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THE HOME BOOK OF VERSE THE HOME BOOK OF VERSE AMERICAN AND ENGLISH 1580-1918 ■ With an Appendix Containing a Few Well -known Poems in Other Languages Selected and arranged By BURTON EGBERT STEVENSON t THIRD EDITION REVISED AND ENLARGED NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1918 te s ^^f Copyright, igi2, 1918, BY HEXRY HOLT A.\D COMPANY ^Z^^7^ V't' '' S- COPYRIGHT NOTICE For the use of the copyrighted material included in this volume, per- mission has been securetl either from the author or from his authorized [)ublisher. and special arrangements have also been made with the au- lliorizeil pul)lishers of the older American poets whose works, in whole or in part, have lajised from copyright. AH rights in these poems are reserved by the holders of the copyright, or the authorized publishers, as named below: 1). Appleton & Company: The poems by William Cullen Bryant and Henry Newbolt. Barse & Hopkins: "The Law of the Yukon," by Robert W. Service, trom "The SjxMl of the Yukon and Other Verses," and "Carry On," from '■ RhjTiies of a Red Cross Man." The Bobbs-Mcrrill Company: The poems by James Whitcomb Riley, from the Biographical lulition of his complete works, coi)yright ioi3- Brentano's: "The Oood Inn," by Herman Knickerbocker Viele, from "The Inn of the Silver Moon." Edmund D. Brooks: The poems by Arthur Upson. The Century Company: The poems by Richard Watson Gilder, Rob- ert Underwood Johnson and Aubrey de Vere; S. Weir Mitchell, James Oppenheim, and L. Frank Tooker; "Nebuchadnezzah," by Irwin Rus- sell; "The Secret," by G. E. Woodberry; "High Tide at Gettysburg," by Will Henry Thompson; "Farragut," by William Tucker Meredith. Henry T. Coates & Company: "The Picket Guard," by Ethel Lynn Beers, and "Monterey" by Charles Fenno HotYman. W. B. Conkey Co.: The poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, by special pemiission of the W. B. Conkey Co., who are the exclusive American publishers of her works. Copeland & Day: The poems by Alice Brown, from "The Road to Castaly." Dana Estes & Company: The poems by Samuel Minturn Peck and Mrs. Laura E. Richards; "July" by Susan H. Swett. Dodd, Mead & Company: The poems by Austin Dobson and Paul Laurence Dunbar; "My Catbird," by William Henry Venable; "The Poster Girl," bj' Carolyn Wells. George H. Doran Company: The poems by May Byron, Amelia Josephine Burr and Joj'ce Kilmer. Dufheld & Company: The poems by Elsa Barker, Eugene Lee-Ham- ilton, Cieorge Santayana, William Sharp, and Helen Hay Whitney. E. P. Dutton & Company: "The Spires of Oxford," by Winifred Letts. Forbes & Company: The poems by Ben King and Nixon Waterman. The Four Seas Company: The poems by Richard Aldington. Laurence J. Gomme: The poems by Hilaire Belloc. The Grafton Press: The poems by John S. McGroarty. Harper & Brothers: The poems by Guy Wetmore Carryl, Charles Graham Halpine, Don Marquis, Ada Foster Murray, and Justin Huntly McCarthy, the latter from his novel, "If I were King," copyright igoi, by Roljert Howard Russell; ".An Omar for Ladies," by Josephine Daskam Bacon; "Driving Home the Cows," by Kate Putnam Osgood. Henry Holt & Company. The poems by Susan N. Cleghorn, .Arthur Colion, Walter de la Mare, Francis Miles Finch, Robert Frost, Charles Leonard Moore, Herbert Trench, Louis Untermeyer and Margaret Widdemer. Houghton, Mifflin & Company: The poems by Thomas Bailey .Aldrich, H. H. Bashford, Abbie Farwell Brown, John Burroughs, Alice Cary, Phoebe Cary, John Vance Cheney, Christopher Pearse Cranch, Ralph vi Copyright Notice Waldo Emerson, James Thomas Fields, Richard Watson Gilder, Louise Imogen Guiney, Bret Harte, John Hay, Oliver Wendell Holmes, Lucy Larcom, Emma Lazarus, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, James Russell Lowell, WiUiam Vaughn Moody,Alice Freeman Palmer, Thomas William Parsons, Josephine Preston Peabody, Nora Perry, Lizette Woodworth Reese, John Godfrey Saxe, Robert Haven Schaiiffler, Paul Shivell, Ed- ward Rowland Sill, Harriet Prescott Spofford, Ernest Clarence Stedman, William Wetmore Story, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Bayard Taylor, Ceha Thaxter, Edith M. Thomas, Maurice Thompson. Henry David Thoreau, John Townsend Trowbridge, Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward, John Green- leaf Whittier. The Howard University Print: "The Babie," by Jeremiah Fames Rankin. B. W. Huebsch: The poems by Irene Rutherford McLeod. P. J. Kenedy: The poems by Abram J. Ryan. ]\Iitchell Kennerley: The poems by Arthur Davison Ficke, William Samuel Johnson, Harry Kemp, Vachel Lindsay, Richard Middleton and Llarjorie L. C. Pickthall. Alfred A. Knopf: The poems by William H. Davies. John Lane Company: The poems by Laurence Binyon, Rupert Brooke, G. K. Chesterton, T. A. Daly, John Davidson, Ernest Dowson, A. E. Housman, Laurence Hope, Benjamin R. C. Low, Ahce Meynell, Henry Xewbolt, ^Marjorie L. C. Pickthall, and Francis Thompson. J. B. Lippincott Company: The poems by George Henry Boker, Harrison S. Morris, Thomas Buchanan Read and Marj'^ Ashley Town- send. Little, Brown & Company: The poems by Richard Burton, Susan Coolidge, Emily Dickinson, Helen Hunt Jackson, Louise Chandler Moulton. Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Company: The poems by Charles Follen Adams, ]Mary Emily Bradley, Alfred Domett, Paul Hamilton Ha^me, WiUiam Morris, EmiUe Poulsson, Horatio Nelson Powers, David Atwood Wasson. The Macmillan Company: The poems by ^Matthew Arnold, Alfred Austin, Wilfrid Wilson Gibson, Thomas Hardy, Ella Higginson, Charles Kingsley, Amy Lowell, John Masefield, Harriet ^Monroe, John G. Nei- hardt, George William Russell, John Addington Sj^monds, Sara Teasdale, William Watson, George E. Woodberr\- and WiUiam Butler Yeats. The Manas Press: The poems by Adelaide Crapsey. Thomas B. ]Mosher: The poems by Cecily Fox-Smith, Lucy Lyttleton and Edith M. Thomas. L. C. Page & Company: The poems by Bliss Carman and Charles G. D. Roberts. G. P. Putnam's Sons: The poems by William Henry Drummond and Norman Gale; "The Rosary," by Robert Cameron Rogers. Norman Remington Company: The poems by Patrick R. Chalmers, from "Green Daj^s and Blue Days." Charles Scribner's Sons: The poems by Josephine Daskam Bacon, H. C. Bunner, George W. Cable, Mary Mapes Dodge, Eugene Field, John Galsworthy, Josiah Gilbert Holland, Sidney Lanier, George Mer- edith, A. T. Quiller-Couch, Corinne Roosevelt Robinson, George Santa- yana, Alan Seeger, Robert Louis Stevenson, Charles Warren Stoddard, Benjamin F. Taj'lor and Henry Van Dyke. Sherman, French & Company: "The Lonely Road," by Kenneth Rand; "Sunday Evening in the Common," by John HaU Wheelock. Small, Maynard & Company: The poems by Charlotte Perkins Stetson Gilman, Richard Hovey, CUnton ScoUard, John B. Tabb and Walt Whitman. Stewart & Kidd Co. : The poem by Wm. Haynes Lytle. F. A. Stokes Company: The poems by Gelett Burgess, Alfred Noyes, and Samuel Minturn Peck. Whitaker & Ray-Wiggin Company: The poems by Joaquin Miller, from his copyrighted and complete poetical works. Copyright Notice vii Express personal permission has been received by the editor from the following authors for the use of such of their poems as appear in this collection, all rights to which are reserved by them: Henry Abbey, Zoe Akins, John Albee, Elizabeth Akers Allen, Henry Mills Alden, Margaret Steele Anderson, Everard Jack Appleton. Josephine Daskam Bacon, Karle Wilson Baker, John Kendrick Bangs, Kendall Banning, Elsa Barker, H. H. Bashford, Herbert Bashford, Arlo Bates, Katherine Lee Bates, Hilaire Belloc (by Joyce Kilmer), William Rose Benet, Henry Holcomb Bennett, John Bennett, Charles G.Blanden, Augustus Wight Bomberger, Robert Adger Bowen, William Stanley Braithwaite, Anna Hempstead Branch, Mary Bolles Branch, Albert Fletcher Bridges, Abbie Farwell Brown, Alice Brown, William Laird Brown, Alice Learned Bunner (for H. C. Bunner), Gelett Burgess, Dana Burnett, AmeHa Josephine Burr, Richard Burton, Samuel H. M. Byers, Witter Bynner (by Mrs. A. L. WeUington). Bliss Carman, W. H. Carruth, Charles E. Carryl, Willa Sibert Cather, Madison Cawein, Robert W. Chambers, Arthur Chapman, John Vance Cheney, G. K. Chesterton, Joseph I. C. Clarke, Virginia Woodward Cloud, Florence Earle Coates, Zitella Cocke, Robert Collyer, Helen Gray Cone, Grace Hazard Conkling, Ellen Mackay Hutchinson Cortissoz. T. A. Daly, Mary Carolyn Davies, WiUiam H. Davies, Margaret De- land, Charles M. Dickinson, Austin Dobson, Digby Mackworth Dolben (by Gerald Dolben Paul), JuHa C. R. Dorr, Walter G. Doty, Arthur Conan Doyle. Elaine Goodale Eastman, Florence Wilkinson Evans. Arthur Davison Ficke (by C. A. Ficke), Sara Teasdale Filsinger, A. Hugh Fisher, Mahlon Leonard Fisher, Sam Walter Foss. Hamlin Garland, Theodosia Garrison, Ellen M. Huntington Gates, Helena de Kay Gilder (for Richard Watson Gilder), Joseph B. Gilder, Strickland W. Gillilan, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, J. Scott Glasgow, Charles Buxton Going, Dora Read Goodale, Homer Greene, Sarah P. McLean Greene, William Griffith. Hermann Hagedorn, Ruth Guthrie Harding, Virginia Bioren Harrison, Jerome A. Hart, Hildegarde Hawthorne, Frederick Henry Hedge, Theresa Helburn, Barbara Henderson, Oliver Herford, Ella Higginson, Katherine Tynan Hinkson, William Dean Hpwells, Helen Huntington. Wallace Irwin. Margaret Janvier, Orrick Johns, Robert Underwood Johnson, William Samuel Johnson, Amanda T. Jones, Thomas S. Jones, Jr. Reginald Wright Kauffman, James B. Kenyon, Joyce Kilmer, Harriet McEwen Kimball, Georgiana Goddard King, Rudyard Kipling (for "L'Envoi"), D. C. Knowles (for Frederic Lawrence Knowles), George M. W. Kobbe (for Gustavo Kobbe). Andrev/ Lang, Walter Learned, Louis V. Le Doux, Richard Le Gal- lienne, Nicholas Vachel Lindsay, Grace Denio Litchfield, Robert Love- man, Benjamin R. C. Lov/, Amy Lowell. John S. McGroarty, Isabel E. Mackay, Frederick Manning, Edwin Markham, Josephine Peabody Marks, Don Marquis, Edward Sandford Martin, CaroHne Atwater Mason, Ahce Meynell, Lloyd Mifflin, Edna St. Vincent Mrllay, Emily Huntington Miller, Harriet Monroe, David Morton, Ada Foster Murray, Kenton Foster Murray. John G. Neihardt, Henry Newbolt, Grace Fallow Norton, Alfred Noyes. Ohver Opdyke, James Oppenheim, Shaemas O Sheel. Albert Bigelow Paine, Alice Freeman Palmer (by G. H. Palmer), Randall Parrish, Harry Thurston Peck, Samuel Minturn Peck, William Alexander Percy, Frederick Peterson, Sarah M. B. Piatt, Emihe Poulsson, Harriet Waters Preston, Edna Dean Proctor. Kenneth Rand, Lizette Woodworth Reese, Cale Young Rice, Wallace Rice, Laura E. Richards, James Whitcomb Riley (by E. H. Eitel), Harri- son Robertson, Corinne Roosevelt Robinson, Edwin Arlington Robinson, Robert Cameron Rogers, John Jerome Rooney, George WiUiam Russell. yiii Copyright Notice iMargaret E. Sangster, Joseph Sargent (for the poems by Guy Wetmore Carryl), Robert Haven Schauffler, Edmund H. Sears, Paul Shivell, David Banks Sickels, Harriet Prescott Spofford, Victor Starbuck, Wil- liam Force Stead, Laura Stedman ffor Edmund Clarence Stedman), George Sterling, ^Mildred ]McXeal Sweeney. Joseph Russell Taylor, William Roscoe Thayer, Edith M. Thomas, Rose Hartwick Thorpe, L. Frank Tooker, Ridgely Torrence, Charles Hanson Towne, Amelie Rives Troubetzkoy, John Townsend Trowbridge. Louis Untermeyer. Henry Van Dyke, WilHam Henry Venable. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward, L^'dia Avery Coonley Ward, William Hayes Ward, Xixon Waterman, Carolyn Wells, Robert Gilbert Welsh, Carl Werner, Edward J. Wheeler, John Hall Wheelock, Margaret Wid- demer, Ella Wheeler Wilcox, Francis Howard Williams, William Winter, George Edward Woodberry, William Hervey Woods, Willard Hunting- ton Wright. Ruth Comfort ]Mitchell Young. The compiler is indebted to the editors of the following magazines for permission to use the poems mentioned: The Atlantic: "Aller Seelen," ]SIabel Earle; '•'Birthright," John Drinkwater; "Emiha," Ellen Angus French (Sarah N. Cleghorn); "The Vallej' of Vain Verses," Henrj^ \"an Dyke; "To Daisies," Francis Thomp- son. The Bellman: "Immortalis," David ]Morton. The Catholic Standard and Times: The poems by T. A. Daly. The Century: "The Year's End," Timothy Cole; "Kinchinjunga," Cale Young Rice; "Nested," Habberton Lulham; "To Her — L'nspoken," Amelia Josephine Burr; "A Lover's Envy," Henry Van Dyke; "Her Pathway," Cornelia Kane Rathbone; "Love is a Terrible Thing," Grace Fallow Norton; "Chavez," Mildred McNeal Sweeney. Contemporary Verse: "Tropical Town," Solomon de la Selva; "A Little Page's Song," WiUiam Alexander Percy. Harper's Magazine: "I Shall not Cry Return," Ellen M. H. Gates; "Wise," Lizette Woodworth Reese; "Wild Wishes," Ethel M. Hewitt. House and Garden: "Gates and Doors," Joyce Kilmer. Life: "Finnigin to Flannigan," S. W. Gilhlan. The Outlook: "A Poet Enlists," AmeHa Josephine Burr. Poetry: "Sunrise on Rydal Water," John Drinkwater; "Night for Adventures," Victor Starbuck; "An ImmoraUty," Ezra Pound; "A Very Old Song," WiUiam Laird Brown. Reedy's Mirror: "Nora," Zoe Akins. Scribner's Magazine: "Comrades," George Edward Woodberr)--; "Constancy," Minor Watson; "Turn of the Road," Alice Rollett Coe; "Where Love Is," Amelia Josephine Burr; "Azrael," Robert Gilbert W^elsh. TO HENRY HOLT WITH SINCERE REGARD INTRODUCTION The attempt is made in this collection to bring together the best short poems in the English language from the time of Spenser to the present day, together with a body of verse which, if not great poetry, has at least the distinction of wide popularity. In what degree this attempt has been successful the book itself must show; but it may be worth while to state briefl)'' certain purposes which the compiler had in mind when he undertook the task, and which he has carried out as faithfully as he could. These purposes were to include nothing which did not seem to him to ring true, but, at the same time, to recognize the validity of popular taste as well as of classical taste; to preserve in authentic form certain fugitive poems which everyone admires but which few know where to find; to lay emphasis upon the lighter forms of verse; and to pay especial attention to the work of living English and Ameri- can poets, particularly of the younger generation. It would be idle to suppose that everything included here will appeal to everyone as good poetry. Tastes in poetry differ even more inevitably than tastes in food; but the compiler has tried to spread his table in such a manner that every healthy taste may be abundantly satisfied without having to eat of any dish it does not care for. In one respect, he is free to confess that, in arranging the banquet, he has not relied upon his own taste alone. There is a note of pensive sentiment — the note which Longfellow knew how to strike so successfully — which, according to Professor Trent, "finds an echo in the universal human heart," and this note the compiler did not feel justified in disregarding, or even regarding lightly, simply because his own heart happens to be indifferent to it. Nor has he been deterred from using a poem because it was the common xii Introduction property of anthologists, or tempted to include any be- cause it was little known. For this is a collection, not of curious or unusual, but of favorite verse. There will be much difference of opinion as to the merit of the selections from the work of living writers included here. Where the test of time is not available, and the stamp of wide approval is withheld, there remains only the test of individual preference, and here the compiler has consulted