GLEANINGS THE POETS, HOME IND SCHOOL. SELECTED BY THE AUTHOR OF THEORY OF TEACHING," " ELEMENTS OF ASTRONOMY, OR THE WORLD AS IT IS, AND AS IT APPEARS," ETC., ETC. c 'J.irwJ^; "jVVvi. (Kyvrui, CMtv] {'^6\,cMA^n ) a A NEW EDITION, ENLARGED. BOSTON: CROSBY AND NICHOLS, 117 Washington Street. 18 62. Y^^s n^ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1861, by CROSBY AND NICHOLS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. By Exchenge Arfffiy and Navy Club OANUARY 16 1934 Cambridge : Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. .V 7 Q>/ PKEF ACE. While school education especially alms to develop the understanding and form good mental habits, it must not neglect to interest the imagination and refine the taste. There is a delicacy of taste and of sentiment, and an intellectual richness, which can be perfected only by an intimate acquaintance with nature and art and the hu- man soul ; and the foundation of these may be most suc- cessfully laid in childhood by the study of poetry, — of the finest thoughts clothed in the most attractive garb. It is with this design of presenting beauty, both moral and natural, in its manifold shapes, as it is shown to us in the universe, that the present collection has been made. The pieces chosen are, with very few exceptions, entire, because passages are always injured by being taken from their connection, and because young persons like to know the whole of a thing. They are short, and selected from the whole range of English and American standard au- thors ; it being thought better to offer sentiments as they arise in a great variety of minds, and " mould themselves into gentle verse." They are not exclusively of one school or time, — for beauty is not to be prisoned. The artist finds it not complete in one model, but studies it in all Us appearances, and then, though he paint but one face or one landscape, he gives us the wealth of a world. IV NOTE TO THE SECOND EDITION. In matters of taste and genius we should not limit our children ; we should rather rejoice that their larger souls perceive a beauty where ours find none. We must not say, " The trees of the forest may be beautiful, but I first learned beauty from my stately poplars, and they must satisfy my children." Nor should we reject the flora of a new world, because rumor says that Eden also has its weeds. It is not necessary to make known to teachers the want of a collection like the one now offered. The best book of the sort has been for some time out of print, and was in- tended exclusively for older pupils. While this collec- tion has many pieces which must delight persons of any age, it has some for the youngest readers, and is as well adapted to the family circle as to the school. It gives to children all they could cull from many volumes, and, if inwoven with their earliest recollections, will be remem- bered with delight in future years. NOTE TO THE SECOND EDITION. A new edition of the Poetry for Home and School be- ing called for, it was desirable to reduce its contents suffi- ciently to form with the Second Part a volume of conven- ient size. For this reason, the Robin Hood Ballads, and some other pieces of limited interest, have been omitted. The Second Part, being designed for pupils and readers of more mature minds, contains poems of a more imagi- native cast than those in the foi'mer collection. CONTENTS PAGE The Beggar Man, Miss Lamb i Lullaby on an Infant Chief, Sir W. Scott 2 The Reaper's Child, Miss Lamb 3 Feigned Courage, Miss Lamb 3 The Thirsty Fly, 4 Going into Breeches, Miss Lamb 5 Lady Moon, Milnes. ....... 6 The Orphan Brother, Miss Lamb 7 Ulysses' Dog, Pope 7 The Complaints of the Poor, Southey 8 Cleanliness, Miss Lamb 10 The Blind Boy, Coltey Cibher. . . . U The Lame Brother, Miss Lamb 12 A Ballad, • . . Mary Hoioitt 13 The Broken Doll, Miss Lamb 16 Blindness Miss Lamb 17 A Negro's Song, Duchess of Devonshire 13 Mabel on Midsummer Day, Mary Howitt. ... 19 The Atheist and the Acorn, 27 The Pin, Neodle, and Scissors, .... Mrs. Pollen 23 We are Seven Wordsworth 31 John Barlej'corn, Burns 34 The Great-grandfather, Miss Lamb 36 The Wind in a Frolic, William Hoieitt. ... 37 The Northern Seas, William Howitt. ... 38 VI CONTENTS. PAQB The Children in the Wood 40 The Use of Flowers, Mary Hoic.it. ... 45 To my Little Cousin with her First Bon- net, Mrs. Southey. . . • 46 The Young Letter-writer, Miss Lamb 48 On Another's Sorrow, Blake 49 The Pehble and the Acorn, H. F. Gould. ... 50 Night, Blake 52 Childhood, /. Scott 53 Ranger's Grave, Mrs. Southey. ... 54 Christmas Times Howard 56 The Pet Lamb Wordsworth. ... 57 The Little Black Boy, Blake 61 The Spartan Boy Miss Lamb 62 My Birthday, Miss Lamb 63 The Ride, Miss Lamb 65 Gentle River Percy^s Reliques. . 65 Nose and Eyes Cowper 68 Traditionary Ballad • Mary Hoicitt. ... 69 To the Lady-bird, Mrs. Southey. ... 72 The Rook and the Sparrow, Miss Lamb 73 To a Redbreast Lang-home 74 Mariner's Hymn, Mrs. Soufhey. ... 75 The Two Estates Mary Howitl. ... 76 The Town and Country Child, Cunningham.. . 79 The Two Boys, Miss Lamb. ... 81 A Song to Creating Wisdom, Walts 82 The Coffee Slips, Miss Lamb 84 The Battle of Blenheim, .... .... Southey 85 The Inchcape Rock Southey 87 To my Birdie, Mrs. Southey. ... 90 The Grasshopper, Cowley. • 92 The Castle by the Sea, Longfello^D. ... 93 Casabianca, Mrs. Hemans. ... 95 Lamentation for the Death of Celin, . . Lockhart 96 Flowers Leigh Hunt. ... 98 Glenara Campbell 99 CONTENTS. VII PAGE To the Grasshopper and Cricket, .... Leigh Hunt. ... I DO Lord Ullen's Daughter, Campbell lui To the Fringed Gentian Bryant 1U3 My Doves, Miss Barrett. . . 104 Troubadour Song Mrs. Hemans. . . 106 Human Frailty, Cowper 107 The Universal Prayer, Pope 108 Sir Patrick Spence, 110 Lucy Wordsworth. . 113 To a Mouse, Burns 114 To a Mountain Daisy, Bums 116 The Graves of a Household, Mrs. Hemans. . , 118 The Solitary Reaper, Wordsworth. ... 