall see Thv face and theirs no more." 272 WINSTANLEY. Heavily plunged the breaking wave, And foam lievv up the lea ; Morning and even the drifted snow Fell into the dark gray sea. Winstanley chose him men and gear ; He said, " My time I waste," For the seas ran seething up the shore. And the wrack drave on in haste. But twenty days he waited and more, Pacing the strand alone, Or ever he sat his manly foot On the rock, — the Eddystone. Then he and the sea began their strife, And worked \vith power and might ; Whatever the man reared up by day The sea broke down by night. He wrought at cbl) with bar and beam. He sailed to shore at How ; And at his side, by that same tide, Came bar and beam also. " Give in, give in," the old Mayor cried, " Or thou wilt rue the day." — '' Yonder he goes," the townsfolk sighed, " But the rock will have its way. WINSTAXLEY. 273 " For all his looks that are so stout, And his speeches brave and fair, He may wait on the wind, wait on the wave, But he'll build no light-house there." In fine weather and foul weather The rock his arts did flout, Through the long days and the short days. Till all that vear ran out. With fine weather and foul weather Another year came in : '' To take his wage," the workmen said, " We almost count a sin." Now March was gone, came April in. And a sea-fog settled down. And forth sailed he on a glassy sea, He sailed from Plvmouth town. 274 WIXSTANLEY. With men and stores he put to sea, As he wa« wont to do : They showed in the fog hkc ghosts full faint. - A ghostly craft and crew. And the sea-fog hiy and waxed alway, For a long eight days and more ; " God help our men," quoth the women then ; "For they bide long from shore." They paced tlie Hoe in doubt and dread ; "Where may our mariners be.'" But the brooding fog lay soft as down Over the cjuict sea. A Scottish schooner made the port. The thirteenth day at e'en : " As I am a man," the captain cried, " A strange sight I have seen : " And a strange sound heard, my masters all. At sea, in the fog and the rain. Like shipwrights' hammers tapping low, Then loud, then low again. "And a statcl}- house one instant showed, Through a rift on the vessel's lea ; What manner of creatures may be those That build upon the sea.''" Then sighed the folk. •• The Loul be praised ! " And they flocked to the bhoie amain : All over the Hoe that livelong night, Many stood out in the rain. ? "^5^ 27G "WmSTiVXLEY. It ceased ; and the red sun reared liis head, And die rolling fog did flee ; And, lo ! in the ofling faint and far Winstanley's house at sea ! In fair weather Avilh mirth and cheer The stately tower uprose ; In foul weather with hunger and cold They were content to close ; Till up the stair Winstanlev went. To fire the wick afar ; And Plymouth in the silent night Looked out and saw her star. Winstanley set his foot ashore ; Said he, " My work is done ; I hold it strong to last as long As aught beneath the sun. " But if it fail, as fail il may, Borne down \vith ruin and rout. Another than 1 shall rear it high, And brace the girders stout. "A better than I sliall rear it high. For now the way is plain ; And though I were dead," Winstanley said, "The liofht would shine again. WINSTANLEY. 277 " Yet were I fain still to remain, Watch in mv tower to keep, And tend my light in the stormiest night That e\er did move the deep ; " And if it stood, why then 'twere good. Amid their tremulous stirs, To count each stroke when the mad waves broke. For cheers of mariners^ " But if it fell, then this were well. That I should with it fall ; Since, for my part, I have built my heart In the courses of its wall. •' Ay 1 I were fain, long to remain. Watch in my tower to keep, And tend my light in the stormiest night That ever did move the deep." With that Winstanley went his way. And left the rock renowned. And summer and winter his pilot star Hung bright o'er Plymouth .Sound. But it fell out, fell out at last. That he would put to sea, To scan once more his light-house to^ver On the rock o' destinv. 