no judgment but his own. He has been hampered by human limitations as applied to a mass of material so overwhelming in bulk; but he hopes that the selection will be found fairly representative, and that no really great poem of recent years has been overlooked. And while the restrictions of copyright have somewhat limited the rep- resentation given certain American poets, he believes that American verse, as a whole, receives far more attention here than in any other general anthology. II Practically the first decision the compiler made with regard to this work was that it should be a collection, not of fragments, but of complete poems; and this, while it did not, of course, preclude the use of poems within poems — • of lyrics from the dramatists, of songs from Scott's met- rical romances, or of such parentheses as Byron's stanzas on Waterloo — while it did not prevent the excision of such obvious digressions as the final stanzas of Timrod's ''Spring," and while it was not construed to mean that a sequence such as "Sonnets from the Portuguese" must be given entire, has, nevertheless, resulted in some depriva- tions. No passages will be found here from any of Shake- speare's plays, no stanzas from the "Fairy Queen," no lines from "Paradise Lost." But the compiler feels that such loss, if it be a loss, is more than counterbalanced by the satisfaction of knowing that, throughout the book, one gets complete the poet's thought, as he embodied it in his verse. The decision to give every poem entire has resulted in a few exclusions from another cause than that of length; for m some lyrics, especially of Restoration days, there is oc- Introduction xiii casionally a line or stanza too free for modern taste. It is for this reason that Suckling's inimitable "Ballad of a Wedding" will not be found between these covers, since it contains one stanza certainly, and perhaps three or four, not fitted for a "Home Book of Verse." A few other poems which had got through the winnowing as far as the first proofs, were finally cut out for the same reason, rather than presented in a mangled or Bowdlerized version. And, as already mentioned, the enforcement of copyright restrictions has prevented the use of a small number of poems which the compiler wished to include. There are a few publishers who seem to regard with pronounced dis- favor any collection such as this, and who will permit the use of poems which they control either not at all, or only upon conditions which are, in effect, prohibitive. Because of this, the admirers of Henry Cuyler Bunner will look in vain through these pages for any example of his delicate art; and for the same reason a few other American poets are either absent altogether or only meagerly represented. But the losses from this cause are unimportant when com- pared with the great body of the work, and the compiler feels that he has little reason to complain. For the most part, his requests for copyright permissions have been granted with a most gratifying courtesy and generosity. Ill Great care has been taken to secure accuracy of text, a task whose difficulty only the anthologist can appreciate. In so far as possible, the copy used was taken from the standard editions of the various poets; and where there was any question of authenticity, as in the case of fugitive poems, the poem, if the author was living and could be found, was submitted to him for correction. In the older poems, where there were varied readings of equal authority, the editor has used that which seemed to him the best; and where there have been repeated revisions of a poem, that has been chosen which seemed the better version. This has not been, in every case, the final version; for, as in the case of Coates Kinney's "Rain on the Roof," over-refinement xiv Introduction has sometimes destroyed the spontaneity of the earher work. The spelling has been modernized throughout, as there seemed no reason to preserve an archaism not intended by the poet; and such eccentricities of spelling as various writers affected have been made to conform to the ac- cepted American usage. The numbering of stanzas has been omitted as unnecessary and cumbersome. In every case where a short poem has been taken from a longer one, a line has been added to indicate its source, and where the author himself did not supply a title for his poem, the present editor has usually preferred to quote the first line as the title, rather than use a title invented by someone else. In the old ballads, a modern version has been used in preference to the earliest one, which would be unintelligi- ble to many readers; and the use of the apostrophe to in- dicate an imaginary shortening of a syllable has been done away with. As a matter of fact, there is, for example, no real difference between the pronunciation of "kiss'd," "kist" and "kissed," and so no reason why the regular spelling should not be used. IV The classification used in this volume has been made to fit the poems, and not the poems the classification. In other words, with the exception of some of the children's verse, the work of selection was completed before that of classification was begun. The compiler can claim for it no fundamental originality, since most poetry falls into certain well-recognized classes; but he has tried to make it more searching and exhaustive than is usually attempted. He has tried, for instance, to group the poems dealing with the emotions not only by meaning, but by shades of meaning, so that one poem would seem naturally to suggest the next. This has, of course, been a task too fine for accomplish- ment with anything like complete success; but, as he has looked through the final proofs, he has been conscious of at least a few happy juxtapositions. Classification is a nerve-racking task, and, even at the best, must sometimes be purely arbitrary; as, for example, Introduction xv where the present compiler has placed his selection from Meredith's "Modern Love" under "Love Sonnets." For Meredith's stanzas are not sonnets at all, since they con- sist of sixteen lines each; and yet they have essentially a sonnet effect, and their place seemed to be ^-ith the other famous sequences. Then, too, there are many poems which may equally well be placed under various headings, so that it was, more or less, an arbitrary decision which placed "The Courtin' " under "The Comedy of Love" rather than ^^'ith the humorous poems, and "Kathleen Mavourneen" under "The Parted Lovers" rather than "At Her Window." And, however complete the classification may be, the anthologist must inevitably, at the end, find himself with a number of poems on his hands which belong distinctly nowhere, and which must yet go somewhere. It has been rather the fashion to solve the difficulty by putting them anywhere; but the present compiler has chosen, rather than break the continuity of arrangement, to set up, in one section of Part Yl, a sort of scrap-bag in which these odds and ends are assembled. "Wntiere every collection such as this must fail of complete success, as representing the whole field of Enghsh poetry, is that it exalts the wTiters of brief lyrics at the expense of the ^Titers of long odes and epics and narrative poems. Such poets as Milton, Pope and CoUins do not loom as large in these pages as their stature merits; to attempt to represent Shakespeare by a few of his songs and sonnets, or Svnit by an epigram, is manifestly absurd; so that this collection can claim to be adequate only as a representation of English l>T:ic poetr>'. That, it is hoped, it will be found to be — something more than that, indeed, since many of the more famous longer poems are also included; and it should be valuable, too, as bringing together in one index a wide range of verse not to be found in the average private library. In closing this resume of a task which has occupied some three years in the doing, the compiler wishes to acknowl- edge his deep indebtedness for many kindnesses to the Hving writers whose work is represented here. They have been XVI Introduction uniformly helpful and obliging; not only have they cordially assented to this use of their poems, but they have made suggestions, have revised copy and have read proofs. Their sympathy and interest have been never-failing, and it was very largely their enthusiasm and encouragement which enabled the compiler to carry through to completion a task before which he faltered more than once. To them and to their predecessors in the field of English song belong what- ever honor and glory it may bring; for, to paraphrase Montaigne, the compiler has contributed to this nosegay nothing but the thread which binds it; theirs is its perfume and its beauty. B. E. S. Chillicothe, Ohio, May lo, 191 2 INTRODUCTION TO THE THIRD EDITION When the first edition of this book waspubHshed in 191 2, there was a tentative agreement between pubhsher and com- piler that, if it was still alive at the end of ten years, it should be revised in an effort to keep it abreast of the times, and so for every decade thereafter. On neither side was there any real expectation that the agreement would ever, need to be carried out; certainly there was no reason to suppose that such a revision would be possible, or in any way necessary, at the end of five years; and yet this third edition represents a far more complete revision than was then contemplated — the addition of five hundred and ninety poems, and the deletion of one hundred and sixty-nine; entire repagination, and innumerable minor changes. It is, of course, primarily because the book has been com- mercially successful that the publisher is able to spend still more upon it, but that alone would not have warranted a revision such as this. What really warranted it — almost compelled it — ^was the astonishing renaissance in English and American poetry which the present century has wit- nessed. "The Home Book of Verse" was launched, by a fortunate chance, just when this renaissance was gathering volume, and its success was due largely, no doubt, to the new interest in poetry thus evoked. But this also had the effect of putting the book more quickly out of date, and any- one in touch with modern verse could not but be disap- pomted to look through a volume such as this and find nothing by such poets as Lascelles Abercrombie, and John Masefield, and G. K. Chesterton, and Walter de la Mare, and Robert Frost, and Vachel Lindsay, and Richard Middle- ton, and Ralph Hodgson, and Rupert Brooke. It is from the work of this younger choir that the additions have very largely been made, and among them will be found some lyrics as fresh and lovely as any in the volume — and as true to the great traditions of English poetry. The dele- xvii xviii Introduction to the Third Edition tions are partly of verses whose inclusion was originally determined — as the compiler now realizes — by quotabihty rather than by merit, and partly of those which failed to stand the test of repeated re-reading — the deadliest test there is. The revision is based upon a careful examination of every significant book of poetry pubHshed in this country since 19 12, and of many pubHshed in England, as well as of a number of older books to which the compiler had not pre- viously had access. He has also had the assistance of the many columns of critical comment evoked by the appearance of the original edition, and he is not ashamed to say that his attention was called in this way to many notable poems with which he was entirely unfamihar. Second in value only to the printed criticism was the great mass of correspondence which came and is still coming from all over the country^ — delightful letters which prove how widespread and genuine is the love of poetr>\ The one general criticism — as against specific complaints of certain omissions — which seemed best founded was that no adequate representation was given to the great odes of EngHsh poetr>^ The compiler's first thought had been that they were too long to be included in a book which is essen- tially a collection of lyrics; but reflection convinced him that these odes did have a place here, and some six or seven of them have been added. The well-grounded specific criticisms were too numerous to be enumetated; but a particularly striking one was that, while the "Rubaiyat," the great skeptical poem of the nine- teenth century, was given entire, there w^as nothing, or practically nothing, from the century's great poem of faith, ' ' In Memoriam . " A careful selection from ' ' In Memoriam ' ' win be found in this edition, preceded by two sections from another great poem, which also in a way counters the "Rubaiyat," though from a vastly different angle — Sir Richard Burton's "Kasidah." Then, too, the prestige which the book had gained made it possible to secure permission to use certain poems which were denied to an unknown adventure. Lovers of H. C. Bunner will find nine of his poems here, and a number of other Introduction to the Third Edition xix poets are represented more adequately than was possible five years ago. When the compiler says that he believes this third edition to be a far finer achievement than was the first one, he will be pardoned, since the merit is so largely that of others. Not least that of other anthologists. Every general collection such as this must have its foundations in other collections, from the very first ones which preserved the "Reliques" and "Pastorals," to the very latest which pre- serves the magazine verse of the year. The debt varies, of course, but it is nevertheless a debt which the compiler has often felt should have been acknowledged in his original introduction, and which is most heartily acknowledged here. The general plan of the book has remained unchanged, except in one or two very minor details. The compiler found that, in spite of his best efforts, a few incomplete poems had crept into the first edition. These have either been completed or labelled as extracts; and two or three other incomplete ones have been added — notably Suckling's "Ballad Upon a Wedding," minus five stanzas. It simply had to come in! Several questions of uncertain authorship have been solved. There is no longer any doubt in the com- piler's mind as to who wrote "Hoch! der Kaiser," and "There is no Death," and "Little Drops of Water," and "At a Cowboy Dance." And a number of disputed readings have been settled — to his satisfaction, at least. For example, after examining forty- three editions of the "New England Pruner," he has found the weight of authority to lie on the side of "Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep, rather than "I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep." He has taken a real joy, by discovering a misplaced comma, in changing the mediocre line, "Her hand seemed milk, in miJk it was so white," to the far more striking "Her hand seemed milk in milk, it was so white." XX Introduction to the Third Edition He has corrected all the typographical errors he had himself discovered or which had been pointed out by many cor- respondents; he has labored" to make the biographical data as complete as possible ; he has checked up the poems in the book with such definitive or revised or collected editions as have appeared since 191 2; and he feels that the text may be relied upon as accurate and authoritative. Finally, he must again express his deep sense of obligation to those living poets, both English and American, who have been so unstinted in appreciation, and so generous in per- mitting the use of their work. Without their help, this new edition would have been impossible. B. E. S. Chillicothe, Ohio, December i, 1917. TABLE OF CONTENTS PART I POEMS OF YOUTH AND AGE PAGE The Human Seasons John Keats 2 THE BABY "Only a Baby Small" Matthias Barr 3 Only Harriet Prescott Spoford .... 