119 The Adopted Child, Mrs. Hemans. . • 120 Psalm CXLVIIL Sandys 122 Peace of Mind, Old Eng: Poetry. . 123 An Elegy written in a Country Church- yard, Gray 125 Ye Mariners of England, Campbell 130 On Mungo Park's finding a Tuft of Green Moss in the African Desert, • . Edin. Ch. Herald. 132 Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers, .... Mrs. Hemans. . . 134 A Child's First Impression of a Star, . . Willis 136 To a Child during Sickness, Leigh Hunt. . . • 137 The Dirge in Cymbeline, Collins 138 The Passage, 139 That each Thing is Hurt of itself, . . . Old Eng. Poetry. . 140 Tha King of the Crocodiles, Southey 141 Burial of Sir John Moore Wolfe 144 The Traveller's Return Southey 145 Adoration of the Deity in the Midst of his Works, T. Moore 146 Charade, Praed 147 Winter Bums 148 Launching into Eternity, Watts 149 On a Leaf from the Tomb of Virgil, . . Mrs. Hemans. . . 149 The May Queen, Tennyson 150 VIU CONTENTS. PAOB New Year's Eve, Tennyson. ... 153 She was a Phantom of Delight, .... Wordsworth. . . 155 The Lost Pleiad, Mrs. Hemans. . . 157 Coronach, Sir W. Scott. . . 158 The Pauper's Death-bed, Mrs. Souihey. . . 159 All Invitation to praise God Walts 160 To the Evening Wind, Bryant 161 The Erl King Goethe 163 Lament of Mary Clueen of Scots, . . . Burns 164 Avarice George Herbert. . 166 The Trumpet Mrs. Hemans. . . 167 Farewell to the Muse, Sir W.Scott. . . 168 True Riches, Watts 169 The Moss Rose, 171 A Monarch's Death-bed, Mrs. Hemans. . . 172 On Time, 173 Virtue George Herbert. . 174 To a Skylark, Wordsxcovth. . . 174 To the Bramble-flower, Elliott 175 Lines written in a Highland Glen, . . . Wilson 176 The Evening Rainbow, Southey 177 Book of the World, Drummond. ... 178 The Skylark Hogg- 178 To Daffodils, Herrick 179 The Hermit, Beattie 180 Song of the Silent Land, Longfelloio. ... 182 Ode, Collins 183 To our Eldest Heir, Mrs. H. Coleridgz. 183 The Husbandman Sterling 184 Hellvellyn, Sir W. Scott. . . 185 The Reaper and the Flowers, Longfellow. . . . 187 The Flowers of the Forest, Mrs. Cockburn . 183 The Tragedy of the Lac de Gaube, . . . Milnes 189 Autumn Musings, Barns 132 On the Shortness of Human Life, . . . Wastell 193 Sensibility, Burns 194 To Blossoms, Herrick 195 CONTENTS. IX PAGE Love, Milnes. . . . 196 Burial of the Minnisink, Longfellow. . . . 196 Heaven, From Festus. . . 198 Arnold Winkelried, Montgomery. . . 199 On Myself, Cowley 200 The Grasshopper, Tennyson. . . ■ 201 A Grecian Anecdote, Milnes 203 The Death of the Flowers Bryant 204 The Coral Grove, Percival 206 A Happy Life, Sir Henry Wotton. 207 Knowledge and Wisdom, Cowper 208 Good Temper, More 203 Virtue, Old Eng. Poetry. 208 Constancy, George Herbert. . 209 Times go by Turns, Southwell 210 To Sorrow, Milnes 211 Humilibus dat Gratiam, Peacham 213 On the Death of a Friend Milnes 213 To a Virtuous Young Lady Milton 215 Twenty-second Sunday after Trinity, . . Keble 215 The Beggar J. R. Lowell. . . 217 Ode to Duty, Wordsworth. . . 219 Familiar Love, Milnes 221 Death's Final Conquest Shirley 221 The Widow to her Hour-glass Bloomjleld. . . . 222 Hymn to Diana, Jonson 224 The Men of Old Milnes 224 The Worth of Hours, Milnes 226 Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel, .... Leigh Hunt. . . . 228 The Violet-girl Milnes 228 From Eleonora, Dryden 229 The Deserted House, Tennyson 230 A Psalm of Life, Longfellow. . . . 231 Bermudas Marvell 232 Twenty-fourth Sunday after Trinity, . . Keble 234 A Sonnet, Wordsworth. . . . 235 Experience Jane Taylor. , . . 235 X CONTENTS. PAGB Say, Henry, should a Man of Mind, 237 Sonnet, J. R. Lowell. . . 238 The Forerunners R. W. Emerson. . 239 The Summer Evening, Clare 240 To the Rainbow, Campbell 241 Hymn of the Cherokee Indian /. McLellan, Jr. 243 Chidhar the Prophet, Mllnes 245 CONTENTS. PAGB Some Murmur when their Sky is Clear, . R, C. Trench. . . 247 Weep nol for Broad Lands Lost, .... R. C. Trench. . . 247 Suudays, Henry Vaughan. . 248 The Boy of Egremond, Rogers 249 Life and Death, R. C. Trench. . . 250 By Grecian Annals it Remained Untold, . R. C. Trench. . . 253 Fourth Sunday after Trinity Keble 253 Is there, for Honest Poverty, Bums 257 The Greenwood Shrift, Blaclacood's Mag. . 258 Mutability, Shelley 262 To the Moon, Shelley 263 Of a Contented Mind, 263 The Friar of Orders Gray, Percy 264 Sonnet on his Blindness, Milton 268 To the Memory of Isabel Southey, . . . Mrs. Southey. . . 268 Employment, George Herbert. , .270 The Isles of Greece Byron 271 Expostulation and Reply Wordsworth. . . . 274 The Tables turned Wordsworth. . . . 275 Manhood, C. A. Dana. . . . 276 The Cloud, Shelley 277 Break, break, break, Tennyson 280 Man was made to Mourn, ....... Bums 230 XU CONTENTS. PAOB The Marigold, George Wither. . . 28b Sonnet, W. E. Charming. . 284 Life, Henry King. . . . 285 Sin, Herbert 285 Sonnet, Henry Al/ord. . . 286 Labor Milnes 286 Alms-giving, ..•••... Milnes 283 The Patience of the Poor, Milnes 291 Deliglu in God only FVancis Quarles. . 294 Hymn of Apollo, Shelley 295 A Genial Moment oft has given, .... Trench 297 A Dewdrop, falling, . Trench. 297 The Seed must die, Trench 298 The Prioress' Tale, Chaucer 293 Character of the Happy Warrior, . . . . Wordsworth. . . .305 Compensation, Trench 307 Sonnet Trench 308 Hymn before Sunrise, ia the Vale of Chamouni, Coleridge 309 The Praise of Men, Trench 311 Couplets, Trench 312 Intimations of Immortality from Recollec- tions of Early Childhood Wordsworth. , . .315 Sonnet, Wordsworth. ... 322 Messiah, Pope 322 Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Tennyson 326 Trial before Reward, Francis Q,uarles. . 328 The Bard, Gray 329 Sleep, Miss Barrett. . . . 335 Providence, Herbert 337 Arethusa, Shelley 339 The Cotter's Saturday Night, Burns 342 Disdain Returned Carew 348 Lake, with Lawny Banks that s.ope, 349 Deep, deep within the Ocean's Breast, 351 Isabel Tennyson 352 Sunday, Herbert 354 Hymn of Pan, Shelley 355 CONTENTS. XUI PAGB L'Allegro • Milton 356 II Penseroso, ...' Milton 360 Why thus Longing? Miss Winslow. . . 