278 WLNSTAALEY. And the winds broke, and the storm broke, And wrecks came phniging in : None in the town that night la}- down Or sleep or rest to win. The great mad waves were rolling graves, And each flung up its dead ; The seething flow was white below, And black the sky o'erhcad. And when the dawn, the dull, gray dawn, Brt)ke on the trembling town. And men looked soutli to the harbor mouth. The light-house tower was down. Down in the deep where he doth sleep, Who made it shine afar, And then in the night that ch^owned its light. Set, with his pilot star. Many fair tombs in the glorious glooms At ^\x^stm luster they show ; The brave and the great lie there in state : Winstanley lieth low. Jean Lngelow. THE DEATH OF ^■EESO^■. 279 THE DEATH OF NELSON. 'Twas in Trafalgar's bay We saw the Frenchmen lay ; Each heart was bounding then. We scorned the foreign yoke, Our ships were British oak, And hearts of oak our men. Our Nelson marked them on the wave, Three cheers our gallant seamen gave, Nor thought of home and beautw Along the line this signal ran, - — " England expects that every man This day will do his duty." And now the cannons roar Along the affrighted shore ; Brave Nelson led the way : His ship the Victory named ; Long be that victory famed ! For victory crowned tlie day. 280 THE DEATH OF NELSON. But dearly was that conquest bought, Too well the gallant hero fought For England, home, and beauty. He cried, as 'midst the fire he ran, — "England shall find that every man This day will do his duty ! " At last the fatal wound Which shed dismay around, The hero's breast received. '' Heaven fights on our side ; The day's our own ! " he cried ; " Now long enough I've lived. In honor's cause my life was passed. In honoi-'s cause I fall at last. For England, home, and beauty ! " Thus ending life as he began : England confessed that ever}- man That dav had done his duty. Arnold. HOAV SLEEP THE BRAVE. — CHAE^\DE. 281 HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE. How sleep the brave, who shik to rest By all their country's wishes blest ! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold. Returns to deck the hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. Bv fairy hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dii'ge is sung ; There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray, To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall a while repair To dwell a weeping hermit there ! Collins. oJ«> 5 call -The lord of kite and lay ' And let him greet the sable pall With a noble song to-day. Ay, call him by his name ' Nor fitter hand nuxv craye To light the flame of a soldier's fame On the turf of a soldier's graye! Pkaed. BUKIAL OF THE MlNNlSiNK. 283 BURIAL OF THE MINNISINK. r^ I^N sunny slope and beechen swell The shadowed light of evening fell ; And, where the maple's leaf was brown, With soft and silent lapse came down The glor\' that the wood receives, At sunset, in its brazen leaves. Far upward in the mellow light Rose the blue hills. One cloud of white, Around a far-uplifted cone. In the warm blush of evening shone ; An image of hie silver lakes By which the Indian's soul awakes. But soon a funeral hymn was heard Where the soft breath of evening stirred The tall, gray forest ; and a band Of stern in heart, and strong in hand, Came winding down beside the wave. To lay the red chief in his grave. 284 BURIAL or THE MlX^sI.slNK, They sang, that by his native bowers He stood, in tlie last moon of flowers, And tliirty snows had not yet shed Their glory on the warrior's head ; But, as the summer fruit decays, So died he in those naked davs. A dark cloak of the roebuck's skin Covered the warrior, and within Its heavN' folds the weapons, made For the hard toils of war. were laid ; The cuirass, woven of plaited reeds. And the broad belt of shells and beads. Before, a dariv-haired virgin train Chanted the death-dirge of the slain ; Behind, the long procession came Of hoary men and chiefs of fame. With heavy hearts, and eyes of grief. Leading the war-horse of their chief Stripped of his proud and martial dress. Uncurbed, unreined, and riderless. With darthig eve and nostril spread, And heavy and impatient tread. He came ; and oft that eye so proud Asked for his rider in the crcnvd. MY KATE. 285 They buried the dark chief; they freed Beside the grave his battle-steed ; And swift an arrow cleaved its way To his stern heart ! One piercing neigh Arose, — and, on the dead man's plain, The rider grasps his steed again. Longfellow. oJ»