3 Infant Joy William Blake 4 Baby ' George Macdonald 4 To a New-Born Baby Girl Grace Hazard ConUing 5 To Little Renee William Aspen-wall Bradley . . 6 A Rhyme of One Frederick Lockcr-Lampson ... 8 To a New-Born Child Cosmo Monkhouse 9 Baby May William Cox Bennett 10 Alice Herbert Bashford 11 Songs for Fragoletta Richard Le Gallienne 12 Choosing a Name Mary Latnb 14 Weighing the Baby Ethel Lynn Beers 15 Etude Realiste Algernon Charles Swinburne. . 16 Little Feet Elizabeth Akers 17 The Babie Jeremiah Eanies Rankin 19 Little Hands Laurence Binyon 20 Bartholomew Norman Gale 20 The Storm-Child May Byron 20 "On Parent Knees" William Jones 21 "Phihp, My King" Dinah Maria Mnlock Craik . . 21 The King of the Cradle Joseph Ashby-Sterry 22 The Firstborn ■ John Arthur Goodchild 24 No Baby in the House Clara Dolliver 25 Our Wee White Rose Gerald Massey 26 Into the World and Out Sarah M. P. Piatt 27 "Baby Sleeps" Samuel Hinds 27 Baby Bell Thomas Bailey Aldrich 28 IN THE NURSERY Mother Goose's Melodies Unknown 31 Jack and Jill Unknown 39 The Queen of Hearts Unknown 39 Little Bo-Peep Unknown 39 Mary's Lamb , Unknown 40 The Star Jayie Taylor 41 "Sing a Song of Sixpence" Unknown 41 Simple Simon Unknown 42 The Breakfast Song Emilie Poulsson 42 "I Had a Little Husband " Unknown 43 "When I Was a Bachelor" Unknown 43 "Johnny Shall Have a New Bonnet". . Unknown 44 The City Mouse and the Garden IMouse Christina Rossetti 44 Robin Redbreast . Unknown 45 xxi xxii Table of Contents PAGE Solomon Grundy U^iknoiim 45 " jSIerry Are the Bells " Unknown 45 " When Good King Arthur Ruled This Land" Unkno-wn 46 "I Had a Little Doggy" Unknoivn 46 "A Farmer Went Trotting" Unknoum 46 "The Owl and the Eel and the Warm- ing Pan" Laura E. Richards 47 The Cow Ann Taylor 47 The Lamb William Blake 48 Little Raindrops Unknown 48 "JNIoon, So Round and Yellow" Matthias Barr 49 The House That Jack Built Unknown 49 Old ^Mother Hubbard Unknown 51 The Death and Burial of Cock Robin. . Unknown 53 Bab3"-Land George Cooper 55 The First Tooth William Brighty Rands 56 Baby's Breakfast Emilie Poulsson 56 The ]SIoon Eliza Lee Pollen, 57 Baby at Play Unknown 58 The Difference Laura E. Richards 59 Foot Soldiers John Banister Tabb 59 Tom Thumb's Alphabet Unknown 60 Grammar in Rhyme Unknown 60 Days of the Month Unknown 61 The Garden Year Sara Coleridge 61 Riddles. Unknown 62 Proverbs Unknown 64 Weather Wisdom Unknown 66 Old Superstitions Unknown 66 THE ROAD TO SLUMBERLAND Wynken, Blynken, and Nod Eugene Field 68 The Sugar-Plum Tree Eugene Field .- 69 When the Sleepy Alan Comes Charles G. D. Roberts 70 Auld Daddy Darkness James Ferguson 71 WilUe Winkie William Miller 72 The Sandman Margaret Thomson Janvier. . . 72 The Dustman .Frederick Edward Weatherly. . 73 Sephestia's Lullaby Robert Greoie 74 "Golden Slumbers Kiss Your Eyes'\Thomas Dekker 75 "Sleep, Baby, Sleep" George Wither 75 ISIother's Song Unknown 77 A Lullaby Richard Rowlayids 78 A Cradle Hymn Isaac Watts 79 Cradle Song William Blake 8r Lullaby Carolina Nairne 8r LuUabj' of an Infant Chief Walter Scott 82 Good-Night Jane Taylor 82 "Lullaby, O Lullaby" William Cox Bennett 83 Lullaby Alfred Tennyson 83 The Cottager to Her Infant Dorothy Wordsworth 84 Trot, Trot! Mary F. Butts 84 Holy Innocents Christina Georgina Rossetti. . . 85 Lullaby Josiah Gilbert Holland 86 Cradle Song Josiah Gilbert Holland 86 An Irish Lullaby Alfred Perceval Graves 88 Cradle Song Josephine Preston Peabody ... 88 jSIother-Song from "Prince J^MCiiQi" .Alfred Austin 90 Kentucky Babe Richard Henry Buck 91 Minnie and Winnie. . , Alfred Tennyson 92 Table of Contents xxiii PAGE Bed-Time Song Emilie Poulsson 92 Tucking the Baby In Curtis May 93 "Jenny Wi' the Airn Teeth" Alexander Anderson 94 Cuddle Doon Alexander Anderson 95 Bedtime Francis Robert St. Clair Erskine 97 THE DUTY OF CHILDREN Happy Thought Robert Louis Stevenson 98 Whole Duty of Children Robert Louis Stevenson 98 Politeness Elizabeth Turner 98 Rules of Behavior Unknown 98 Little Fred Unknovtm 99 The Lovable Child Efnilie Poulsson 99 Good and Bad Children Robert Louis Stevenson. 100 Rebecca's After-Thought Elizabeth Turner 100 Kindness to Animals Unknown loi A Rule for Birds' Nesters Unknown loi "Sing on, Blithe Bird" William Mothenvell 102 "I Like Little Pussy" Jane Taylor 102 Little Things Julia Fletcher Carney 103 The Little Gentleman Unknown 103 The Crust of Bread Unknown 104 "How Doth the Little Busy Bee". . .Isaac Watts 104 The Brown Thrush Lucy Larcom 105 The Sluggard Isaac Watts 106 The Violet J arte Taylor 106 Dirty Jim Jane Taylor 107 The Pin Ann Taylor 108 Jane and Eliza Ann Taylor 109 Meddlesome Matty Ann Taylor no Contented John Jatie Taylor in Friends A bbie Farwell Brown 112 Anger Charles and Mary Lamb 113 "There Was a Little Girl" Unknown 113 The Reformation of Godfrey Gore. . . William Brighty Rands 114 The Best Firm Walter G. Doty 114 A Little Page's Song William Alexander Percy . ... 115 How the Little Kite Learned to Fly. . Unknown 115 The Butterfly and the Bee William Lisle Bowles 116 The Butterfly Adelaide O'Keefe 116 Morning Jane Taylor 116 Buttercups and Daisies Mary Howitt 117 The Ant and the Cricket Unknown 118 After Wings Sarah M. B. Piatt 119 Deeds of Kindness Epes Sargent 119 The Lion and the Mouse Jejfreys Taylor 120 The Boy and the Wolf John Eookham Frere 121 The Story of Augustus, Who Would Not Have Any Soup Heinrich Hoffman 122 The Story of Little Suck-A-Thumb . . . Heinrich Hoffma7i 123 Written in a Little Lady's Little Al- bum Frederick William Faber 124 My Lady Wind Unknown 124 To a Child William Wordsworth 125 A Farewell Charles Kingsley 125 RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD Reeds of Innocence William Blake 126 The Wonderful World William Brighty Rands 126 xxiv Table of Contents PAGE The World's IMusic Gabriel Setoun 127 A Boy's Song James Hogg 128 Going Down Hill On a Bicycle Henry Charles Beeching 129 Playgrounds Laurence Alma-Tadema .: . . . 130 "Who Has Seen the Wind?" Chrisfina Georgina Rossetti.. . 130 The Wind's Song Gabriel Setoun 131 The Piper on the Hill Dora Sigerson Shorter 132 The Wind and the Moon George Macdonald 133 Child's Song in Spring Edith Nesbit 135 Baby Seed Song Edith Nesbit 135 Little Dandelion Helen Barron Bostivick 136 Little White Lily George Macdonald 137 Wishing William Allingham 138 In the Garden Ernest Crosby 138 The Gladness of Nature William Cullen Bryant 139 Glad Day W. Graham Robertson 139 The Tiger William Blake 140 Answer to a Child's Question Samuel Taylor Coleridge 141 How the Leaves Came Down Susan Coolidge 142 A Legend of the Northland Phoebe Gary . 143 The Cricket's Story Emma Huntington Nason. . . . 145 The Singing-Lesson Jean Ingelow 147 Chanticleer Katherine Tynan 149 "What Does Little Birdie Say?". . . .Alfred Tennyson 150 Nurse's Song William Blake 151 Jack Frost Gabriel Setoun 151 October's Party George Cooper 152 The Shepherd William Blake 153 Nikolina Celia Thaxter 153 Little Gustava Celia Thaxter 154 Prince Tatters Laura E. Richards 155 The Little Black Boy William Blake 156 The Blind Boy Colley Gibber 157 The Witch in the Glass Sarah M. P. Piatt 157 ]\Iy Shadow Robert Louis Stevenson 158 The Land of Counterpane Robert Louis Stevenson 158 The Land of Story-Books Robert Louis Stevenson 159 The Gardener Robert Louis Stevenson 160 Foreign Lands Robert Louis Stevenson 160 My Bed is a Boat Robert Louis Stevenson 161 The Peddler's Caravan William Brighty Rands 161 Air. Coggs Edward Verrall Lucas 162 The Building of the Nest Margaret Sangster 163 "There was a Jolly Miller" Isaac B icker staff . 163 One and One Mary Mapes Dodge 164 A Nursery Song Laura E. Richards 165 A Mortifying Alistake Anna Maria Pratt 166 The Raggedy Man James Whitcomb Riley 166 The Man in the Moon James Whitcomb Riley 168 Little Orphant Annie James Whitcomb Riley 169 Our Hired Girl James Whitcoynb Riley 171 Seein' Things Eugene Field 172 The Duel Eugene Field 173 Holy Thursday William Blake 174 A Story for a Child Bayard Taylor 175 The Spider and the Fly Mary Howitt 176 The Captain's Daughter Jaynes Thomas Fields 178 The Nightingale and the Glow-Worm . TFt7//am Cowper 179 Sir Lark and King Sun: A Parable . . . George Macdonald 180 The Courtship, Merry Marriage, and Picnic Dinner of Cock Robin and Jenny Wren Unknown 181 Table of Contents xxv PAGE The Babes in the Wood Unknown 185 God's Judgment on a Wicked B'xshoT^. Robert Southey 189 The Pied Piper of Hamelin .Robert Browning 192 THE GLAD EVANGEL A Carol Unknown 201 "God Rest You Merry Gentlemen" . Unknoivn 201 "O Little Town of Bethlehem" Phillips Brooks 203 A Christmas Hymn Alfred Domett 204 "Wliile Shepherds Watched their Flocks by Night" Nahum Tate 205 Christmas Carols .Edmund Hamilton Scars 206 The Angels William Drummond 207 The Burning Babe Robert Southwell 208 Tryste Noel Louise Imogen Guincy 209 Christmas Carol Unknown 209 " Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning" Reginald Heber 210 Christmas Bells Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . 211 A Christmas Carol Gilbert Keith Chesterton 212 The House of Christmas Gilbert Keith Chesterton 213 The Feast of the Snow Gilbert Keith Chesterton 214 Mary's Baby Shaemas OSheel 214 Gates and Doors Joyce Kilmer 215 The Three Kings Henry Wadsworth Longfellow . 216 Lullaby in Bethlehem Henry Howarth Bashford 218 A Child's Song of Christmas Marjorie L. C. Pickthall 219 Jest 'Fore Christmas Eugene Field 220 A Visit from St. Nicholas Clement Clarke Moore 221 Ceremonies for Christmas Robert Herrick 223 On the Morning of Christ's Nativity. .John Milton 223 FAIRYLAND The Fairy Book Norman Gale 231 Fairy Songs William Shakespeare 231 Queen Mab Ben Jonson 233 The Elf and the Dormouse Oliver H erf ord 234 ''Oh! Where Do Fairies Hide Their Heads? " Thomas Haynes Bayly 235 Fairy Song Leigh Hunt 235 Dream Song. Richard Middleton 236 Fairy Song John Keats 237 Queen Mab Thomas Hood 237 The Fairies of the Caldon-Low Mary HowiU 238 The Fairies William Allingham 241 The Fairy Thrall Mary C. G. Byron 243 Farewell to the Fairies Richard Corbet 244 The Fairy Folk Robert Bird 245 The Fairy Book A bbie Farwell Broion 246 The Visitor Patrick R. Chalmers 247 The Little Elf John Kendrick Bangs 248 The Satyrs and the Moon Herbert S. Gorman 249 THE CHILDREN The Children Charles Monroe. Dickinson . . . 250 The Children's Hour Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. 252 Laus Infantium William Canton 253 The Desire Katherine Tynan 253 xxvi Table of Contents A Child's Laughter Algernon Charles Swinburne. . 254 Seven Years Old Algernon Charles Swinburne. . 255 Creep Afore Ye Gang Jumes Ballantine 256 Castles in the Air James Ballantine 257 Under My Window Thomas Westwood 258 Little Bell Thomas Westwood 259 The Barefoot Boy John GreenleaJ Whillier 261 The Heritage James Russell Lowell 263 Letty's Globe Charles Tennyson Turner . . . . 265 Dove's Nest Joseph Russell Taylor 266 The Oracle Arthur Davison Ficke 266 To a Little Girl Helen Parry Eden 267 To a Little Girl , Gustav Kobb'e 267 A Parental Ode to My Son Thomas Hood 268 A New Poet William Canton 269 To Laura W — , Two Years Old Nathaniel Parker Willis 270 To Rose Sara Teasdale , 272 To Charlotte Pulteney Ambrose Philips 273 The Picture of Little T. C. in a Pros- pect of Flowers Andrew Marvell. 273 To Hartley Coleridge William Wordsworth 275 To a Child of puaUty Matthew Prior 276 Ex Ore Infantium Francis Thompson 277 Obituary Thomas William Parsons .... 278 The Child's Heritage John G. Ncihardt 279 A Girl of Pompeii Edward Sayidjord Martin . . . . 280 On the Picture of a "Child Tired of Play " Nathaniel Parker Willis 280 The Reverie of Poor Susan William Wordsworth 281 Children's Song Ford Madox Huefer 282 The Mitherless Bairn William Thom 283 The Cry of the Children Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . . 283 The Shadow-Child Harriet Monroe 288 Mother Wept Joseph Skipsey 289 Duty Ralph Waldo Emerson 290 Lucy Gray William Wordsworth 290 In the Children's Hospital Alfred Tennyson 292 "If I Were Dead" Coventry Patmore 296 The Toys Coventry Patmore 296 A Song of TwiHght Unknown 297 Little Boy Blue Eugene Field 298 The Discoverer Edmund Clarence Stedman . . . 298 A Chrysalis Mary Emily Bradley 300 Mater Dolorosa William Barnes 301 The Little Ghost Katherine Tynan 302 Motherhood Josephine Daskam Bacon .... 303 The Mother's Prayer Dora Sigcrson Shorter 304 Da Leetla Boy Thomas Augustin Daly 306 On the Moor Cale Young Rice 307 Epitaph of Dionysia Unknown 307 For Charlie's Sake John Williamson Palmer . . . . 308 "Are the Children at Home?" Margaret Sangster 311 The Morning-Glory Maria White Lowell 312 She Came and Went James Russell Lowell 314 The First Snow-fall James Russell Lowell 315 "We Are Seven" William Wordsworth 316 My Child John Pierpont 318 The Child's Wish Granted George Parsons JMthrop 320 Challenge ^ Kenton Foster Murray ...... 320 Tired Mothers May Riley Smith 321 My Daughter Louise Homer Greene 322 "I Am Lonely " George Eliot 323 Table of Contents xxvli PAGE Sonnets from "Mimma Bella" Eugene Lec-IJamilton 323 Rose-Marie of the Angels Adelaide Crapscy 326 MAIDENHOOD Maidenhood Bcnry Wadsworlh Longfellow. 327 To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time Robert Herrick 328 To Mistress Margaret Hussey John Skelton 329 On Her Coming To London Edmutid Waller 330 "O, Saw Ye Bonny Lesley " Robert Burns 331 To a Young Lady William Coioper 332 Ruth Thomas Hood 2>Z^ The Solitary Reaper William Wordsworth 2>i3 The Three Cottage Girls William Wordsworth .' 334 Blackmwore Maidens William Barnes 336 A Portrait Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . . 338 To a Child of Fancy Leivis Morris 340 Daisy Francis Thompson 341 To PetroniUa, Who Has Put Up Her Hair Henry Howarth Bashford 343 The Gipsy Girl Ilenry Aljord 344 Fanny Anne Reeve Aldrich 344 Somebody's Child Louise Chandler Moiilton .... 345 Emilia Sarah N. Cleghorn 346 To a Greek Girl Austin Dobson 347 "Chamber Scene" Nathaniel Parker Willis 348 "Ah, Be Not False" Richard Watson Gilder 349 A Life-Lesson James Whitcomb Riley 349 THE MAN The Breaking Margaret Steele Anderson .... 351 The Flight of Youth Richard Henry Stoddard 351 "Da.ys of My Youth" St. George Tucker 352 Ave Atque Vale. . " Rosamund Marriott Watson . . 353 To Youth • Walter Savage Landor 354 Stanzas Written on the Road Be- tween Florence and Pisa George Gordon Byron 354 Stanzas for Music George Gordon Byron 355 "When As a Lad" Isabel Ecclestone Mackay .... 356 "Around the Child" Walter Savage Landor 356 Aladdin James Russell Lowell 357 The Quest Ellen Mackey Hutchinson Cortissoz 357 My Birth-Day Thomas Moore 358 Sonnet on His having Arrived to the Age of Twenty-Three John Milton 359 On This Day I Complete My Thirty- Sixth Year George Gordon Byron 360 Growing Gray Austin Dobson . 361 The One White Hair Walter Savage Landor 362 Ballade of Middle Age Andrew Lang 363 Middle Age. Rudolph Chambers Lehmann.. 363 To Critics Walter Learned 366 The Rainbow William Wordsworth 366 Leavetaking William Watson 366 Equinoctial Adeline D. T. Whitney 367 "Before the Beginning of Years " Algernon Charles Swinburne. . 368 Man ■; . .-.-.A , '.^ ..w^ .;. , : Henry Vaughan 369 The Pulley 'iiV.iuxi-. ..nccija.. . .George Herbert 370 xxviii Table of Contents Ode on the Intimations of Immortal- ity from Recollections of Early Childhood . . . ■. William Wordsworth 371 THE WOMAN Woman Eaton Stannard Barrett 377 Woman From the Sanskrit of Calidasa. 