366 Vanity, Herbert 367 The Cloud, Leig-h Hunt. ... 368 The Dryads, Leigh Hunt. . . . 369 Man, Herbert 371 To a Skylark Shelley 373 The Prisoner of Cbillon, Byron 376 Sonnet, J. Blanco While. . 389 The Ancient Mariner, Coleridge 339 Miraheau, Sterling 411 The Stranger and his Friend, J.Montgomery. . 415 Legend of St. Jodocus, FVom the German. 417 Elizabeth and the Roses, Prom the German. 419 Wee Willie, Moir 421 The Boy and the Angel, Browning. . . . 423 The Chimney Sweep, 426 From Edwin the Fair, Taylor 427 A Home Sonnet, Hood 427 From Hours with the Muses J. C. Prince. . . 423 To a Friend after the Loss of a Child 423 POETRY FOR HOME AND SCHOOL, PART I. THE BEGGAR MAN. — Mss Lamb. Abject, stooping-, old, and wan, See yon wretched beggar man ; Once a father's hopeful heir, Once a mother's tender care. When too young to understand, He but scorched his little hand, By the candle's flaming light Attracted, dancing, spiral, bright ; Clasping fond her darling round, A thousand kisses healed the wound. Now, abject, stooping, old, and wan, No mother tends the beggar man. Then nought too good for him to wear, With cherub face and flaxen hair, In fancy's choicest gauds arrayed, Cap of lace, with rose to aid, Milk-white hat with feather blue, Shoes of red, and coral too, With silver bells to please his ear, And charm the frequent, ready tear. Now, abject, stooping, old, and wan, Neglected is the beggar man. LULLABY ON AN INFANT CHIEF. See the boy advance in age, And learning spreads her useful page ; In vain I for giddy pleasure calls, And shows the marbles, tops, and balls. What 's learning to the charms of play ? The indulgent tutor must give way. A heedless, wilful dunce, and wild, The parents' fondness spoiled the child • The youth in vagrant courses ran. Now, abject, stooping, old, and wan, Their fondling is the beggar man. LULLABY ON AN INFANT CHIEF. — W. Scott. 0, HUSH thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight, Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see, They all are belonging, dear baby, to thee. O, 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. 0, hush thee, my baby, the time will soon come When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum ; Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may. For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day. FEIGNED COURAGE. THE REAPER'S CHILD.— Miss Lamb. If you go to the field where the reapers now bind The sheaves of ripe corn, there a fine little lass Only three months of age, by the hedge-row you '11 find Left alone by its mother upon the low grass. While the mother is reaping, the infant is sleeping ; Not the basket that holds the provision is less, By the hard-working reaper, than this little sleeper, Regarded, till hunger does on the babe press. Then it opens its eyes, and it utters loud cries. Which its hard-working mother afar off will hear; She comes at its calling, she quiets its squalling, And feeds it, and leaves it again without fear. When you were as young as this field-nursed daugh- ter, You were fed in the house and brought up on the knee ; So tenderly watched, thy fond mother thought her Whole time well bestowed in nursing: of thee. FEIGNED COURAGE. — Miss Lamb. HoKATTo, of ideal courage vain, Was flourishing in air his father's cane, And, as the fumes of valor swelled his pate, Now thought himself this hero, and now that ; " And now," he cried, "I will Achilles be; My sword I brandish ; see the Trojans flee ! B 4 THE THIRSTY FLF. Now I'll be Hector, when his angry blade A lane through heaps of slaughtered Greciatis made And now, by deeds still braver, I '11 evince I am no less than Edward the Black Prince. Give way, ye coward French !" As thus he .^poke, And aimed in fancy a sufficient stroke To fix the fate of Cressy or Poictiers, (The Muse relates the hero's fate with tears,) He struck his milk-white hand against a nail, Sees his own blood, and feels his courage fail. Ah ! where is now that boasted valor flown, That in the tented field so late was shown ? Achilles weeps, great Hector hangs the head. And the Black Prince goes whimpering to bed. THE THIRSTY FLY. Busy, curious, thirsty fly. Drink with me, and drink as I ; Freely welcome to my cup, Couldst thou sip and sip it up ; Make the most of life you may. Life is short and wears away. Both alike are mine and thine. Hastening quick to thy decline ; Thine 's a summer, mine no more, Though repeated to threescore ; Threescore summers, when they 're gone, Will appear as short as one. GOING INTO BREECHES. GOING INTO BREECHES. — Miss Lamb. Joy to Philip, he tliis day Has his long coats cast av\ay, And (the childish season gone) Puts the manly breeches on. Officer on gay parade, Red coat in his first cockade, Bridegroom in his wedding trim. Birth-day beau surpassing him, Never did with conscious gait Strut about in half the state, Or the pride, (yet free from sin,) Of my little manikin ; Never was there pride or bliss Half so rational as his. Sashes, frocks, to those that need 'em, — • Philip's limbs have got their freedom, — He can run, or he can ride, And do twenty things beside. Which his petticoats forbade ; Is he not a happy lad ? Now he 's under other banners, He must leave his former manners ; Bid adieu to female games, And forget their very names. Puss in comers, hide and seek. Sports for girls and punies weak ! Baste the bear he now may play at, Leap-frog, football, sport away at. Show his skill and strength at cricket, Mark his distance, pitch his wicket, Run about in winter's snow Till his cheeks and fingers glow, LADY MOON. Climb a tree, or scale a wall, Without any fear to fall. If he get a hurt or bruise, To complain he must refuse. Though the anguish and the smart Go unto his little heart. He must have his courage ready, Keep his voice and visage steady, Brace his eyeballs stiff as drum. That a tear may never come, And his grief must only speak From the color in his cheek. This and more he must endure. Hero he in miniature ! This and more must now be done, Now the breeches are put on. LADY MOON. — MiZnes. Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving ? Over the sea. Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving ? All who love me. Are you not tired with rolling, and never Resting to sleep ? Why look so pale, and so sad, as forever Wishing to weep ? Ask me not this, little child, if you love me ; You are too bold ; I must obey my dear Father above me, And do as I 'm told. Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you rov.ny ? Over the sea. Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving ? All who love me. ULYSSES' DOG. THE ORPHAN BROTHER. — Mm Lamfr. O, HirsH, my little baby brother ; Sleep, my love, upon my knee ; What though, dear child, we 've lost our mother, That can never trouble thee. You are but ten weeks old to-morrow ; What can you know of our loss ? The house is fuU enough of sorrow, — Little baby, don't be cross. Peace, cry not so, my deafest love ; Hush, my baby bird, lie still ; — ' He 's quiet now, he does not move ; Fast asleep is little Will. My only solace, only joy, Since the sad day I lost my mother, Is nursing her own Willy boy, My little orphan brother. ULYSSES' DOG. — Pope. When wise Ulysses, from his native coast Long kept by wars, and long by tempests tost, Arrived at last, poor, old, disguised, alone. To all his friends, and e'en his queen, unknown; Changed as he was with age, and toils, and cares, Furrowed his reverend face, and white his hairs ; In his own palace forced to ask his bread. Scorned by those slaves his former bounty fed, 8 THE COMPLAINTS OF THE TOOE. Forgot of all his own domestic crew ; The faithful dog alone his master knew ; Unfed, unhoused, neglected, on the clay, Like an old servant, now cashiered, he lay And, though e'en then expiring on the plain, Touched with resentment of ungrateful man. And longing to behold his ancient lord again. Him when he saw, he rose, and crawled to meet, — 'T was all he could, — and fawned, and kissed his feet, Seized with dumb joy ; then, falling by his side, Owned his returning lord, looked up, and died. THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. — SouiAey " And wherefore do the poor complain ? " The rich man asked of me. " Come, walk abroad with me," I said, " And I will answer thee." 'T was evening, and the frozen streets Were cheerless to behold. And we were wrapt and coated well, And yet we were a-cold. We met an old bareheaded man, His locks were few and white ; I asked him what he did abroad In that cold winter's night. 'T was bitter keen, indeed, he said, But at home no fire had he. And therefore he had come abroad. To ask for charity. THE COMPLAINTS OF THE POOR. We met a young, barefooted child, And she begged loud and bold ; I asked her what she did abroad When the wind it blew so cold. She said her father was at home, And he lay sick abed ; And therefore was it she was sent Abroad to beg for bread. We saw a woman sitting down Upon a stone to rest ; She had a baby at her back. And another at her breast. . I asked her v/hy she loitered there, When the night-wind was so chill ; She turned her head and bade the child, That screamed behind, be stiU. She told us that her husband served, A soldier, far away. And therefore to her parish she Was begging back her way. I turned me to the rich man then, For silently stood he ; — " You asked me why the poor complain, And these have answered thee." 10 CLEANLINESS, CLEANLINESS.— iWtss Lamb. Come, my little Eobert, near, — Fie ! what filthy hands are here !— ^ Who that e'er could understand The rare structure of a hand, With its branching fingers fine, Work itself of hands divine, Strong yet delicately knit, For ten thousand uses fit. Overlaid with so clear skin You may see the blood within, And the curious palm disposed In such lines some have supposed You may read the fortunes there By the figures that appear, — Who this hand would choose to cover With a crust of dirt all over. Till it looked in hue and shape Like the forefoot of an ape ? Man or boy, that works or plays In the fields or the highways, May, without offence or hurt, From the soil contract a dirt, Which the next clear spring or river Washes out and out forever ; But to cherish stains impure, Soil deliberate to endure. On the skin to fix a stain Till it works into the grain. Argues a degenerate mind, Sordid, slothful, ill-inclined, Wanting in that self-respect Which does virtue best protect. THE BLIND BOT. 11 All-endearing cleanliness, Virtue next to godliness, Easiest, cheapest, needfullest duty, To the body health and beauty, Who that 's human would refuse it, When a little water does it ? THE BLIND BOY. — Colley Cibber. SAY what is that thing called light, Which I must ne'er enjoy ? What are the blessings of thy sight ? O, tell your poor blind boy ! You talk of wondrous things you see, You say the sun shines bright ; 1 feel him warm, but how can he Or make it day or night ? My day or night myself I make, Whene'er I sleep or play ; And could I ever keep awake. With me 't were always day. With heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe ; But sure with patience I can bear A loss 1 ne'er can know. Then let not what I cannot have My cheer of mind destroy ; Whilst thus 1 sing, I am a king, Although a poor blind boy. 12 THE LAME BROTHER. THE LAME BROTHER. — Miss Lamb. My parents sleep both in one grave j My only friend 's a brother, The dearest things upon the earth We are to one another. A fine, stout boy I Imew him once, With active form and limb ; Whene'er he leaped, or jumped, or ran, O, I was proud of him ! He leaped too far, he got a hurt, He now does limping go ; When I think on his active days, My heart is full of woe. He leans on me, when we to school Do every morning walk ; I cheer him on his weary way, — He loves to hear my tallc, The theme of