377 Simplex Munditiis Ben Jonson 377 Dehght in Disorder Robert Herrick 378 A Praise of His Lady John Heywood 378 On a Certain Lady at Court Alexander Pope 380 Perfect Woman William Wordsworth 380- The Solitary-Hearted Hartley Coleridge 381 Of Those Who Walk Alone Richard Burton 382 "She Walks in Beauty" George Gordon Byron 383 Preludes from "The Angel in the House" Coventry Palmare 384 A Health Edward Coate Pinkney 387 Our Sister , Horatio Nelson Powers 389 From Life Brian Hooker 390 The Rose of the World William Butler Yeats 390 Dawn of Womanhood Harold Monro 391 The Shepherdess Alice Meynell 393 A Portrait Brian Hooker 393 The Wife Theodosia Garrison 394 "Trusty, Dusky, Vivid, True" Robert Louis Stevenson 394 The Shrine Digby Mackworth Dolben .... 395 The Voice Norman Gale 395 Mother Theresa Helburn 396 Ad Matrem Julian Fane 396 C. L. M John Masefield 397 STEPPING WESTWARD Stepping Westward William Wordsworth 398 A Farewell to Arms. George Peek 399 The World Francis Bacon 399 "When That I Was and a Little Tiny Boy " William Shakespeare 400 Of the Last Verses in the Book Edmund Waller 401 A Lament ; Chidiock Tichborne 401 To-morrow John Collins ; 402 Late Wisdom George Crabbe 403 Youth and Age Samuel Taylor Coleridge 403 The Old Man's Comforts Robert Southey 405 To Age ■ Walter Savage Landor 406 Late Leaves Walter Savage Landor 406 Years Walter Savage Landor 407 The River of Life Thomas Campbell 407 "Long Time a Child" Hartley Coleridge 408 The World I am Passing Through . . . Lydia Maria Child 408 Terminus Ralph Waldo Emerson 410 Rabbi Ben Ezra Robert Broivning 411 Human Life Aubrey Thomas de Vere 416 Young and Old Charles Kingsley 417 The Isle of the Long Ago Benjamin Franklin Taylor . . . 417 Growing Old Matthew Arnold 418 Past John Galsworthy 420 Twilight A. Mary F. Robinson 420 Youth and Age .George Arnold — 421 Table of Contents xxix PAGE Forty Years On Edward Ernest Bowcn 421 Dregs Ernest Doivson 422 The Paradox of Time Austin Dohson 423 Age William Winter 424 Omnia Somnia Rosamund Marriott Watson . . 424 The Year's End . Timothy Cole 425 An Old Man's Song Richard Le Gallienne 425 Songs of Seven Jean Ingclow 426 LOOKING BACKWARD The Retreat Henry Vatighan 434 A Superscription Dante Gabriel Rossetti 435 The Child in the Garden Henry Van Dyke 435 Castles in the Air Thomas Love Peacock 435 Sometimes Thomas S. Jones, Jr 436 The Little Ghosts Thomas S. Jones, Jr. 436 IMj' Other Me Grace Dcnio Litchfield 436 A Shadow Boat Arlo Bates. 437 A Lad That is Gone Robert Louis Stevenson 43S Carcassonne John R. Thompson 438 Childhood John Banister Tabb 440 The Wastrel Reginald Wright Kaiiffman.. . 440 Troia Fuit Reginald Wright Kaufman. . . 441 Temple Garlands A. Mary F. Robinson 442 Time Long Past Percy Bysshc Shelley 442 "I Remember, I Remember"' Thomas Hood 443 My Lost Youth Henry Wadsworth Longjellou' . 444 "Voice of the Western Wind" Edmund Clarence Stedman. . . 446 "Langsyne, WhenLife Was Bonnie" .^/c.va??(/fr Anderson 447 The Shoogy-Shoo Winthrop Packard 447 Babylon Viola Taylor 44S The Road of Remembrance Lizette Wood-.i'orth Reese 449 The Triumph of Forgotten Things. . .Edith M. Thomas 449 In the Twilight James Russell Loivcll 450 An Immorality Ezra Pound 452 Three Seasons Christina Georgina Rossetti. . . 452 The Old Familiar Faces Charles Lamb 453 The Light of Other Days Thomas Moore 454 "Tears, Idle Tears" Alfred Tennyson 454 The Pet Name Elizabeth Barrett Broivning. . . 455 Threescore and Ten Richard Henry Stoddard 457 Rain on the Roof Coates Kinney 458 Alone by the Hearth George Arnold 460 The Old Man Dreams Oliver Wendell Holmes 461 The Garret William Makepeace Thackeray 463 Auld Lang Syne Robert Burns 464 Rock Me to Sleep Elizabeth Akers 465 The Bucket Samuel Woodworth 466 The Grape-Vine Swing William Gilmore Simms 467 The Old Swimmin'-Hole James Whitcomb Riley 468 Forty Years Ago Francis Huston 469 Ben Bolt Thotnas Dunn English 470 "Break, Break, Break" Alfred Tennyson 472 XXX Table of Contents PART II POEMS OF LOVE PAGE Eros Ralph Waldo Emerson 474 "NOW WHAT IS LOVE" "Now What is Love" Waller Raleigh 475 Wooing Song, "Love is the blossom where there blows" Giles Fletcher 476 Rosahnd's Madrigal, "Love in my bosom " Thomas Lodge 477 Song, "Love is a sickness full of woes " Samuel Daniel 478 Love's Perjuries William Shakespeare 479 Venus' Runaway Ben Jonson 479 What is Love John Fletcher 481 Love's Emblems John Fletcher 482 The Power of Love John Fletcher 482 Advice to a Lover Unknown 483 Love's Horoscope Richard Crashaw 484 "Ah, how Sweet it is to Love" John Dryden 485 Song, " Love still has something of the sea " Charles Sedley 486 The Vine James Thomson 487 Song, "Fain would I change that note " Unknown 487 Cupid Stung Thomas Moore 488 Cupid Drowned Leigh Hunt 488 Song, "Oh! say not woman's heart is bought" Thomas Love Peacock 489 "In the Days of Old" Thomas Love Peacock 489 Song, "How delicious is the winning" Thomas Campbell 490 Stanzas, "Could love for ever" George Gordon Byron 491 "They Speak o' Wiles" William Thorn 493 "Love will Find Out the Way" Unknown. 494 A Woman's Shortcomings Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . 495 "Love hath a Language" Helen Selina Sheridan. ..... 496 Song, "O, let the solid ground" Alfred Tennyson 497 Amaturus William Johnson-Cory 497 The Surface and the Depths Lewis Morris 499 A Ballad of Dreamland Algernon Charles Swiniurne. 499 Endymion Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 500 Fate Susan Marr Spalding 502 " Give all to Love" Ralph Waldo Emerson 502 "O, Love is not a Summer Mood". .Richard Watson Gilder 504 "When will Love Come" Pakenham Beatty 504 "Awake, My Heart" Robert Bridges 505 The Secret George Edward Woodberry. . . 505 The Rose of Stars George Edward Woodberry. . . 506 Song of Eros from "Agathon" George Edward Woodberry.. . 507 Love is Strong Richard Burton 507 "Love once was like an April Dawn " . Robert Underwood Johnson . . 508 The Garden of Shadow Ernest Doivson 508 The Call Reginald Wright Kaufman. . 509 The Highway Louise Driscoll 509 Song, "Take it, love" Richard Le Gallienne 510 "Never Give all the Heart" William Butler Yeats 511 Song, "I came to the door of the house of love" Alfred Noyes 511 Table of Contents xxxi PAGE "Child, Child" Sara Teasdale 512 Wisdom Ford Madox Huejfer 512 Epilogue from "Emblems of Love" . .Lascelles Abercrombie 513 On. Hampstead Heath Wilfrid Wilson Gibson 516 Once on a Time Kendall Banning 517 IN PRAISE OF HER First Song from "Astrophel and ■ Stella " Philip Sidney 518 Silvia William Shakespeare 519 Cupid and Campaspe John Lyly 520 Apollo's Song from "Midas" John Lyly 520 "Fair is my Love for April's in her Face" Robert Greene 520 Samela Robert Greene 521 Damelus' Song of His Diaphenia. . . .Henry Constable 522 Madrigal, "My Love in her attire doth show her wit" Unknown 522 Chloris in the Snow Unknown 523 "There is a Lady Sweet and Kind".. Unknown 523 Cherry-Ripe Thomas Campion 524 Amarillis Thomas Campion 524 Elizabeth of Bohemia Henry Wolton 525 Her Triump"h Ben Jonson 526 Of Phillis William Drummond 527 A Welcome William Browne 527 The Complete Lover William Browne 528 Rubies and Pearls Robert Herrick 528 Upon Julia's Clothes Robert Herrick 529 To Cynthia on Concealment of her Beauty Francis Kynaston 529 Song, "Ask me no more where Jove bestows" Thomas Carew 530 A Devout Lover Thomas Randolph 531 On a Girdle Edmund Waller 531 Castara William Habington 531 To Amarantha that She would Dis- hevel her Hair Richard Lovelace 533 Chloe Divine Thomas D^Urfey 533 My Peggy Allan Ramsay .' 534 Song, "O ruddier than the cherry" . .John Gay ; 535 "Tell me, my Heart, if this be Love" .George Lyttleton 535 The Fair Thief Charles Wyndham 536 Amoret Mark Akenside 537 Song, "The shape alone let others prize" : Mark Akenside 537 Kate of Aberdeen John Cunninghatn 538 Song, "Who has robbed the ocean cave" John Shaw. 539 Chloe Robert Burns 540 "O Mally's Meek, Mally's Sweet".. .Robert Burns 541 The Lover's Choice. Thomas Bedingfield 541 Rondeau Redouble John Payne 542 "My Love She's but a Lassie yet".. .J-ames Hogg 543 Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane Robert Tannahill 544 Margaret and Dora . Thomas Campbell 544 Dagonet's Canzonet Ernest Rhys 545 Stanzas for Music, "There be none of Beauty's daughters" George Gordon Byron 546 "Flowers I would Bring" Aubrey J'homas de Vere. . . . 546 "It is not Beauty I Demand" George Barley 547 xxxii Table of Contents PAGE Song, "She 15 not fair to outward view." Earthy Coleridge 548 Song, "A violet in her lovely hair" . .Charles Swain 548 Eileen Aroon Gerald Griffin 549 Annie Laurie Unknown 550 To Helen Edgar Allan Poe 551 "A Voice by the Cedar Tree" Alfred Tennyson 552 Song, "Nay, but you, who do not love her " , Robert Browning 553 The Henchman John GreenleaJ Whittier 553 Lovely Mary Donnelly William Allingham 554 Love in the Valley George Meredith 556 Marian George Meredith 562 Praise of ]\Iy Lady William Morris 562 Madonna ISlia Algernon Charles Swinburne . 565 "Meet we no Angels, Pansie" Thofnas Ashe 567 To Daphne Walter Besant 568 "Girl of the Red Mouth" Martin MacDcrmott 568 The Daughter of Mendoza Mirabcau Bonaparte Lamar . 569 "If She be made of White and Red " . . Herbert P. Home 570 The Lover's Song Edward Rowland Sill 571 "When First I Saw Her" George Edward Woodberry. . . 571 ISIy April Lady Henry Van Dyke 572 The Milkmaid Austin Dohson 573 Song, "This peach is pink with such a pink" Norman Gale 574 In February Henry Simpson 574 "Love, I MarvelWhat You Are". . . .Trumbull Stickney 575 Ballade of My Lady's Beauty Joyce Kilmer 575 Ursula Robert Undencood Johnson. . 576 Villanelle of His Ladj'^'s Treasures. . .Ernest Dowson 576 Song, "Love, by that loosened hair".i3/m Carman 577 Song, "O, like a queen's her happy tread " William Watson 577 Any Lover, Anj^ Lass Richard Middleton 578 Songs Ascending Witter Bynner 579 Song, "'Oh! Love,' they said, 'is King of Kings' " Rupert Brooke 580 Song, "How do I love you" Irene Rutherford McLcod. . . 580 To .... In Church Alan Seegcr 581 After Two Years. Richard Aldington 581 Praise Seumas 0' Sullivan 582 PLAINTS AND PROTESTATIONS "Forget not Yet" Thomas Wyatt 583 Fawnia Robert Greene 583 The Passionate Shepherd to His Love . Christopher Marlowe 584 The Nymph's Reply to the Passionate Shepherd Walter Raleigh 585 "Wrong not. Sweet Empress of My Heart " Walter Raleigh 586 To His Coy Love Michael Drayton 586 Her Sacred Bower Thomas Cainpion 587 To Lesbia Thomas Campion 588 "Love me or Not" Thomas Campion 589 "There is None, None but You". . Thomas Campion 589 Of Corinna's Singing Thomas Campion 590 "Weremy Heart as some Men's are". r/!owa5 Campion 590 "Kind are her Answers" Thomas Campion 591 To Celia Ben Jonson 591 Table of Contents xxxiii PAGE Song, "O, do not wanton with those eyes " Ben Jonson 592 Song, "Go and catch a falling star". .John Donne 592 The Message John Donne 593 Song, "Ladies, though to your con- quering eyes" George Etherege 594 To a Lady Asking Him how Long He would Love Her George Etherege 594 To ^none Robert Herrick 595 To Anthea, who may Command him Anything Robert Herrick 595 The Bracelet: To Julia Robert Herrick 596 To the Western Wind Robert Herrick 596 To my Inconstant Mistress Thomas Carew 597 Persuasions to Enjoy Thomas Carew 597 Mediocrity in Love Rejected Thomas Carew 598 The Message Thomas Hcywood 598 "How Can the Heart forget Her" .... Francis Davison 599 To Roses in the Bosom of Castara .... William Habington 600 To Flavia Edmund Waller 600 "Love not Me for Comely Grace ". . . . Unknown 601 "When, Dearest, I but Think of Thee" John Suckling 601 A Doubt of Martyrdom John Suckling 602 To Chloe William Cartwright 603 "I'll Never Love Thee More" James Graham 604 To Althea, from Prison Richard Lovelace 605 Why I Love Her Alexander Bromc 606 To his Coy Mistress Andrew Marvell 607 A Deposition from Beauty Thomas Stanley 608 "Love in thy Youth, Fair Maid". . . . Unknoivn 609 To Celia Charles Cotton 609 To Celia , . . Charles Sedley 610 A Song, "My dear mistress has a heart" John Wilmot 610 Love and Life John Wilmot 611 Constancy John Wilmot 611 Song, "Too late, alas, I must con- fess" John Wilmot 612 Song, "Come, Celia, let's agree at last" John Sheffield 612 The Enchantment Thomas Otway 613 Song, "Only tell her that I love" . . . .John Cutts 613 "False though She be" William Congreve 613 To Silvia Anne Finch 614 "Why, Lovely Charmer" Unknown 614 Against Indifference. Charles Webbe 615 A Song to Amoret Henry Vaughan 615 The Lass of Richmond Hill James Upton 616 Song, "Let my voice ring out and over the earth" James Thomson... 616 Gifts James Thomson 617 Amynta Gilbert Elliot 617 "O Nancy! wilt Thou go with Me". . .Thomas Percy 618 Cavalier's Song Robert Cunninghajne-Graham 619 "My Heart is a Lute" Anne Barnard 620 Song, "Had I a heart for falsehood framed" Richard Brinsley Sheridan . . 620 Meeting George Crabbe 621 "O Were my Love yon Lilac Fair" . . . Robert Burns 621 "Bonnie Wee Thing" Robert Burns 622 Rose Aylmer Walter Savage Landor 622 xxxiv Table of Contents PAGE "Take back the Virgin Page" Thomas Moore 623 "Believe me, if all Those Endearing Young Charms" Thomas Moore 624 The Nun Leigh Hunt 624 Only of Thee and Me Louis Untermeyer 625 To Percy Bysshe Shelley 625 From the Arabic Percy Bysshe Shelley 626 The Wandering Knight's Song John Gibson Lockhart 626 Song, "Love's on the highroad" . . . .Dana Burnett 627 The Secret Love A. E 627 The Flower of Beauty George Darley 628 My Share of the World Alice Furlong 628 Song, "A lake and a fairy boat" .... Thomas Hood 630 "Smile and Never Heed Me" Charles Swain 630 Are They not all Ministering Spirits. .Robert Stephen Hawker 631 Maiden Eyes Gerald Griffin 631 Hallowed Places Alice Freeman Palmer 632 The Lady's "Yes" Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . 632 Song, "It is the miller's daughter". . .Alfred Tennyson 633 Lilian Alfred Tennyson 634 Bugle Song, from "The Princess". . . .Alfred Tennyson 635 Ronsard to His Mistress William Makepeace Thack- eray 635 "When You are Old" William Butler Yeats 636 Song, "You'll love me yet, and I can tarry" Robert Browning 637 Love in a Life Robert Browning 637 Life in a Love Robert Browning 638 The Welcome Thomas Osborne Davis 638 Urania Matthew Arnold 639 Three Shadows Dante Gabriel Rossetli 640 Since w^e Parted Edivard Robert Bulwer Lytton 641 A Match , Algernon Charles Swinburne. 641 A Ballad of Life Algernon Charles Swinburne. 642 A Leave-Taking Algernon Charles Swinburne . 645 A Lyric Algernon Charles Swinburne. 646 Maureen John Todhunter 647 A Love Sj^mphony Arthur 0' Shaughnessy 647 Love on the Mountain Thomas Boyd 648 Kate Temple's Song Mortimer Collins. . 649 My Queen Unknown 649 "Darling, Tell me Yes" John Godfrey Saxe 650 "Do I Love Thee" John Godfrey Saxe 651 "O World, be Nobler" Laurence Binyon 652 "In the Dark, in the Dew" Mary Newmarch Prescott. . . 652 Nanny Francis Dams 653 A Trifle Henry Timrod 654 Romance Robert Louis Stevenson 654 "Or Ever the Knightly Y'ears were Gone" William Ernest Henley 655 Rus in Urbe ; Clement Scott 656 My Road . . '. Oliver Opdyke 657 A White Rose John Boyle O'Reilly 657 " Some Day of Days " Nora Perry 658 The Telephone Robert Frost 658 Where Love is Amelia Josephine Burr 659 That Day You Came Lizette Woodworth Reese. . . . 660 Amantium Irae Ernest Dowson 660 In a Rose Garden Johyi Bennett 661 "God Bless You, Dear, To-day" . . . .John Bemiett 662 To-day Benjamin R. C. Low 663 To Arcady Charles Buxton Going 664 Table of Contents xxxv PAGE Wild Wishes Ethel M. Ilewitl 664 "Because of You" Sophia Almon Ilensley 665 Then Rose Terry Cooke 666 The Missive Edmund Gossc 666 Plymouth Harbor Mrs. Ernest Radford 667 The Serf's Secret William Vaughn Moody .... 667 "O, Inexpressible as Sweet" George Edward Woodbcrry. . . 668 The Cyclamen Arlo Bates 668 The West-Country Lover. Alice Brown 669 " Be Ye in Love with April-Tide " . . . . Clinton Scollard 670 Unity Alfred Noyes 670 The Queen William Winter 671 A Lover's Envy Henry Van Dyke 672 Star Song Robert Underwood Johnson . . 673 "My Heart Shall be Thy Garden". . .Alice Meynell 673 At Night Alice Meynell 674 Song, "Song is so old" Hermann Ilagedorn 674 "All Last Night" Lascelles Abercrombie 674 The Last Word Frederic Lawrence Knowles. . 675 "Heart of my Heart" Unknown 676 My Laddie A nielie Rives 676 The Shaded Pool Norman Gale 677 Good-Night S. Weir Mitchell 679 The Mystic Witter Bynner , 680 "I Am the Wind" Zo'e Akins '. 680 "I Love my Life, But not Too Wd\" .Harriet Monroe 681 "This is my Love for You" Grace Fallow Norton 681 MY LADY'S LIPS Lips and Eyes Thomas Middleton 682 The Kiss Ben Jonson 682 "Take, O Take Those Lips Away "... John Fletcher 683 A Stolen Kiss George Wither 683 Song, "My Love bound me with a, kiss" Unknown 684 To Electra Robert Herrick 684 "Come, Chloe, and Give Me Sweet Kisses" Charles Hanhury Williams . . 685 A Riddle William, Cowper 685 To a Kiss John Wolcot 686 Song, "Often I have heard it said". . Walter Savage Landor 686 The First Kiss of Love George Gordon Byron 686 "Jenny Kissed Me" Leigh Hunt 687 "I Fear Thy Kisses, Gentle Maiden" . Percy Bysshe Shelley 688 Love's Philosophy Percy Bysshe Shelley 688 Song, "The moth's kiss, first" Robert Browning 688 Summum Bonum Robert Browning 689 The First Kiss Theodore W atts-Dunlon 689 To My Love John Godfrey Saxe 690 To Lesbia John Godfrey Saxe 690 Make Believe Alice Gary , , 691 Kissing's No Sin Unknown 692 To Anne William Maxwell 692 Song, "There is many a love in the land, my love" Joaquin Miller 693 Phyllis and Corydon Arthur Colton 693 AT HER WINDOW "Hark, Hark, the Lark" , . .k'^j .William Shakespeare 694 "Sleep, Angry Beauty "... k^i^}t . ^ . Thoynas Campion 694 xxxvi Table of Contents PAGE Matin Song Nathaniel Field 694 The Night-Piecc: To Julia Robert Herrick 6g5 Morning William D'Avenant 695 Matin Song Thomas Heyivood 6q6 The Rose Richard Lovelace 696 Song, "See, see, she wakes! Sabina wakes" William Congreve 697 Mary Morison Robert Burns 697 Wake, Ladj' Joanna Baillie 6g8 The Sleeping Beauty Samuel Rogers 699 ''The Young I\Iay ]\Ioon" Thomas Moore 699 "Row Gently Here" Tho?7ias Moore 700 Morning Serenade Madison Cau'eift 700 Serenade Aubrey Thomas De Vere. , . . 701 Lines to an Indian Air Percy Bysshe Shelley 702 Good-Xight Percy Bysshe Shelley 703 Serenade George Darley 703 Serenade Thomas Hood 704 Serenade Edward Coate Pinkney 704 Serenade Henry Timrod 705 Serenade Henry Wadsworth Longfellon- 705 "Come into the Garden, Maud". . . .Alfred Tennyson 706 At Her Window Frederick Locker-Lampsan. . . 70S Bedouin Song Bayard Taylor 709 Night and Love Edward George Earle Bulwer- Lyiton 710 Nocturne Thomas Bailey Aldrich 711 Palabras Carinosas Thomas Bailey Aldrich 711 Serenade Oscar Wilde 712 The Little Red Lark Alfred Perceval Graves 713 Serenade Richard Middleton 714 THE COMEDY OF LOVE A Lover's Lullaby George Gascoigne 715 Phillida and Corydon Nicholas Breton 716 "Crabbed Age and Youth" William Shakespeare 717 "It Was a Lover and His Lass" William Shakespeare 717 "I Loved a Lass" George Wither 718 To Chloris Charles Sedley 720 Song, "The merchant, to secure his treasure" Matthew Prior 720 Pious Selinda William Congreve 721 Fair Hebe John West 721 A Maiden's Ideal of a Husband Henry Carey 722 " Phillada Flouts Me " Unknown 722 "When ]Molly Smiles" Unknown 725 Contentions Unknown 725 "I Asked My Fair, One Happj'- Day" Samuel Taylor Coleridge 726 The Exchange Samuel Taylor Coleridge . . . . 726 "Comin' Through the Rye" Robert Burns 727 "Green Grow the Rashes, 0" Robert Burns 727 Defiance Walter Savage Landor 728 Of Clementina Walter Savage Landor 729 "The Time I've Lost in Wooing" . . . Thomas Moore 729 Dear Fanny Thomas Moore 730 A Certain Young Lady Washington Irving 731 "Where Be You Going, You Devon Maid" John Keats 732 Love in a Cottage Nathaniel Parker Willis . ... 732 Song of the Milkmaid from "Queen Mary " .^ Alfred Tennyson 733 Table of Contents xxxvii PAGE "Wouldn't You Like to Know" John Godfrey Saxe 734 "Sing Heigh-ho" Charles Kingsley 735 The Golden Fish George Arnold 736 The Courtin' James Russell Lowell 736 L'Eau Dormante. Thomas Bailey Aldrich 739 A Primrose Dame Gleeson While 740 If James Jefrey Roche 740 Don't James Jeffrey Roche 741 An Irish Love-Song Robert Undenvood Johnson. . 741 Growing Old Walter Learned 742 Time's Revenge .Walter Learned 743 In Explanation Walter Learned 743 Omnia Vincit Alfred Cochrane 744 A Pastoral Norman Gale 744 A Rose Arlo Bates 745 "Wooed and Married and A'" Alexander Ross 746 "Ov/re the Moor Amang the Heather "/ea« Glover 747 Marriage and the Care O't Robert Lochore 748 The Women Folk James Hogg 749 "Love is Like a Dizziness" .James Hogg 750 "Behave Yoursel' before Folk" Alexander Rodger 751 Rory O'More; or, Good Omens Samuel Lover . 753 Ask and Have Samuel Lover 754 Kitty of Coleraine Charles Dawson Shanly 755 The Plaidie Charles Sibley 755 Kitty Neil John Francis Waller 756 "The Dule's i' this Bonnet o' Mine" . Edwin Waugh 757 The Ould Plaid Shawl Francis A. Fahy 758 Little Mary Cassidy Francis A . Fahy 759 The Road Patrick R. Chalmers 760 Twickenham Ferry Theophile Marzials 761 THE HUMOR OF LOVE Song, "I prithee send me back my heart" John Suckling 763 A Ballad Upon a Wedding .John -Suckling 763 To Chloe Jealous . Matthew Prior 766 Jack and Joan Thomas Campion 767 PhiUis and Corydon Richard Greene , 768 Sally in Our Alley Henry Carey 769 The Country Wedding Unknown 771 "O Merry may the Maid be" John Clerk 772 The Lass o' Gowrie Carolina Nairne 773 The Constant Swain and Virtuous Maid ; Unknown 774 When the Kye Comes Hame James Hogg 775 The Low-Backed Car Satnuel Lover 777 The Pretty Girl of Loch Dan Samuel Ferguson 779 Muckle-Mouth Meg Robert Browning 781 Muckle-Mou'd Meg James Ballantine 782 Glenlogie Unknown 783 Lochinvar Walter Scott 784 Jock of Hazeldean Walter Scott 786 Candor Henry Cuyler Bunner 787 "Do you Remember" Thomas Haynes Bayly 788 Because Edivard Fitzgerald 788 Love and Age Thomas Love Peacock 790 To Helen Winthrop Mackworth Praed . 791 At the Church Gate William Makepeace Thack- eray 792 Mabel, in New Hampshire James Thomas Fields 793 xxxviii Table of Contents ^■"''' PAGE ToTijours Amour Edmund Clarence Stedman . . 793 The Doorstep Edmund Clarence Sledman . . 794 The White Flag John Hay 796 A Song of the Four Seasons Austin Dobson 797 The Love-Knot Xora Perry 798 Riding Down Xora Perry 799 " Forgettin" " , Moira O'Xeill. . . .. ".". ^ .'. . . . 800 "Across the Fields to Anne" Richard Burton. ....... 801 Pamela in Town Ellen Mackay Hulckinson Cortissoz 802 Yes? .Henry Ciiyler Bunner 804 The Prime of Life Walter Learned 805 Thoughts on the Commandments .... George A ugustus Baker 806 THE IROXY OF LO\'E ''Sigh no More, Ladies" William SJmkespeare 807 A Renunciation Edward Vere 807 A Song, ''Ye happj^ swains, whose hearts are free"' George Etherege S08 To ELis Forsaken IVlistress Robert Ayton SoS To an Inconstant Robert Ayton 809 Advice to a Girl Thomas Campion 810 Song, •• Follow a shadow, it still flies 5"ou"' Ben Jonson Sii True Beauti'^ Francis Beaumont 811 The Indirterent Francis Beaumont 812 The Lover's Resolution George Wither S13 His Further Resolution Unhioum 814 Song, '■ ShaU I tell you whom I love" . Willia?n Browne S15 To Dianeme Robert Herrick S16 Ingrateful Beauts- Threatened TJiomas Carew S16 Disdain Returned Thomas Careiv 817 " Love WTio Will, for I'U Love None ". TTwwa^ Browne 817 \^alerius on \\^omen Thomas Heywood 818 Dispraise of Love, and Lovers' Fol- lies , . , Francis Davison 818 The Constant Lover. John Suckling 819 Song, *"Y\Tiy so pale and wan, fond lover" John Suckling 820 Wishes to His Supposed Mistress Ricliard Craslmw 820 Song, ''Love in fantastic triumph sate" Aphra Behn 824 Les -\mours Charles Cotton 825 Rivals William Walsh S26 "I Lately Vowed, but -Twas in Haste" John OldmLvon 826 The Touchstone Samuel Bishop 826 Air, ' ' I ne'er could any luster see " . . . . Ricliard Brinsley Sheridan..^ S27 "I Took a Hansom on To-day Williaifi Ernest Henley 827 Da Capo Henry Cuyler Bunner 828 Song Against Women WiUard Huntington Wright. . S29 Song of Thvrsis Philip Freneau 830 The Test. .' Walter Savage Lander 831 "'The Fault is not Mine" Walter Savage Landor 831 The Snake Thomas Moore 831 "When I Loved You" Thomas Moore 832 A Temple to Friendship Thomas Moore 832 The Glove and the Lions Leigh Hunt 833 To Woman George Gordon Byron 834 Love's Spite Aubrey Thomas de Vere 834 Lady Clara Vere de Vere Alfred Tennyson ' 835 Table of Contents xxxix PAGE Shadows Richard Moncklon Milnes. . . 837 Sorrows of Werther William Makepeace Thack- eray 838 The Age of Wisdom William Makepeace Thack- eray 838 Andrea del Sarto Robert Browning 839 My Last Duchess Robert Browning 846 Adam, Lilith, and Eve Robert Browning 848 The Lost Mistress Robert Browning 848 Friend and Lover Mary Ainge de Vere 849 Lost Love Andrew Lang 849 Vobiscum est lope Thomas Campion 850 Four Winds Sara Teasdale 850 To Marion Wilfrid Scawen Blunt 85 1 Crowned Amy Lowell 851 Hebe James Russell Lowell 852 "Justine, You Love me Not" John Godfrey Saxe 853 Snowdrop William Welmore Story 854 When the Sultan Goes to Ispahan. . . Thomas Bailey Aldrich 854 The Shadow Dance Louise Chandler Moulton . . . 856 "Along the Field as we Came by " . . . .Alfred Edward Housman. . . . 856 "When I was One-and-Twenty " . . . .Alfred Edward Housman. . . 857 "Grieve Not, Ladies" Anna Hempstead Branch. . . 857 Suburb Harold Monro 859 The Betrothed Rudyard Kipling 860 LOVE'S SADNESS "The Night has a Thousand Eyes " . . Francis William Bourdillon . 863 "I Saw my Lady Weep" Unknown 863 Love's Young Dream Thomas Moore 864 "Not Ours the Vov/s" .Bernard Barton 865 The Grave of Love Thomas Love Peacock 865 "We'll go no More a Roving" George Gordon Byron 866 Song, "♦Sing the old song, amid the sounds dispersing" Aubrey Thomas de Vere. . . . 866 The Question Percy Bysshe Shelley 867 The Wanderer Austin Dobson 868 Egyptian Serenade George William Curtis 868 The Water Lady Thomas Hood 869 "Tripping Down the Field-path Charles Swain 870 Love Not Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton 871 "A Place in Thy Memory" Gerald Griffin 871 Inclusions Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . 872 Mariana Alfred Tennyson 873 "Ask Me no More" Alfred Tennyson 875 A Woman's Last Word Robert Browning 876 The Last Ride Together Robert Browning 877 Youth and Art Robert Browning 880 Two in the Campagna Robert Browning 882 One Way of Love Robert Browning 884 "Never the Time and the Place" Robert Browning 885 Song, "Oh! that we two were May- ing" Charles Kingsley 885 For He Had Great Possessions Richard Middleton 886 Windle-straws Edward Dowden 887 Jessie Thomas Edward Brown 887 The Chess-board Edward Robert Bulwer Lytion 888 Aux Italiens Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton 889 Song, "I saw the day's white rap- ture" Charles Hanson Towne 892 xl Table of Contents PAGE The Lonely Road Kenneth Rand 893 Evensong Ridgely Torrence 893 The Nymph's Song to Hylas William Morris . 894 No and Yes Thomas Ashe 895 Love in Dreams John Addington Symonds. . . 895 "A Little While I fain would Linger Yet " Paul Hamilton Hayne 895 Song, "I made another garden, y^di" .Arthur O'Shaughnessy 896 Song, "Has summer come without the rose" Arthur O'Shaughnessy 897 After Philip Boiirke Marston 89S After Summer Philip Bourke Marston 899 Rococo A Igernon Charles Swinburne 900 Rondel Algernon Charles Swinburne 902 The Oblation Algernon Charles Swinburne 903 The Song of the Bower Dante Gabriel Rossetti 903 Song, "We break the glass, whose sacred wine" Edward Coate Pinkney 905 Maud MuUer John Greenleaf Whiltier 905 La Grisette Oliver Wendell Holmes 909 The Dark Man Nora Hopper gio Eurydice Francis William Bourdillon . 91 r A Woman's Thought Richard Watson Gilder 912 Laus Veneris Louise Chandler Moidton . . . 913 Adonais Will Wallace Harney 914 Face to Face Frances Cochrane 915 Ashore Laicrence Hope 916 Khristna and His Flute Laurence Hope 916 Impenitentia Ultima Ernest Dowson 917 Non Sum Qualis Eram Bona; sub Regno Cynarte Ernest Dowson 918 Quid non Speremus, Amantes? Ernest Dowson 919 "So Sweet Love Seemed" Robert Bridges 920 An Old Tune Andrew Lang 920 Refuge William Winter . 921 Midsummer Ella Wheeler Wilcox 922 Ashes of Roses Elaine Goodale 923 Sympathy Althea Gyles 923 The Look Sara Teasdale 923 "When My Beloved Sleeping Lies". .Irene Rutherford McLeod. . . 924 Love and Life Julie Mathilde Lippman. ... 924 Love's Prisoner Mariana Griswold Van Rens- selaer 925 Rosies Agnes I. Hanrahan 925 At the Comedy Arthur Stringer . 926 "Sometime It may Be" Arthur Colton 927 "I heard a Soldier" Herbert Trench 927 The Last Memory Arthur Symonds 928 "Down by the Salley Gardens" William Butler Yeats 928 Ashes of Life Edna St. Vincent Millay. . . . 929 A Farewell Alice Brown 929 THE PARTED LOVERS Song, "O mistress mine, where are you roaming" William Shakespeare 936 "Go, Lovely Rose" Edmund Waller 930 To the Rose: A Song Robert Herrick 93 1 Memory William Browne 93 1 To Lucasta, Going to the Wars Richard Lovelace 933 To Lucasta, Going beyond the Seas . . Richard Lovelace 933 Table of Contents xli PAGE Song to a Fair Young Lady, Going out of the Town in the Spring John Dryden 934 Song, "To all you ladies now at land" Charles Sackville 935 Song, "In vain you tell your parting lover " Matthen.v Prior 937 Black-Eyed Susan John Gay 937 Irish Molly O Unknoivn 939 Song, "At setting day and rising morn" Allan Ramsay 940 Lochaber no More Allan Ramsay 940 Willie and Helen Hew Ainslic 941 Absence Richard J ago , . 942 "My Mother Bids me Bind my Hair" Anne Eunler 942 "Blow High! Blow Low" Charles Dibdin 942 The Siller Croun Susanna Blamire 943 "My Nannie's Awa' " Robert Burns ............. 944 "Ae Fond Kiss" Robert Burns 945 "The Day Returns" Robert Burns 945 My Bonnie Mary Robert Burns 946 A Red, Red Rose,. Robert Burns 946 I Love My Jean -\i\ K)^m>x ...... Robert Burns and John Ham- ilton 947 The Rover's Adieu, from " Rokeby " . PFo/ter Scott 948 "Loudoun's Bonnie Woods and Braes" .Robert Tannahill. . 949 "Fare Thee Well" George Gordon Byron 950 "Maid of Athens, Ere We Part". . . .George Gordon Byron 951 "When We Two Parted" George Gordon Byron 952 " Go, Forget Me " Charles Wolfe 953 Last Night George Darley 954 Adieu Thomas Carlyle 954 Jeanie Morrison William Mothcnvell 955 The Sea-lands Orrick Johns 958 Fair Ines Thomas Hood 959 A Valediction Elizabeth Barrett Browning . . 960 Farewell John Addington Symonds . . . 962 "I Do Not Love Thee" . Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton 962 The Palm-tree and the Pine Richard Monckton Milnes.. . 963 "O Swallow, Swallow Flying Soxiih" .Alfred Tennyson 963 The Flower's Name Robert Browning . 964 To Marguerite Matthew Arnold. . 966 Separation Matthew Arnold 966 Longing Matthew Arnold 967 Divided Jean Ingelow 968 My Playmate John Greenleaf Whittier. ... 972 A Farewell Coventry Patmore 974 Departure '. . .Coventry Patmore. 974 A Song of Parting H. C. Compton Mackenzie.. . 975 Song, "Fair is the night, and fair the day " . William Morris 977 At Parting Algernon Charles Swinburne. 978 "If She But Knew" Arthur O'Shaughnessy 978 Kathleen Mavourneen Louisa Macartney Crawford. 