which is mostly this. What things he once could do ; He listens pleased, — then sadly says, " Sister, I lean on you ! " Then I reply, " Indeed you 're not Scarce any weight at all, — And let us now still younger years To memory recall. A BALLAD. Led by your little elder hand, I learned to walk alone ; Careful you used to be of me, My little brother John. " How often, when my young feet tired, You 've carried me a mile, — And still together we can sit, And rest a little while. " For our kind master never minds, If we 're the very last ; He bids us never tire ourselves With walking on too fast." 13 A BALLAD. TRANSLATED FROM HERDER, BY MARY HOWITT. Among green, pleasant meadows, All in a grove so wild, Was set a. marble image Of the Virgin and the child. Here, oft, on summer evenings, A lovely boy would rove. To play beside the image That sanctified the grove. Oft sat his mother by him, Among the shadows dim, And told how the Lord Jesus Was once a child like hiui. 14 A BALLAD. " And now from highest heaven He doth look down each day, And sees whate'er thou doest, And hears what thou dost say ! " Thus spoke his tender mother ; And on an evening bright, When the red, round sun descended 'Mid clouds of crimson light, Again the boy was playing, And earnestly said he, " O beautiful child Jesus, Come down and play with me ! " I will find thee flowers the fairest, And weave for thee a crown ; I will get thee ripe, red strawberries, If thou wilt but come down ! « holy, holy Mother, Put him down from off thy knee ; For in these silent meadows There are none to play with me !*^ Thus spoke the boy so lovely, The while his mother heard, And on his prayer she pondered, But spoke to him no word. That self-same night she dreamed A lovely dream of joy ; She thought she saw young Jesus There, playing with the boy. A BALLAD. 15 * And for the fruits and flowers Which thou hast brought to me, Rich blessing shall be given A thousand-fold to thee ! " For in the fields of heaven Thou shalt roam with me at will, And of bright fruits celestial Thou shalt have, dear child, thy fill !" Thus tenderly and kindly The fair child Jesus spoke ; And, full of careful musings, The anxious mother woke. And thus it was accomplished : — In a short month and a day, That lovely boy, so gentle, Upon his deathbed lay. And thus he spoke in dying : — " mother dear, I see The beautiful child Jesus A coming down to me ! " And in his hand he beareth Bright flowers as white as snow, And red and juicy strawberries, — Dear mother, let me go ! " He died — but that fond mother Her sorrow did restrain, For she knew he was with Jesus, And she asked him not again ! 16 THE BROKEN DOLL. THE BROKEN DOLL.— Miss Lanib. An infant is a selfish sprite ; But what of that ? the sweet delight Which from participation springs Is quite unknown to these young things. We elder children, then, will smile At our dear little John a while, And bear with him, until he see There is a sweet felicity In pleasing more than only one, Dear little, craving, selfish John. He laughs, and thinks it a fine joke, That he our new wax-doll has broke. Anger wiU never teach him better ; We will the spirit and the letter Of courtesy to him display, By taking in a friendly way These baby frolics', till he learn True sport from mischief to discern. Reproof a parent's province is; A sister's discipline is this, — By studied kindness to effect A little brother's young respect. What is a doll ? a fragile toy ; What is its loss ? if the dear boy, Who half perceives he has done amiss, Retain impression of the kiss That followed instant on his cheek, — If the kind, loving words we speak Of "Never mind it," "We forgive," — If these in his short memory live, BLINDNESS. 17 Only perchance for half a day, — Who minds a doll, if that should lay The first impression in his mind, That sisters are to brothers kind ? For thus the broken doll may prove Foundation to fraternal love. BLINDNESS.— Miss Lamb. In a stage-coach, where late I chanced to be, A little, quiet girl my notice caught ; I saw she looked at nothing by the way. Her mind seemed busy on some childish thought. 1, with an old man's courtesy, addressed The child, and called her pretty, dark-eyed maid, And bid her turn those pretty eyes, and see The wide-extended prospect. — " Sir," she said, *' I cannot see the prospect, — I am blind." Never did tongue of child utter a sound So mournful as her words fell on my ear. Her mother then related how she found Her child was sightless. On a fine, bright day^ She saw her lay her needlework aside, And, as on such occasions mothers will. For leaving off her work began to chide. " I '11 do it when 't is day-light, if you please ; I cannot work, mamma, now it is night." The sun shone bright upon her when she spoke, And yet her eyes received no ray of light. 18 A negro's song. A NEGRO'S SONG. FROM PARK'S TRAVELS IN AFRICA. VERSIFIED BY THB DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. The loud wind roared, the xain fell fast, The white man yielded to the blast; He sat him down beneath the tree, For weary, faint, and sad was he ; And, ah ! no wife, or mother's care, For him the milk or corn prepare. CHORUS. The white man shall our pity share ; Alas ! no \vife, or mother's care, For him the milk or corn prepare. The storm is o'er, the tempest past, And mercy's voice has hushed the blast. The wind is heard in whispers low ; The white man far away must go ; But ever in his heart will bear Remembrance of the negro's care. CHORUS. Go, white man, go ; but with thee bear The negro's wish, the negro's prayer, Remembrance of the negro's care. MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAT. 19 MABEL ON MroSUMMER DAY— Mary EowiH. A STOEY OF THE OLDEN TIME. "Arise, my maiden, Mabel," The mother said ; " arise. For the golden sun of midsummer Is shining in the skies. " Arise, my little maiden. For thou must speed away, To wait upon thy grandmother This livelong