979 Robin Adair Caroline Keppel 979 "If You Were Here" Philip Bourke Marston 981 "Come to Me, Dearest" Joseph Brenan 982 Song, 'Tis said that absence conquers love" Frederick William Thomas . . 983 Parting Gerald Massey 984 The Parting Hour Olive Custance 985 xlii Table of Contents PAGE A Song of Autumn Rennell Rodd 985 The Girl I Left Behind Me Unknown q86 "When We are Parted" Hamilton Aide 987 Remember or Forget" Hamilton Aide 987 Nancy Dawson Herbert P. Home 988 My Little Love Charles B. Hawley 989 For Ever William Caldwell Roscoe .... 990 Auf Wiedersehen James Russell Lowell 990 "Forever and a Day" Thomas Bailey Aldrich 991 Old Gardens Arthur Upson 992 Ferry Hinksey Laurence Binyon 992 Wearyin' fer You Frank L. Stanton 993 The Lovers of Marchaid Marjorie L. C. Pickthall. . . . 994 Song, "She's somewhere in the sun- light strong" _ Richard Le Gallienne 995 The Lover Thinks of His Lady in the North Shaemas O Sheet 996 Chanson de Rosemonde Richard Hovey 997 Ad Domnulam Suam Ernest Doivson 997 Marian Drury Bliss Carman 998 Love's Rosary Alfred Noyes 999 When She Comes Home James Whitcomb Riley 1000 THE TRAGEDY OF LOVE Song, "My silks and fine array". . . .William Blake looi The Flight of Love Percy Bysshe Shelley looi "Farewell! If ever Fondest Vrayer" .George Gordon Byron 1002 Porphyria's Lover Robert Browning 1003 Modern Beauty Arthur Symons 1004 La Belle Dame Sans Merci John Keats 1005 Tantalus — Texas Joaquin Miller 1007 Enchainment Arthur O'Shaughnessy 1008 Auld Robin Gray Anne Barnard 1009 Lost Light Elizabeth Akers roio A Sigh Harriet Prescott Spoford. . . . loii Hereafter Harriet Prescott Spojford. . . . 1012 Endymion Oscar Wilde 1013 "Love is a Terrible Thing" Grace Fallow Norton 1014 The Ballad of the Angel Theodosia Garrison 1015 "Love Came Back at Fall o' Dew" . . .Lizette Woodworth Reese .... 1016 I Shall not Care .Sara Teasdale 1017 Outgrown Julia C. R. Dorr 1017 A Tragedy Edith Nesbit 1019 Left Behind Elizabeth Akers 1020 The Forsaken Merman Matthew Arnold 1021 The Portrait Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton 1025 The Rose and Thorn Paul Hamilton Hayne 102S To Her — Unspoken Amelia Josephine Burr 1029 A Light Woman Robert Browning 1029 From the Turkish George Gordon Byron 1031 A Summer Wooing Louise Chandler Moulton. . . 1032 Butterflies John Davidson 1032 Unseen Spirits Nathaniel Parker Willis .... 1032 " Grandmither, Think Not I Forget" .Willa Sibert Gather 1033 Little Wild Baby Margaret Thomson Janvier. . 1035 A Cradle Song Nicholas Breton 1036 Lady Anne Bothwell's Lament Unknowji 1037 A Woman's Love John Hay 1038 A Tragedy Theophile Marzials 1040 "Mother, I Cannot Mind My Wheel" ...J. sviww.. .. .. . Walter Savage Landor 1040 Table of Contents xliii PAGE Airly Beacon Charles Kingsley 1040 A Sea Child Bliss Carman 1041 From the Harbor Hill. Gustav Kobbe 1041 Allan Water Matthew Gregory Lewis 1042 Forsaken Unknown 1042 Bonnie Doon Robert Burns 1044 The Two Lovers Richard Hovey 1044 The Vampire Rudyard Kipling 1045 Agatha Alfred Austin 1046 ''A Rose Will Fade" .Dora Sigerson Shorter 1047 Affaire d'Amour Margaret Deland. ......... 1048 A Casual Song Roden Noel 1049 The Way of It John Vance Cheney 1049 "When Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly " . .• .Oliver Goldsmith . 1050 Folk-Song Louis Untermeyer 1050 A Very Old Song William Laird 1051 "She Was Young and Blithe and Fair" Harold Monro 1051 The Lass that Died of Love Richard Middleton 1052 The Passion-Flower Margaret Fuller 1053 'Norah Zoe Akins 1054 Of Joan's Youth Louise Imogen Guiney . . . . . 1054 There's Wisdom in Women Rupert Brooke 1055 Goethe and Frederika Henry Sidgwick 1055 The Song of the King's MinstreL . . .Richard Middleton 1056 Annie Shore and Johnnie Doon Patrick Orr 1057 Emmy .Arthur Symons 1058 The Ballad of Camden Town James Elroy Flecker 1058 LOVE AND DEATH Helen of Kirconnell Unknown 1060 Willy Drowned in Yarrow Unknown 1061 Annan Water Unknown 1062 The Lament of the Border Widow .... Unknown 1063 Aspatia's Song from "The Maid's Tragedy " John Fletcher 1064 A Ballad, "'Twas when the seas were roaring" John Gay 1064 The Braes of Yarrow John Logan 1065 The Churchyard on the Sands Lord de Tabley 1067 The Minstrel's Song from "^Ua". . . Thomas Chatterton 1070 Highland Mary Robert Burns 1071 To Mary in Heaven Robert Burns 1072 Lucy William Wordsworth 1073 Proud Maisie Walter Scott 1076 Song, "Earl March looked on his dying child" Thomas Campbell 1077 The Maid's Lament Walter Savage Landor 1077 "She is Far from the Land" Thomas Moore 1078 "At the Mid Hour of Night" Thomas Moore. 1079 On a Picture by Poussin John Addington Symonds. . . . 1079 Threnody Ruth Guthrie Harding 1080 Strong as Death Henry Cuyler Bunner 1080 "I Shall not Cry Return'' Ellen M. H. Gates 1081 "Oh! Snatched away in Beauty's Bloom" George Gordon Byron 1082 To Mary Charles Wolfe 1082 My Heart and I Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . 1083 Rosalind's Scroll Elizabeth Barrett Browning . . 1085 Lament of the Irish Emigrant Helen Selina Sheridan 1086 ixliv Table of Contents PAGE The King of Denmark's Ride Caroline Elizabeth Sarah N or- ton 1088 The Watcher James Stephens. 1089 The Three Sisters Arthur Davison Ficke logo Ballad May Kendall 1090 "O that 'Twere Possible" Alfred Tennyson 1092 "Home They Brought Her Warrior Dead " Alfred Tennyson 1093 Evelyn Hope Robert Browning 1094 Remembrance Emily Bronte 1095 Song, "The linnet in the rocky de\W .Emily Bronte 1096 Song of the Old Love Jean Ingelow 1097 Requiescat Matthew Arnold . logS Too Late Dinah Maria Mulock Craik . 1099 Four Years Dinah Mar^a Mulock Craik . 1099 Barbara Alexander Smith iioo Song, "When I am dead, my dearest" Christina Georgina Rosselti. . 1102 Helen .Sarah Chauncey Woolsey. . . . 1102 Love and Death Rosa Mulholland 1104 To One in Paradise .Edgar Allan Poe 1105 Annabel Lee ..Edgar Allan Poe 1105 For Annie Edgar Allan Poe 1 107 Telling the Bees John Greenleaf Whitticr 1 109 A Tryst Louise Chandler Moulton ... iiii Love's Resurrection Day Louise Chandler Moulton. . . 11 12 Heaven Martha Gilbert Dickinson. . . 1112 Janette's Hair Charles Graham Halpine. . . . 1112 The Dying Lover Richard Henry Stoddard .... 1 1 14 "When the Grass Shall Cover Me'.'.. .Ina Coolbrith 11 14 Give Love Today Ethel Talbot 1115 Until Death Elizabeth Akers 1116 Florence Vane Philip Pendleton Cooke 11 17 "If Spirits Walk" .Sophie Jeivett 1118 Requiescat Oscar Wilde 1119 Lyric, "You would have understood me, had you waited" .Ernest Dozvson T120 Romance Andreiv Lang 1121 Good-N.ight ... .Hester A. Benedict 1121 •Requiescat . .Rosamund Marriott Watson. 11 22 The Four Winds Charles Henry Liiders 11 23 The'King's Ballad Joyce Kilmer 11 23 Heliotrope Harry Thurston Peck 11 24 "LydiaisGonethisMany a Year". . .Lizette Woodworth Reese. . . . 1126 After Lizette Woodworth Reese .... 1 1 27 Memories .Arthur Stringer 1 1 27 To Diane Helen Hay Whitney 1 1 28 " Music I Heard " Conrad A iken 1 1 29 Her Dwelling-place .Ada Foster Murray 1129 The Wife from Fairyland Richard Le Gallienne 1130 In the Fall o' Year .Thomas S. Jones, Jr 1131 The Invisible Bride Edwin Markham 1132 Rain on a Grave Thomas Hardy 1 133 Patterns Amy Lowell 1 134 Dust Rupert Brooke 1 137 Ballad, "The roses in my garden" Maurice Baring 1138 "The Little Rose is Dust, My Dear". Grac(? Hazard Conkling 1130 Dirge Adelaide Crapsey 1139 The Rosary Robert Cameron Rogers 1140 LOVE'S FULFILLMENT "My True-love Hath my Heart ". . .Philip Sidney 1141 Song, "O sweet delight" Thomas Campion 1141 Table of Contents xlv PAGE 142 142 143 143 144 144 145 145 The Good-Morrow. . . . . '/r.'! .';■*.'. . . .John Donne "There's Gowd in the Breast" James Hogg The Beggar Maid Alfred Tennyson Refuge A. E At Sunset Louis V. Ledonx "One Morning, Oh! so Early" Jean Ingelow Across the Door Padraic Colum May Margaret Theophile Marzials .... Rondel, "Kis.sing her hair, I sat against her feet" Algernon Charles Swinburne. 1146 A Spring Journey Alice Freeman Palmer 1147 The Brookside Richard Monckton Milnes. . . 1 147 Song, "For me the jasmine buds un- fold " Florence Earle Coates 1 148 What My Lover Said Homer Greene 1149 May-Music Rachel Annand Taylor 11 50 Song, ''Flame at the core of the world" Arthur Upson 1151 A Memory Frederic Lawrence Knowles. . 1152 Love Triumphant Frederic Lawrence Knowles. . 1153 Lines, "Love within the lover's breast" George Meredith 1153 Love among the Ruins Robert Browning 1154 Earl Mertoun's Song Robert Browning 1156 Meeting at Night Robert Browning 1157 Parting at Morning Robert Browning 1157 The Turn of the Road Alice Rollit Coe 1158 " INIy Delight and Thy Delight " Robert Bridges 1 158 "O, Saw Ye the Lass" Richard Ryan 1159 Love at Sea Algernon Charles Swinburne. 11 59 Mary Beaton's Song Algernon Charles Swinburne. 1160 Plighted Dinah Maria Mulock Craik. 1161 A Woman's Question Adelaide Anne Procter 1162 "Dinna Ask Me" John Dunlop 1163 A Song, " Sing me a sweet, low song of night" Hildegarde Hawthorne 1164 The Reason James Oppenheim 1164 "My Own Cailin Donn" George Sigerson. . 1165 Nocturne Amelia Josephine Biirr 1166 Surrender Afnelia Josephine Burr 1166 "By Yon Burn Side" Robert Tannahill 1166 A Pastoral, " Flower of the medlar" . . Theophile Marzials 1167 "When Death to Either shall Comt'\Robert Bridges 1168 The Reconciliation Alfred Tennyson 1168 Song, "Wait but a little while" Norman Gale 11 69 Content Norman Gale iiT/ti Che Sara Sara Victor Plarr intug "Bid Adieu to Girlish Days" James Joyce .cj/sk^o' To F. C Mortimer Collins I. siaY/i' Spring Passion .Joel Elias Spingarn .".nidSyi Advice to a Lover 5. Charles Jellicoe.^dl.lcx J3aria)87A " Yes " Richard DoddridgeiSiatSrrwtsllKfS' Love Samuel Taylars(^lmd§e Ji£.'{iiYf3' Nested Habberton hoiicuATy'.aio.ilkj'nim^ The Letters Alfred Temiyson alema^^ Prothalamion Edmtmii^mYirXo. ssaqS :rlA lacJH Epithalamion Edmund Spenser iaaJ arfcti JA The Kiss ^^ar^ TUMalbluoYf . ofbi . oaOngJ Marriage .•.•-■ .-Wilfr-idWilson Gibson sioJis^QS The Newly- wedded o:^J, .■ .Wiiithrop Mmkiiok)h^Piga0d)llT3i^J "I Saw Two Clouds at MoTnhi^^>^fk^Sunbar 2043 A Lay of Ancient Rome. .* Tliomas Ybarra 2044 Tbe Wisdom of Folly Ellen Thorneycrojt Fouler. . . 2045 The Post that Fitted Rudyard Kipling 2046 JUST XOXSENSE Xo Thomas Hood 2048 To Minena Thomas Hood 204S The Alphabet Charles Stuart Calxerley .... 2049 A Tragic Story William Makepeace Thack- eray 2049 The Jumblies Edivard Lear 2050 The Owl and the Pussj^-Cat Edward Lear 2052 The Pobble Who Has no Toes Ed-ward Lear 2053 The Courtship of the Yonghy- Bonghy-Bo Edivard Lear 2054 Xonsense \'erse5 Edward Lear 2057 The Turtle and Flamingo James Tliomas Fields 2058 Jabberwock}'^ Lewis Carroll 2059 ihe Gardener's Song Lcu-'is Carroll 2060 The Walrus and the Carpenter l^eivis Carroll 2062 Songs without Sense Bret Harie-. 2065 The Lovers .Phoebe Cary (?) 2067 The Twins Henry Sambrooke Leigh 2068 A Threnody George Thomas Lanigan .... 2069 The Fastidious Serpent Henry JohnstoTie 2070 Isly Recollectest Thoughts Charles Edivard Carryl 2071 Islr. Finne3''s Turnip Unknoivn 2071 The Siege of Belgrade UnknoTvn 2072 Ellen M 'Jones Aberdeen William Sckwettck Gilbert. . . 2073 To the Terrestrial Globe William Sclmefick Gilbert. . . 2075 '"His Heart was True to Poll" Francis Coivley Burnand. . . . 2076 Red Riding Hood Guy Wetmore Carryl 2077 A Xautical Ballad Charles Edivard Carryl 2079 The Plaint of the Camel Charles Edward Carryl 2080 The Frog Hilaire Belloc 2081 Sage Counsel Arthur T. Ouiller-Couch . . . . 2082 Child's Xatural Histor\' Oliver Herjord 2082 In Foreign Parts Laura E. Ricltards 2084 A Mosquito Triolet Aristine Anderson 2085 A Grain of Salt Wallace Invin 2085 The Purple Cow Gelett Burgess 2085 Xonsense Verses Geleti Burgess 2086 \'ers Xonseasiques George du Maurier 2087 Home Vnknoivn 2087 Four Limericks Carolyn Wells 208S Jklore Limericks Unknoivn 2089 OLD FAVORITES An Eleg>- on the Death of a Mad Dog. Oliver Goldsmith 2091 An Eleg3'^ on That Gion,- of her Ses, Mrs. Mary Blaize Oliver Goldsmith 2092 TheDivertingHistoryof John Gilpin. ]T'//'/'J7« Coivper 2093 Table of Contents Ixi PAGE The Razor-Seller John Wolcot 2 loi The Three Warnings Hester Thrale Piozzi 2102 The Sailor's Consolation . .Charles Dibdin 2105 'J\im O'Shanter Robert Burns 2106 Gluggity Glug George Colman the Younger . . 2 112 The Laird o' Cockpen Carolina Nairne and Susan Ferricr 21 13 The Well of St. Keyne Robert Southey 2114 Address to a Mummy Horace Smith 2116 John Grumlie Allan Cunningham 2118 The Needle Samuel Woodworth 2120 Misadventures at Margate Richard Harris Barham 2120 "The Captain Stood on the Car- ronade" Frederick Marryat 2125 Faithless Nelly Gray Thomas Hood 2126 Faithless Sally Brown Thomas Hood 2128 "Please to Ring the Belle" Thomas Hood. 2130 Old Grimes Albert Gorton Greene 2131 The Annuity George Onlram , . . 2132 The Smack in School William Pitt Palmer 2136 "The Pope He Leads a Happy Liie".. Charles Lever 2137 The Height of the Ridiculous Oliver Wendell Hohncs. 2138 The Ballad of the Oysterman Oliver Wendell Holmes 2139 Little Billee William Makepeace Thack- eray 2140 The Jackdaw of Rheims Richard Harris Barham. ... 2141 The Alarmed Skipper James Thomas Fields 2146 The Puzzled Census Taker John Godfrey Sa.xc 2147 Pyramus and Thisbe John Godfrey Saxe 2148 My Familiar. John Godfrey Saxe 2151 Hans Breitmann's Party Charles Godfrey Lcland 2152 "Nothing to Wear" William Allen Butler 2 154 Darius Green and his Flying-Machine./r?/;;? Townsend Trowbridge. . 2163 The Society upon the Stanislaus Bret Hartc 2 1 70 Dow's Flat Bret Harte 2171 Plain Language from Truthful James . Bret Harte 2174 The Retort .George Pope Morris 2175 The Flitch of Dunmow James Carnegie 2176 The Yarn of the "Nancy Bell" William Schwenck Gilbert . . . 2177 Captain Reece William Schwejick Gilbert ... 2 180 "Spacially Jim" Bessie Morgan 2183 Robinson Crusoe Charles Edward Carryl 2184 Casey at the Bat .Ernest Lawrence Thayer . ... 2185 At a Cowboy Dance . .James Barton Adams 2187 Behold the Deeds Henry Cuylcr Bunner 2189 De Fust Banjo Irwin Russell 2190 PART V POEMS OF PATRIOTISM, HISTORY, AND LEGEND "How Sleep the Brave" William Collins 2194 MY COUNTRY America Samuel Francis Smith 2195 The Star-Spangled Banner Francis Scott Key 2196 The American Flag Joseph Rodman Drake 2197 Yankee Doodle Edward Bangs (?) 2 198 Hail! Columbia. Joseph Hopkinson 2200 Columbia .,^.,. , . . .Timothy Dwight 2202 Ixii Table of Contents PAGE "Oh Mother of a Mighty Race" William Cidkn Bryant 2203 Hymn of the West Ed?nund Clarence Stedman. . 2204 Concord Hymn Ralph Waldo Emerson 2205 Battle-Hymn of the RepubHc Julia Ward Howe 2206 The Eagle's Song .Richard Mansfield 2207 The Flag Goes By '. . .Henry Holcomb Bmnett 2208 Unmanifest Destiny Richard Hovcy 2209 On a Soldier Fallen in the Philippines . William Vaughn Moody .... 2210 An Ode in Time of Hesitation William Vaughn Moody. . . . 2211 The Parting of the Ways Joseph B. Gilder 2217 Dixie Daniel Decatur Emmett 2218 Dixie Albert Pike 2219 My Maryland James Ryder Randall 2220 The Virginians of the Valley Francis Orray Ticknor 2223 America to Great Britain Washington Allston 2223 To England. George Henry Boker 2225 America Syd?iey Dobell 2225 To America Alfred Austifi 2226 Saxon Grit Robert Collyer 2227 At Gibraltar George Edward Woodberry. . , 2229 Gibraltar Wilfrid Scawen Blunt 2230 Mother England Edith M. Thomas 2230 "God Save the King" Henry Carey {?) 2231 Rule, Britannia James Thomson 2232 "Ye Mariners of England". Thomas Campbell 2233 "Ready, Ay, Ready" Herman Charles Merivale. . . 2234 "Of Old Sat Freedom on the Heights" Alfred Tennyson 2235 An Ode in Imitation of Alcaeus ...... William Jones 2236 England, 1802 William Wordsworth 2237 "England, My England" William Ernest Henley. . . . . 2239 England Gerald Massey 2240 The Song of the Bow Arthur Conan Doyle 2241 An English Mother Robert Undercoood Johnson.. 2242 Ave Imperatrix Oscar Wilde 2244 Recessional Rudyard Kipling 2248 The Wearin' o' the Green Unknown 2249 Dark Rosaleen. James Clarence Mangan .... 2249 Exile of Erin Thomas Campbell 2252 Andromeda James Jefrey Roche 2253 Ireland Lionel Johnson 2253 To the Dead of '98 Lionel Johnson 2261 The Mem.ory of the Dead John Kelts Ingram. 2262 Cushla ma Chree John Philpot Curran 2263 The Green Little Shamrock of IreXdind. Andrew Cherry 2264 My Land Thomas Osborne Davis 2265 Fainne Gael an Lae Alice Milligan 2265 Ireland Stephen Lucius Gwynne 2266 "Hills o' My Heart" Ethna Carbery 2267 Scotland Yet Henry Scott Riddell 2268 The Watch on the Rhine After the German of Max Schneckcnbergcr 2269 The German Fatherland From the German of Ernst Moritz Arndt 2270 The Marseillaise After the French of Rougct de Lisle 2271 SOLDIER SONGS "Charlie is My Darhng" Unknown 2273 The Farewell Robert Burns 2274 "Here's a Health to Them That's Awa'" Robert Burns 2275 Table of Contents Ixiii PAGE The Blue Bells of Scotland Unknown. . 2276 The Bonny Earl of Murray Unhioum 2276 Pibroch of Donald Dhu Waller Scoll , 2277 Border Ballad Waller Scoll 2278 "When Banners are Waving" Unknown 2279 The British Grenadiers Unknoivn 2280 Heart of Oak David Garrick 2280 The Soldier's Dream Thomas Campbell 2281 The Cavalier's Song William Mothcrdi'ell 2282 Cavalier Tunes Robert Broicning 2283 The Song of the Camp Bayard Taylor 2285 Reveille Michael O'Connor 2286 "I Give my Soldier Boy a Blade" .... William Maginn 2287 Stonewall Jackson's Way John Williamson Palmer. . . 2288 Music in Camp John Reuben Thompson 2289 The "Grey-horse Troop" Robert W. Chambers 2291 Danny Deever Rndyard Kipling 2293 Gunga Din Rndyard Kipling 2294 The JNfen behind the Guns John Jerome Rooney 2297 The Fighting Race Joseph I. C. Clarke 2298 "HOW SLEEP THE BRAVE" "Soldier, Rest, thy Warfare O'er". . . Walter Scott 2301 "Peace to the Slumberers" Thomas Moore 2302 The Minstrel-Boy Thomas Moore 2302 "It is Great for our Country to Diq'\. James Gales Percival 2303 A Ballad of Heroes Austin Dobson 2304 The Captain's Feather Samuel Mintnrn Peck 2305 England's Dead Felicia Dorothea Hemans.. . . 2306 The Pipes o' Gordon's Men /. Scott Glasgoiv 2307 The Blue and the Gray Francis Miles Finch 2308 The Bivouac of the Dead Theodore O'Hara 2310 RoU-Call Nathaniel Graham Shepherd. 2313 Dirge Thomas William Parsons ... 2314 Dirge for a Soldier George Henry Boker 2315 "Blow, Bugles, Blow" John S. McGroarty 2316 " Such is the Death the Soldier Dies " . Robert Burns Wilson 2317 The Brave at Home Thomas Buchanan Read. . . . 2318 Somebody's Darling Marie R. La Coste 2318 Little Giffen Francis Orray Ticknor 2320 Ode Henry Timrod 2321 Sentinel Songs Abram J. Ryan 2322 Heroes Edna Dean Proctor 2323 The Only Son Henry Nrivbolt 2324 Young Windebank Margaret L. Woods 2325 A Harrow Grave in Flanders Robert Offley Ashburton 2326 V. D. F Unkno'vun 2326 POEMS OF HISTORY The Destruction of Sennacherib George Gordon Byron 2327 The Vision of Belshazzar George Gordon Byron 2328 Horatius at the Bridge Thomas Babington Macaulay 2329 Leonidas George Croly 2345 Antony to Cleopatra William Haines Lytle 2346 Boadicea William Cowper 2348 "He Xever Smiled Again" Felicia Dorothea Hemans.. . . 2349 Bruce to his Men at Bannockburn. . . .Robert Burns 2350 Coronach Walter Scott 2351 Cregy Francis Turner Palgrave. . . . 2352 The Patriot's Pass-word James Montgomery 2353 Ixiv Table of Contents PAGE The Battle of Otterburn Unknow7t 2356 Agincourt Michael Drayton 2361 A Ballad of Orleans A. Mary F. Robinson 2364 Columbus Lydia Huntley Sigourney . . . 2365 Columbus Joaquin Miller 2366 A Lament for Flodden Jane Elliot 2368 Sir Humphrey Gilbert Henry Wadsvoorth Longfellow 2368 The Armada Thomas Babington Macaulay 2370 "God Save Elizabeth" Francis Turner Palgrave. . . . 2373 Ivry Thomas Babington Macaulay 2374 The "Revenge" Alfred Tennyson 2377 The Song of the Spanish Main John Bennett 2381 Henry Hudson's Quest Burton Egbert Stevenson .... 2382 To the Virginian Voyage •. . .Michael Drayton 2384 "The Word of God to Leyden Ca.me" J ere}7iiah Fames Rankin. . . . 2386 The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers. . . Felicia Dorothea Hcmans. . . . 2387 The Mayflower Erastus Wolcott Ellsworth. . . 2389 The Pilgrim Fathers John Pierpont 2390 The Battle of Naseby Thomas Babington Macaulay 2392 The Execution of Montrose .William Edmonstoune Ay- toun 2394 An Horatian Ode Upon Cromwell's Return from Ireland Andrew Marvell 2400 On the Late Massacre in Piedmont . . . John Milton 2404 Morgan Edmund Clarence Stedman . . 2404 The Lamentable Ballad of the Bloody Brook Edward Everett Hale 2406 The Song of the Western Men Robert Stephen Hawker 2407 Bonnie Dundee Walter Scott 2408 A Ballad of Sarsfield. Aubrey Thomas De Vere. . . . 2410 The Battle of Blenheim Robert Southey 2410 Lovewell's Fight Unknown 2412 Admiral Hosier's Ghost .Richard Glover 2415 Fontenoy Thomas Osborne Davis 2417 Lament for Culloden Robert Burns 2420 A Ballad of the French Fleet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 2421 Paul Revere's Ride Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 2422 New England's Chevy Chase Edward Everett Hale 2426 Warren's Address at Bunker Hill. . . .John Pierpont 2428 The Maryland Battalion John Williamson Palmer.. . . 2429 Seventy-Six William Cullen Bryant 243 1 Song of Marion's Men William Culleft Bryant 2432 Carmen BeUicosum Guy Humphreys McM aster.. 2433 On the Loss of the " Royal George ". . . William Cowper 2435 Cremona Arthur Conan Doyle 2436 Casablanca Felicia Dorothea Hemans. . . . 2439 Hohenlinden Thomas Campbell 2440 Battle of the Baltic Thomas Campbell 2441 The Fighting Temeraire Henry Ne^vbolt 2444 Skipper Ireson's Ride John Greenleaf Whittier 24^5 The Burial of Sir John Moore after Corunna Charles Wolfe 2448 Incident of the French Camp Robert Browning 2449 The Eve of Waterloo George Gordon Byron 2450 Waterloo Aubrey de Vere 2452 Marco Bozzaris Fitz-Greene Halleck 2453 Old Ironsides Oliver Wendell Holmes 2456 The Valor of Ben Milam Clinton Scollard 2457 The Defence of the Alamo Joaquin Miller 2458 The Fight at San Jacinto Tohn Williamson Palmer . . . 2459 The Wreck of the Hesperus Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 2461 The Lost Colors Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward 2464 Table of Contents Ixv e' PAGE A Ballad of Sir John Franklin George Henry Boker. 2465 ^lonterey Charles Fcnno Hoffman 2470 Peschiera Arthur Hugh Cloiigh 2471 The Loss of the Birkenhead Francis Has/ings Doyle 2472 The Charge of the Light Brigade. . . .Alfred Tennyson 2473 The Relief of Lucknow Robert Traill S pence Lfficell . 2475 The Private of the Buffs Francis Hastings Doyle 2478 How Old Brown Took Harper's Ferrj' Edmund Clarence Stedman . . 2479 Brown of Ossawatomie John GreenleaJ Whiiiier 2484 Brother Jonathan's Lament for Sister Caroline Oliver Wendell Holmes 248'; The Reveille Bret Harte 2487 The Washers of the Shroud James Russell Lonrll 2488 The Picket-Guard Ethel Lynn Beers 2491 Civil War Charles Dazcson Shanly 2492 Kearny at Seven Pines Edmund Clarence Stedman . . 2493 Barbara Frietchie John Gree'ilcaf Whitticr . . . . 2494 Keenan's Charge George Parsons Lathrop 2497 The Black Regiment George Henry Boker 2500 The High Tide at Gettysburg Will Henry Thompson 2502 Johns Burns of Gettj'sburg Bret Harte. 2504 Farragut . William Tucker Meredith. . . 2507 Craven Henry Neicbolf 2509 Sheridan's Ride Thomas Buchanan Read. ... 2510 Song of Sherman's ^Jarch to the Sea . .Samuel H. M. Byers 2512 A Second Review of the Grand Army . Bret Harte 2513 The Conquered Banner Abratn J. Ryan 2515 Driving Home the Cows Kate Putnam Osgood 2517 Ode Recited at the Harvard Com- memoration James Russell Lou'ell 2518 Custer's Last Charge Frederick Whiltaker 2529 The Last Redoubt -ilj'red A ustin 2531 ''Fuzzj'-wuzzy" Rudyard Kipling 2533 The Word of the Lord from Havana . . Richard Hovey. 2535 Dewey at Manila Robert Undencood Johnson. . 2537 Deeds of Valor at Santiago Clinton Scollard 2540 Breath on the Oat Joseph Russell Taylor 2541 When the Great Gray Ships Come in. . Guy Wetmore Carryl 2543 1914 Rupert Brooke. 2544 The Fourth of August Laurence Binyon 2546 August, 1914 John Masefield : 2547 A Chant of Hate Against England. . . . Barbara Henderson, tr 2549 A Chant of Love for England Helen Gray Cone 2551 Sonnets Written in the Fall of 1914 . . . George Edward Woodbcrry. . . 2552 Youth in Arms Harold Monro 2555 Magpies in Picardy Unknown 2556 Songs from an Evil Wood .Lord Dunsany 2557 "I Have a Rendezvous with Death "../J /aw Seeger 2560 The Spires of Oxford Winifred M. Letts 2560 All's Well F.W. Bourdillon 2561 Reveille Louis Untermeyer 2562 To the Ignited States of America. . . .Robert Bridges. 2562 Your Lad, and my Lad Randall Parrish 2563 A Poet Enlists Amelia Josephine Burr 2564 POEMS OF PLACES On the Prospect of Planting Arts and Learning in America George Berkeley 2565 Bermudas Andrrw Marvell 2566 Indian Names Lydia Huntley Sigourney . . . 2567 Ixvi Table of Contents PAGE I^Iannahatta Walt Whitman 2568 Gloucester Moors William Vaughn Moody . . . . 2569 The Song of the Colorado Sharlot M. Hall 2571 Now Harriet Mmiroe 2573 Out Where the West Begins Arthur Chapman 2574 The Law of the Yukon Robert JV. Service 2575 Lines Composed a few Miles above Tintern Abbey William Wordsworth 2578 The Pass of Kirkstone Williaiyi Wordsworth 2582 Yarrow L'nvisited William Wordsworth 2584 Yarrow Visited William Wordsworth 2586 On a Distant Prospect of Eton Col- lege Thomas Gray 2589 A Song of Sherwood Alfred Noyes 2591 Godiva Alfred Tennyson 2593 Dover Beach Maithew Arnold 2595 St. Michael's Mount. John Davidson 2596 Sonnet Composed Upon Westminster Bridge William Wordsworth 2597 A Song of Fleet Street Alice Werner 2597 Song John Davidson 2598 St. James's Street Frederick Locker-Lam pson . . 2599 The South Country Hilaire Belloc 2601 Edinburgh Alfred Noyes 2603 Corrymeela Moira O'Neill 2604 The Little Waves of Breffny Eva Gore-Booth 2605 A Song of Glenann Moira O'Neill 2605 The Maiden City Charlotte Elizabeth Tonna. . . 2606 The Dead at Clonmacnois T. M. Rolleston 2607 Sweet Innisfallen Thoynas Moore 2607 "Ah, Sweet is Tipperar>'" Denis Aloysius McCarthy. . . 2608 The Groves of Blarney Richard Alfred Millikin . . . . 2609 The Bells of Shandon Francis Sylvester Mahony. . . 2610 "De Gustibus — " Robert Browning 2611 Itahan Rhapsody Robert Underwood Johnsmi. . 2613 Above Salerno A^da Foster Murray 2616 Venice George Gordon Byron 2618 Venice John Addington Sy^nonds . . . 2619 On the Extinction of the Venetian Republic William- Wordsworth 2619 The Guardian- Angel Robert Browning 2620 Perugia Ajnelia Josephine Burr 2621 ''There is a Pool on Garda" Clinton ScoUard. 2623 Chorus from "Hellas" Percy Bysshe Shelley 2623 The Isles of Greece George Gordoji Byron 2625 The Belfr\- of Bruges Henry Wadsworth Lotigfellow 2627 Nuremberg Henry Wadszi'orth Longfellow 2632 Bingen on the Rhine Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Nor- ton 2634 "As I Came Down from Lebanon "... Clinton ScoUard 2637 Cejdon A. Hugh Fisher . 2638 Mandalay Rudyard KipBig . 2638 Nubia .Bayard Taylor 2640 BALLADS OLD AND XEW Thomas the Rhymer Unknown 2641 Earl ;Mar's Daughter Unknown 2643 The Twa Sisters Unknown 2648 The Wife of Usher's Well Unknown 2650 A Lyke-Wake Dirge Unkno-m 2652 The Douglas Tragedy . . . .;,. ^ .^, .^ . . . Unknown 2653 Table of Contents Ixvii PAGE Fair Annie Unknown 2656 The Lass of Lochroyan Unknown 2660 Young Beichan and Susie Pye Unknown 2666 The Gay Gos-Hawk Unknown . 2671 Sweet William and May Marg'ret . . . Unknown 2676 Willy Reilly Unknown 2678 The Twa Corbies Unknown 2680 The Three Ravens Unknown 2680 Lord Randal Unknown 2681 Edward, Edward Unknoion 26S2 Riddles Wisely Expounded Unknown 2683 Sir Patrick Spens Unknown 2685 Edom o' Gordon Unknown 2688 Robin Hood and Allen-a-Dale Unknown 2692 Cheyy-Chase Unknown 2695 Barbara Allen's Cruelty Unknown 2704 The Bailiff's Daughter of Islington . . . Unknown 2705 King John and the Abbot of Canter- bury Unknown 2707 The Friar of Orders Gray Thomas Percy 2710 Bonnie George Campbell Unknotvn • • ■ • 2714 Rosabelle .....' Walter Scott 2715 Alice Brand Walter Scott. 2716 Song from "Rokeby" Walter Scott. . 2720 Glenara Thomas Campbell 2722 Lord UUin's Daughter Thomas Campbell 2723 Sir Galahad Alfred Tennyson 2724 Lady Clare Alfred Tennyson 2727 Glenkindie William Bell Scott 2730 "How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix" Robert Browning 2732 The Old Scottish Cavalier. . . .• William Edmonstoune Ay- toun 2734 The Ballad of Keith of Ravelston . . . .Sydney Dobell 2736 The Mistletoe Bough Thomas Haynes Bayly 2738 The Abbot of Inisfalen William Allinghayn 2739 The Cavalier's Escape Walter Thornbury 2742 The Three Troopers Walter Thornbury 2743 The Sally from Coventry Walter Thornbury 2745 Shameful Death William Morris 2746 The Rime of the Ancient Mariner. . .Samuel Taylor Coleridge. . . . 2747 The Dream of Eugene Aram Thomas Hood 2767 The Ballad of Reading Gaol Oscar Wilde 2773 The Ballad of Judas Iscaript Robert Buchanan 2791 He Fell Among Thieves Henry Newbolt 2797 The Last Hunt William Roscoe Thayer ..... 2799 Andre's Ride. A.H. Beesly 2801 The'Ballad of Father Gilligan William Butler Yeats 2803 Herve Riel Robert Browning , . . . . 2804 The Highwayman * .Alfred Noyes 2809 Lancelot and Guinevere. Gerald Gould 2813 Ballad of the Goodly Fere Ezra Pound 2814 Eve Ralph Hodgson 2816 "Time, You Old Gipsy Man" Ralph Hodgson 2817 Chanson of the Bells of Oseney Cale Young Rice 2818 The Waste Places James Stephens 2819 The Warrior Maid Anna Hempstead Branch. . . . 2821 The Songs of Guthrum and Alfred. . . . Gilbert Keith Chesterton 2823 The Pageant of Seamen . May Byron 2827 The Ballad of East and West Rudyard Kipling 2830 fthe Maid Theodore Roberts 2834 Ixviii Table of Contents PART VI ■ POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION PAGE The Noble Nature Ben Jonson 2836 THE PHILOSOPHY OF LIFE Sweet and Sour Edmund Spenser 2837 On the Life of Man Henry King 2837 All IS Vanity Philip Rosseter . , 2838 Times Go by Turns Robert Southwell 2938 "Say not, the Struggle Naught Avail- eth" Arthur Hugh Clough 2839 Kyrielle John Payne 2840 "Let Me Enjoy " Thomas Hardy 2841 Song, " Because the rose must fade " . . Richard Watson Gilder 284 1 "Where Runs the River" Francis William Bourdillon . 2842 Self-Dependence Matthew Arnold . 2843 Hope and Fear Algernon Charles Swinburne. 2844 On His Blindness John Milton 2844 Ozymandias of Egypt Percy Bysshe Shelley . 2844 A Turkish Legend Thomas Bailey Aldrich ..... 2845 "Even This Shall Pass Away" Theodore Tilton 2845 Sesostris Lloyd Mifflin 2847 Three Sonnets on ObHvion George Sterling . 2847 The Magic Mirror Henry Mills Alden 2849 Ebb and Flow George William Curtis 2849 The King of Dreams Clinton Scollard 2850 If Only the Dreams Abide Clinton Scollard 2850 New Dreams for Old Cale Young Rice 285 1 "Lordof My Heart's Elation" Bliss Carman 2852 The Higher Pantheism Alfred Tennyson 2852 The White Peace William Sharp 2853 The Mystic's Prayer William. Sharp 2854 The Play James B. Kenyan 2854 The Wayfarer Helen Huntington 2854 Bookra Charles Dudley Warner 2856 Into the Twilight William Butler Yeats 2856 Tears Lizette Woodworth Reese .... 2857 Vers la Vie A rthur Upson 2855 Leaves Sara Teasdale 2855 Pre-Existence Paul Hamilton Hayne 2854 Envoy from "Songs from Vaga- bondia " Bliss Carman ,2858 The Petrified Fern .Mary Bolles Branch : . . '2859 The Question Whither George Meredith 2860 The Good Great Man Samuel Taylor'Coleridge. . . . 