summer day. " And thou must carry with thee This wheaten cake so fine, This new-made pat of butter, This little flask of wine. " And tell the dear old body, This day I cannot come. For the good man went out yester-raom, And he is not come home. " And more than this, poor Amy Upon my knee doth lie ; I fear me, with this fever-pain The little child will die ! " And thou canst help thy grandmother; The table thou canst spread ; Canst feed the little dog and bird ; And thou canst make her bed. 20 MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY. " And thou canst fetch the water From the lady-well hard by ; And thou canst gather from the wood The fagots brown and dry ; " Canst go down to the lonesome glen, To milk the mother-ewe ; This is the work, my Mabel, That thou wilt have to do. " But listen now, my Mabel, This is midsummer day. When all the fairy people From elf-land come away. ♦■ And when thou 'rt in the lonesome glen, Keep by the running burn, And do not pluck the strawberry-flower, Nor break the lady-fern. « But think not of the fairy folk, Lest mischief should befall ; Think only of poor Amy, And how thou lov'st us all. " Yet keep good heart, my Mabel, If thou the fairies see. And give them kindly answer If they should speak to thee. " And when into the fir-wood Thou goest for fagots brown. Do not, like idle children. Go wandering up and down. MABEL ON BIIDSUBIMER DAY. 21 " But fill thy little apron, My child, with earnest speed ; And that thou break no living bough Within the wood, take heed. " For they are spiteful brownies Who in the wood abide. So be thou careful of this thing, Lest evil should betide. " But think not, little Mabel, Whilst thou art in the wood, Of dwarfish, wilful brownies, But of the Father good. " And when thou goest to the spring To fetch the water thence. Do not disturb the little stream, Lest this should give offence. " For the queen of all the fairies. She loves that water bright ; I Ve seen her drinking there myself On many a summer night. " But she 's a gracious lady. And her thou need'st not fear ; Only disturb thou not the stream, Nor spill the water clear." " Now all this I will heed, mother, Will no word disobey. And wait upon the grandmother This livelong summer day." 22 MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY. PART II. Away tripped little Mabel, With the wheaten cake so fine, With the new-made pat of butter, And the little flask of wine. And long before the sun was hot, And summer mist had cleared, Beside the good old grandmother The willing child appeared. And all her mother's message She told with right good-will, How that the father was away, And the little child was ill. And then she swept the hearth up clean, And then the table spread ; And next she fed the dog and bird ; And then she made the bed. " And go now," said the grandmother, " Ten paces down the dell, And bring in water for the day, — Thou know'st the lady- well." The first time that good Mabel went. Nothing at aU saw she, Except a bird, a sky-blue bird. That sat upon a tree. The next time that good Mabel went, There sat a lady bright Beside the well, — a lady small, AU clothed in green and white. MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY. 23 A courtesy low made Mabel, And then she stooped to fill Her pitcher at the sparkling spring, But no drop did she spill. " Thou art a handy maiden," The fairy lady said ; " Thou hast not spilt a drop, nor yet The fairy spring troubled ! " And for this thing which thou hast done, Yet mayst not understand, I give to thee a better gift Than houses or than land. " Thou shalt do well whate'er thou dost, As thou hast done this day ; Shalt have the wiU and power to please, And shalt be loved alway." Thus having said, she passed from sight. And nought could Mabel see, But the little bird, the sky-blue bird, Upon the leafy tree. " And now go," said the grandmother, " And fetch in fagots dry ; All in the neighboring fir-wood Beneath the trees they lie." Away went kind, good Mabel, Into the fir-wood near, Where all the ground was dry and brown, And the grass grew thin and sere. 24 MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY. She did not wander up and down, Nor yet a live branch pull, But steadily of the fallen boughs She picked her apron fuU. And when the wild-wood brownies Came sliding to her mind, She drove them thence, as she was told, With home-thoughts sweet and kind. But all that while the brownies Within the fir-wood still. They watched her how she picked the wood, And strove to do no ill. " And, 0, but she is small and neat," Said one ; " 't were shame to spite A creature so demure and meek, A creature harmless quite !" " Look only," said another, " At her little gown of blue ; At her kerchief pinned about her head, And at her little shoe !" " 0, but she is a comely child," Said a third ; " and we will lay A good-luck penny in her path, A boon for her this day, — Seeing she broke no living wood ; No live thing did affray !" With that the smallest penny, Of the finest silver ore. Upon the dry and slippery path, Lay Mabel's feet before. MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY. S5 With joy she picked the penny up, The fairy penny good ; And with her fagots dry and brown Went wandering from the wood. " Now she has that," said the brownies, " Let flax be ever so dear, 'T will buy her clothes of the very best, For many and many a year !" " And go now," said the grandmother, " Since falling is the dew. Go down unto the lonesome glen, And milk the mother-ewe ! " All down into the lonesome glen. Through copses thick and wild, Through moist rank grass, by trickling streams, Went on the willing child. And when she came to the lonesome glen, She kept beside the burn. And neither plucked the strawberry-flower Nor broke the lady-fern. And while she milked the mother-ewe Within this lonesome glen, She wished that little Amy Were strong and well again. And soon as she had thought this thought. She heard a coming sound, As if a thousand fairy-folk Were gathenng all around. 26 MABEL ON MIDSUMMER DAY. And then she heard a little voice, Shrill as the midge's wing, That spake aloud, — "A human child Is here ; yet mark this thing, — " The lady-fern is all unbroke. The strawberry-flower unta'en ! "What shall be done for her who still From mischief can refrain ? " " Give her a fairy cake ! " said one ; " Grant her a wish ! " said three ; ♦' The latest wish that she hath wished," Said all, " whate'er it be ! " Kind Mabel heard the words they spake, And from the lonesome glen Unto the good old grandmother Went gladly back again. Thus happened it to Mabel On that midsummer day, And these three fairy-blessings She took with her away. 'T is good to make all duty sweet, To be alert and kind ; 'T is good, like little Mabel, To have a willing mind. THE ATHEIST AND THE ACORN. 27 THE ATHEIST AND THE ACORN. " Methinks this world seems oddly made, And everything amiss," A dull, complaining atheist said. As stretched he lay beneath the shade, And instanced it in this : " Behold," quoth he, " that mighty thing, A pumpkin large and round, Is held but by a little string. Which upward cannot make it spring, Nor bear it from the ground, " While on this oak an acorn small, So disproportioned, grows. That whosoe'er surveys this all, This universal casual ball. Its ill contrivance knows. " My better judgment would have hung The pumpkin on the tree. And left the acorn slightly strung, 'Mong things that on the surface sprung, And weak and feeble be." No more the caviller could say, No further faults descry ; For, upwards gazing as he lay. An acorn, loosened from its spray. Fell down upon his eye. 28 THE PIN, NEEDLE, AND SCISSORS The wounded part with tears ran o'er, As punished for the sin ; Fool ! had that bough a pumpkin bore, Thy whimsies would have worked no m.ore, Nor skull have kept them in. THE PIN, NEEDLE, AND SCISSORS. — Mrs. i^Mjn. T 'is true, although 't is sad to say, Disputes are rising every day. You 'd think, if no one did deny it, A little work-box might be quiet ; But 'tis not so, for I did hear — Or else I dreamed it, 't is so queer — A Pin and Needle in the cushion Maintain the following discussion. The Needle, " extra-fine, gold-eyed," Was very sharp and full of pride. And thus, methought, she did begin : — " You clumsy, thick, short, ugly Pin, I wish you were not quite so near ; How could my mistress stick me here ? She should have put me in my place. With my bright sisters in the case." " Would you were there !" the Pin replied; " I do not want you by my side. I 'm rather short and thick, 'tis true; Who 'd be so long and thin as you ? I 've got a head, though, of my own, That you had better let alone." " You make me laugh," the Needle cried; " That you 've a head can't bf3 denied ; t For you a very proper head. Without an eye and full of lead." THE PIN, NEEDLE, AND SCISSORS. 2^ " You are so cross, and sharp, and thin," Replied the poor, insahed Pin, " I hardly dare a word to say. And wish, indeed, you were away. That golden eye in your poor head Was only made to hold a thread ; All your fine airs are foolish fudge, For you are nothing but a drudge ; But I, in spite of your abuse, Am made for pleasure and for use. I fasten the bouquet and sash, And help the ladies make a dash ; I go abroad and gaily roam. While you are rusting here at home." *' Stop !" cried the Needle, " you 're too much ; You 've brass enough to beat the Dutch : Do I not make the ladies' clothes, Ere I retire to my repose ? Then who, forsooth, the glory wins ? Alas ! 't is finery and pins. This is the world's unjust decree, But what is this vain world to me ? I 'd rather live with my own kin. Than dance about like you, vain Pin. I 'm taken care of every day ; You 're used a while, then thrown away ; Or else you get aU bent up double, And a snug crack for all your trouble," " True," said the Pin, " I am abused, And sometimes very roughly used ; I often get an ugly crook, Or fall into a dirty nook ; But there I he, and never mind it ; Who wants a pin is sure to find it. In time I am picked up, and then I lead a merry life again. 30 THE PIN, NEEDLE, ANB SCISSORS. You fuss so at a fall or hurt, And if you touch a little dirt You keep up such an odious creaking', That where you are there is no speaking ; And then your lackey Emery 's called, And he, poor thing, is pricked and mauled Until your daintiness — O, shocking ! — Is fit for what ? — To mend a stocking !" The Needle now began to speak, — They might have quarrelled for a week, — But here the Scissors interposed, And thus the warm debate was closed. " You angry Needle ! foolish Pin ! How did this nonsense first begin ? You should have both been better taught, But I will cut the matter short. You both are wrong and both are right, And both are very impolite. E'en in a work-box, 't will not do To talk of everything that 's true. All personal remarks avoid, For every one will be annoyed At hearing disagreeable truth ; Besides, it shows you quite uncouth, And sadly wanting in good taste. But what advantages you waste ! Think, Pins and Needles, while you may, How much you hear in one short day ; No servants wait on lordly man Can hear one half of what you can. 'T is not worth while to mince the matter ; Nor men nor boys like girls can chatter. All now are learning, forward moving, E'en Pins and Needles are improving ; And in this glorious, busy day, All have some useful part to play. WE ARE SEVEN. 31 Go forth, ye Pins, and bring- home news Ye Needles, in your cases muse ! And take me for your kind adviser, And only think of growing wiser ; Then, when you meet again, no doubt, Something you '11 have to talk about, And need not get into a passion, And quarrel in this vulgar fashion. Less of yourselves you '11 think, and more Of others, than you did before. You '11 learn that, in their own right sphere, All things with dignity appear. And have, when in their proper place, Peculiar use, intrinsic grace." Methought the polished Scissors blushed To have said so much, — and all was hushed. WE ARE SEVEN. A SIMPLE child, That lightly draws its breath. And feels its life in every limb. What should it know of death ? I met a little cottage girl ; She was eight years old, she said ; Her hair was thick with many a curl. That clustered round her head. She had a rustic, woodland air, And she was wildly clad ; Her eyes were fair and very fair. Her beauty made me glad. 32 WE ARE SEVEN. *' Sisters and brothers, little maid, How many may you be ?" " How many ? Seven in all," she said, And wondering: looked at me. " And where are they, I pray you tell ?" She answered, " Seven are we ; And two of us at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea. " Two of us in the churchyard lie, My sister and my brother ; And, in the churchyard cottage, I Dwell near them, with my mother." " You say that two at Conway dwell, And two are gone to sea, Yet ye are seven ; — I pray you tell, Sweet maid, how this may be." Then did the little maid reply, — " Seven boys and girls are we* Two of us in the churchyard lie, Beneath the churchyard tree.' " You run about, my little maid, Your limbs they are alive ; K two are in the churchyard laid, Then ye are only five." " Their graves are green, they may be seen," The little maid replied, " Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, And they are side by side. WE ARE SEVEN. 33' " My stockings there I often knit, My kerchief there I hem ; And there upon the ground I sit, I sit and sing to them. " And often, after sunset, sir, When it is hght and fair, I take my little porringer. And eat my supper there. " The first that died was little Jane ; In bed she moaning lay Till God released her from her pain. And then she went away. " So in the churchyard she was laid ; And when the grass was dry. Together round the grave we played, My brother John and I. " And when the ground was white with snow, And I could run and slide. My brother John was forced to go, And he lies by her side." " How many are you, then," said I, " If they two are in heaven ? " The little maiden did reply, " master, we are seven." " But they are dead, those two are dead ! Their spirits are in heaven." 'T was throwing words away ; for still The little maid would have her will, And said, " Nay, we are seven." 34 JOHN BARLEYCORN. JOHN BARLEYCORN. — i?ums. There were three kings into the East, Three kings, both great and high, An' they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn should die. They took a plough and ploughed him down, Put clods upon his head, An' they hae sworn a solemn oath John Barleycorn was dead. But the cheerful spring came kindly on, And showers began to fall. And Barleycorn got up again. And sore surprised them all. The sultry suns of summer came, And he grew thick and strong, His head well armed with pointed spears, That no one should him wrong. The sober autumn entered mild. When he grew wan and pale. His bending joints and drooping head Showed he began to fail. His color sickened more and more, He faded into age ; And then his enemies began To show their deadly rage. JOHN BARLEYCORN. 35 They 've ta'en a weapon long and sharp, And cut him by the knee ; Then tied him fast upon a cart, Like a rogue for forgery. They laid him down upon his back, And cudgelled him full sore ; They hung him up before the storm, And turned him o'er and o'er. They filled up a darksome pit With water to the brim, They heaved in John Barleycorn, There let him sink or swim. They laid him out upon the floor, To work him further woe, And still, as signs of life appeared. They tossed him to and fro. They wasted o'er a scorching flame The marrow of his bones ; But a miller used him worst of all, For he crushed him 'tween two stones. And they have ta'en his very heart's blood, And drunk it round and round; And still the more and more they drank, Their joy did more abound. 30 THE GREAT-GRANDFATHEH. THE GREAT-GRANDFATHER.— ik/Zssiami. Mother's grandfather lives still, His age is fourscore years and ten; He looks a monument of time, The agedest of aged men. Though years lie on him like a load, A happier man you will not see Than he, whenever he can get His great-grandchildren on his knee. When we our parents have displeased, He stands between us as a screen ; By him our good deeds in the sun. Our bad ones in the shade, are seen. His love 's a line that 's long drawn out, Yet lasteth firm unto the end ; His heart is oak, yet unto us It like the gentlest reed can bend. A fighting soldier he has been, — Yet by his manners you would guess That he his whole long life had spent In scenes of country quietness. His talk is all of things long past, For modern facts no pleasure yield, — Of the famed year of forty-five, Of William., and Culloden's field. THE WIND IN A FROLIC. 87 The deeds of this eventful age, Which princes from their thrones have hurled, Can no more interest wake in him Than stories of another world. When I his length of days revolve, How like a strong tree he hath stood, It brings into my mind almost Those patriarchs old before the flood. THE WIND IN A FROLIC. — William HawUt. The wind one morning sprang up from sleep, Saying, " Now for a frolic ! now for a leap ! Now for a madcap galloping chase ! I '11 make a commotion in every place ! " So it swept with 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 fields it went blustenng and humming. And the cattle aU wondered whatever was coming. It plucked by their tails the grave, matronly cows, And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows, Till, i)ffended 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; 38 THE NORTHERN SEAS. 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. 'T was 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 '11 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, Strii