2860 Human Frailty William Cowper 2861 Stanzas, "Where forlorn sunsets flare and fade" William Ernest Henley 2862 The Seekers John Masefield 2863 The Beleaguered City Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 2863 A Doubting Heart Adelaide Anne Procter 2865 Vain Virtues Dante Gabriel Rossetti 2866 Evolution John Banister Tabb 2866 Each in His Own Tongue William Herbert Carrulh.. . . 2867 The Name Don Marquis 2868 "In God's Eternal Studios" Paul Shivell 2869 Indirection Richard RealJ 2870 Table of Contents Ixix PAGE A Grammarian's Funeral Robert Browning. 2871 TheRubaiyatof Omar Khayyam. . . .Edward Fitzgerald 2875 The Kasidah Richard Francis Bzirton .... 2887 Gaudeamus Igitur John Addington Synionds, tr. 2805 Lauriger Horatius John Addington Symonds, tr. 2806 The Conclusion of the Whole Matter. . Frederic Ridgcly Torrence . . . 2897 In Memoriam Alfred Tennyson 2898 Driftwood Trumbull Stickney . 2906 "What Riches Have You " George Santayana 2907 " Q World " George Santayana 2907 The Rustic at the Play George Santayana 2908 To Hasekawa Walter Conrad Arensberg.. . . 2908 Life, a Question Corinne Roosevelt Robinson. . 2908 The Earth and Man Stopford Augustus Brooke. . . 2909 Deservings Unknown 2909 "A Little Work" George du Maurier 2910 Man's Days Eden Phillpotts . 2910 A Little While Don Marquis 291 1 THE CONDUCT OF LIFE Integer Vitae Thomas Campion ..,....,. 2912 The Chambered Nautilus Oliver Wendell Holmes .... 2913 A Psalm of Life Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 2914 Excelsior Henry Wadsworth Longfelloiv 2915 The Village Blacksmith Henry Wads-worth Longfellow 2916 Four Things Henry Van Dyke 2918 Labor and Love Edmund Gosse ............ 2918 What is Good John Boyle O'Reilly 2918 Faith Frances Anne Kcmble 2919 A Charge Herbert Trench 2919 To-day Thomas Carlyle 2920 "My Days Among the Dead are Passed" . Robert Southey . 2920 Opportunity .John James Ingalls 2921 Opportunity Walter M alone 2922 Opportunity Edward Rowland Sill 2923 The Arrow and the Song Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 2923 Calumny Frances Sargent Osgood. .... 2924 The Eflfect of Example John Keble . . ...... . . . .... 2924 Little and Great Charles Mackay . . .' .' . ." ... . i . 2925 The Sin of Omission Margaret Songster .... .. . '. . 2926 The Flower Alfred Tennyson 2927 Stanzas Emily Bronte 2928 Solitude Ella Wheeler Wilcox 2929 Recompense Nixon Waterman 2929 The Lesson of the Water-mill Sarah Doudney 2930 Life George Herbert 2931 Be True Horatius Bonar . . ......... 2932 To-day Lydia Avery Coonley Ward. . 2932 The Valley of Vain Verses Henry Van Dyke .- 2933 A Thanksgiving William Dean Howells 2933 The Lady Poverty Alice Meynell 2934 The Lady Poverty Jacob Fischer 2934 Character of the Happy Warrior William Wordsworth 2935 The Great Adventure Henry David Thoreau 2937 "He Whom a Dream Hath Possessed ''Shaemas O Sheel 2938 Mastery Sara Teasdale 2938 A Praj-er Harry Kemp 2939 Prayer Louis Untermeyer 2940 Prayer for Pain John G. Neihardt 2940 Carry On! Robert W. Service. ......... 2941 Ixx Table of Contents PAGE The Fighting Failure Everard Jack Appleton 2942 The Prayer of Beaten Men. William Hervey Woods 2944 The Last Word Matthew Arnold 2944 lo Victis William Wetmore Story 2945 "They Went Forth to Battle but They Always Fell" . . . . ; Shaemas Sheel 2946 The ZVIasters Laurence Hope 2947 The Klings Louise Imogen Guiney 2949 Failures Arthiir Upson 2950 Don Quixote Austin Dobson 2950 A Prayer Jofm Drinkwater 2951 Battle Cry John G. Neihardt 2952 Rabia James Freeman Clarke 2953 The Joyful Wisdom Coventry Patmore 2953 Ode to Duty William Wordsworth 2955 Chant Royal of High Virtue A. T. Quiller-Couch 2957 The Splendid Spur A. T. Quiller-Couch. ....... 2959 Sacrifice Ralph Waldo Emerson. ..... 2959 THE TR.\NSCENDENT.\LISTS Conscience Henry David Thoreau 2960 My Prayer Henry David Thoreau 2961 Inspiration Henry David Thoreau 2961 Each and All Ralph Waldo Eynerson 2962 Brahma Ralph Waldo Emerson 2964 Bacchus Ralph Waldo Emerson 2964 The Problem Ralph Waldo Emerson 2966 Evening Hymn William Henry Furness 2968 The Higher Good Theodore Parker 2969 The Idler Jones Very 2970 Questionings Frederic Henry Hedge 2970 The Great Voices Charles Timothy Brooks 2972 Beauty and Duty Ellen Hooper 2972 The Straight Road Ellen Hooper 2973 The Way Sydney Henry Morse 2973 Inspiration Samuel Johnson 2973 I in Thee, and Thou in Me. Christopher Pearse Cranch.. . 2974 Gnosis Christopher Pearse Cranch.. . 2975 The Future Edward Rowland Sill 2976 Love's Lord Edward Dowden 2977 A MIND CONTENT "Jog On, Jog On" William Shakespeare 2978 Oil a Contented Mind Thomas Vaux 2978 Mssia's Song from "Farewell to Folly " Robert Greene 2979 The Means to Attain Happy Life Henry Howard 2979 Risposta . Unknown 2980 A Contented Mind Joshua Sylvester 2980 The Happy Heart Thomas Dekker 2981 The :\Iiller of the Dee Charles Mackay 2982 A Philosopher Johi Kendrick Bangs 2983 The Good Day. . Henry Howarth Bashford. . . . 2983 "I Saw the Clouds" Hervey White ■ 2984 Coronation Helen Hunt Jackson 2985 The Character of a Happy Life Henry Wotton 2986 "My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is" . . . Edward Dyer 2987 Written at an Inn at Henley William Shenstone 2988 Careless Content John Byrom 2989 The Golden Mean William Cowper 2991 Table of Contents Ixxi PAGE ''It's Ain Drap o' Dew" James Ballantine 29g2 Resignation Walter Savage Landor 2993 "En Voyage" Caroline Atwater Mason .... 2993; The Happiest Heart John Vance Cheney 2994 Good-bye .Ralph Waldo Emerson. ..... 2995 Sapientia Lunae Ernest Dowson 2995 The Beasts Walt Whitman 2996 Immoral James Oppenheim 2997 Diogenes Max Eastman 2997 Leisure William H. Davies 2998 Poor Kings William H. Davies 2998 FRIENDSHIP AND BROTHERHOOD Salve Thomas Edward Brown 2999 Abou Ben Adhem Leigh Hunt 2999 Envoy from "More Songs from Vagabondia" Richard Hovey 3000 Friends Edward Verrall Lucas ...... 3000 A Friend Lionel Johnson. .... . ... . . . 3001 Bill and Joe Oliver Wendell Holmes. 3002 '•'As Toilsome I Wandered Virginia's Woods" Walt Whitman 3004 Gone Mary E. Coleridge 3005 Comrades George Edward Woodberry. . . 3005 Comrades Lionel Johnson 3006 Comrades Laurence Housman 3008 At the Crossroads Richard Hovey 3009 Twilight Song .Edwin Arlington Robinson . . 301 1 The Adventurers May Byron 3012 "Fame is, .a, JFoQd that Dead Men Eat " . .■ . V VA J ]( Austin Dobson 3013 Jaffar . . . '. ". '. '. '. ..*,■.'. Leigh Hunt 3013 Counsel . ^ ill . . I Mary Evelyn Moore Davis.. . 3014. To a Friend Hartley Coleridge 3015 "Farewell, but Whenever" Thomas Moore 3015 "Awake, Awake" . Tohn Ruskin 3016 The Voice of Toil William Morris 3017 Tom Dunstan . Robert Buchanan 3018 The Common Street Helen Gray Cone 3021 To a New York Shop-Girl Dressed for Sunday Anna Hempstead Branch.. . . 3021 Saturday Night James Oppenheim 3024 The Barrel-Organ .Alfred Noyes 3025 Amantium Irae Richard Edwards 3031 Qua Cursum Ventus Arthur Hugh Clough 3033 "For a' That and a' That" Robert Burns 3034 "We are Brethren a'" Robert Nicoll. 3035 Fraternity : John Banister Tabb 3036 Sonnet ^vv^Wf 'W ■ • ■^^^'I'y Timrod 3036 Sic Ttur : .>^;, ^. .5 •. . . A rthur Hugh Clough 3037 Verses .'"..'; V William Cowper 3038 "Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind". . .William Shakespeare. 3039 The House by the Side of the Road . . . Sam Walter Foss 3040 The Man with the Hoe Edwin Markham 3041 The Man with the Hoe, a Reply John Vance Cheney 3043 The Singing Man Josephine Preston Peabody. . 3045 "Scum o' the Earth" Robert Haven Schauffler 3052 The Second Coming Norman Gale 3054 The Night Court Ruth Comfort Mitchell 3055 The Factories Margaret Widdemer 3057 Black Sheep Richard Burton 3058 [xxii Table of Contents PAGE The Dream-Bearer Mary Carolyn Davies 30.58 Sunday Evening in the Common. . . .John Hall Wheelock 3059 CaUban in the Coal Mines Louis Unlermeyer .3059 Landscapes .Louis Unlermeyer. 3060 Stupidity Street Ralph Hodgson 3061 A Troop of the Guard Hermann Hagedorn 3062 The God-maker. Man Don Marquis 3065 The Field of Glory •. Lldwin Arlington Robinson . . 3067 The Conquerors .Harry Kemp 3068 The Arsenal at Springfield.. . Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 3069 The Little Sister of the Prophet Marjorie L. C. Pickthall. . . . 3071 The Sons of Martha Rudyard Kipling 3072 The Tuft of Flowers Robert Frost 3074 Mending Wall Robert Frost. . 3075 Forbearance Ralph Waldo Emerson 3076 THE MUSIC-MAKERS '^i Israfel Edgar Allan Foe 3077 Proem John Greenleaf Whitlier.. . . . 3078 Embryo. Mary Ashley Townsend 3079 The Singer's Prelude William Morris 3080 A Prelude Maurice Thompson 3081 On First looking into Chapman's Homer John Keats 3082 The Odyssey Andrew Lang 3083 Homeric Unity Andrew Lang 3083 "Enamored Architect of Airy Rhyme" Thomas Bailey Aldrich 3083 Divina Commedia Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 3084 "A Man Called Dante, I Have Heard " Georgiana Goddard King. . . . 3084 The Songs I Sing. Charles G. Blanden 3085 The Dearest Poets. Leigh Hunt 3085 False Poets and True Thomas Hood ....;... 3085 A Singing Lesson Algernon Charles Swinburne. 3086 Poetry _. Ella Heath 3086 The Inner Vision William Wordsworth 3087 On an Old Song ; William Edward Hartpole Lecky 3087 To Song Thomas S. Jones, Jr 3088 Verse — "Past ruined Ilion" Walter Savage Landor 3089 An Old-Fashioned Poet Ada Foster Murray 3089 Poet and Lark Mary Ainge De Vere 3089 A Hint from Herrick Thomas Bailey Aldrich ..... 3090 To the Poets. John Keats : 3090 The Progress of Poesy Thomas Gray 3091 Seaweed ... . . . '. .Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 3094 To the Muses. William Blake 3096 "Whither is Gone the Wisdom and the Power " Hartley Coleridge . : 3096 The Muses Edith Matilda Thomas 3097 Evoe! Edith Matilda Thomas 3098 An Invocation William Johnson-Cory 3099 Invention William Watson 3100 Joy of the Morning Edwin Markham 3100 Cricket Clinton Scollard 3101 To a Poet a Thousand Years Hence. . . James Elroy Flecker 3101 The Moods Fannie Stearns Davis 3102 The Passionate Reader to His Poet. .Richard Le Gallienne : . 3102 The Flight of the Goddess Thomas Bailey Aldrich 3103 The Sovereigns. . - r,<3^,^,a?l- b-« ■ "^^^^^ Mifflin 3105 Table of Contents Ixxiii PAGE The Argument of His book Robert Herrick 3105 Envoy Robert Louis Stevenson 3106 Envoy Francis Thompson 3106 The Sonnet's Voice Theodore Walts-Duulon 3106 The Sonnet Dante Gabriel Rossclli 3x07 The Sonnet Richard Watson Gilder 3 107 The Sonnet John Addington Symonds . . . 3108 "Scorn not the Sonnet" William Wordsworth 3109 Vendor's Song Adelaide Crapsey 3109 Thunderstorms William U, Davies 3 1 10 Genius Loci Margaret Woods 3 1 10 The Rondeau Austin Dobson 3111 Metrical Feet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. ... 3111 Accident in Art Richard Hovey 3 1 1 2 A Song for St. CeciHa's Day John Drydcn 3112 Alexander's Feast John Dryden 3114 The Passions William Collins 31 19 To Music, to Becalm his Fever Robert Hetrick 3123 A Musical Instrument. . . .' Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . 3124 At a Solemn Music John Milton 3x25 With a Guitar, to Jane Percy Bysshe Shelley 3126 Ode — "We are the music-makers". . .Arthur O'Shaughnessy 3128 Music Edith Matilda Thomas 3130 On Music Walter Savage Landor 3 131 Music at Twilight George Sterling 3 131 The Key-Board ^ William Watson 3132 A Tocatta of Galuppi's .Robert Browning.. 3133 Abt Vogler Robert Browning 3135 Hack and Hew Bliss Carman 3139 Ars Victrix Austin Dobson 3140 ';. FLOWER O' THE MIND Fancies John Ford 3 142 Tom o' Bedlam Unknown 3142 L'Allegro John Milton 3143 II Penseroso . , John Milton 3147 Kilmeny James Hogg 3151 Kubla Khan Samuel Taylor Coleridge .... 3 1 60 Hymn of Pan Percy Bysshe Shelley 3162 Ode on a Grecian Urn John Keats. 3163 Ode to Psyche John Keats 3164 To Fancy Johi Keats 3166 The Haunted Palace Edgar Allan Poe 3168 The Raven Edgar Allan Poe 3170 The Bells .Edgar Allan Poe 3174 The Lotos-Eaters .Alfred Tennyson 3178 Ulysses Alfred Tennyson 3i79 Morte D'Arthur . .Alfred Temiyson 3181 The Lady of Shalott Alfred Tennyson 3188 Song from "Paracelsus" Robert Browning 3192 The Swimmers George Sterling 3194 The Blessed Damozel Da?ite Gabriel Rossetti 3198 A Song of Angiola in Heaven Austin Dobson 3202 The Hound of Heaven Francis Thompson 3204 Wild Eden George Edward Woodberry. . . 3209 The Aztec City Eugene Fitch Ware 3211 Before a Statue of Achilles George Santayana 3212 "I Flung me Round Him" Roden Noel. . 3213 The Queen's Song James Elroy Flecker. ...... 3214 Balkis Lascellts Abercrombie 3215 The Gates of Dreamland. George William Russell. .... 3216 Ixxiv Table of Contents PAGE Edith William Ellery Channing . . . 3217 Tenants Wilfrid Wilson Gibson 3218 The Listeners Walter de la Mare 3219 "CARE-CHARMER SLEEP" Sleep John Fletcher 3220 "Sleep, Silence' Child" William Drummond 3220 To Sleep William Wordsworth 3221 Vixi Unknown . 3221 Sleep Ada Louise Martin. . 3222 The Quiet Nights Katharine Tynan 3222 The Night Hilaire Belloc 3223 O Sleep Grace Fallow Norton 3224 The Wharf of Dreams Edwin Markham 3224 HOME AND FATHERLAND "Hame, Hame, Hame" Allan Cunningham 3226 Home, Sweet Home. John Howard Payne 3226 My Old Kentucky Home Stephen Collins Foster 3227 Old Folks at Home Stephen Collins Foster 3 2 28 Home William Ernest Henley 3229 Hot Weather in the Plains — India. . . .E. H. Tipple 3230 Heart's Content Unknown 3231 Song — "Stay, stay at home, my heart and rest" Henry Wadsworth I^ongfellow 3232 My Early Home John Clare 3233 The Old Home Madison Cawein 3233 The Auld House Carolina Nairne 3234 The Rowan Tree Carolina Nairne 3236 The Fire of Driftwood Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 3236 My Ain Fireside Elizabeth Hamilton 3238 The Ingle-Side Hew Ainslee 3239 The Cane-bottomed Chair. William Makepeace Thack- eray. ^ 3239 Duna Marjorie L. C. Pickthall. . . . 3241 The Old Clock on the Stairs Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 3242 "Mother, Home, Heaven" William Goldsmith Brown.. . 3244 The Hero . .Robert Nicoll 3244 The Cotter's Saturday Night Robert Burns " 3246 On the Receipt of My Mother's Pic- ture William Cowper 3251 The Crowing of the Red Cock Emma Lazarus 3254 The World's Justice Emma Lazarus 3255 Dover Cliffs William Lisle Boivles 3257 The Bridge Frederick Peterson 3257 The Exile's Song Robert Gilfillan 3258 "The Sun Rises Bright in France" . . .Allan Cunningham 3259 Father Land and Mother Tongue . . . .Samuel Lover. 3259 The Fatherland James Russell Lowell 3260 The Call to a Scot Ruth Guthrie Harding 3261 NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE POEMS The Deserted Village Oliver Goldsmith 3262 The Prisoner of Chillon. George Gordon Byron. ...... 3273 The Eve of St. Agnes .Johfi Treats 3284 Locksley Hall Alfred Tennyson 3295 The Scholar-Gipsy Matthew Arnold 3305 Juggling Jerry George Meredith 3312 Table of Contents Ixxv PAGE A Court Lady Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . 3315 The High Tide on the Coast of Lin- colnshire Jean Ingelow 3318 The Skeleton in Armor Henry Wadsworlh Longfellow 3323 Daniel Gray Josiah Gilbert Holland.'. .... 3327 " Curfew Must not Ring To-night "... Rose Hartwick Thorpe 3329 The Old Sergeant Byron Forceythe Willson. . . . 3332 Jim Bludso of the Prairie Bell John Hay 3337 Little Breeches Johfi Hay 3339 The \'agabonds John Toivnsend Trowbridge.. 3340 How We Beat the Favorite Adam Lindsay Gordon 3344 PART VII .POEMS OF SORROW, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY "Death be not Proud" .John Donne 3348 IN THE SHADOW Melancholy .John Fletcher 3349 On Melancholy John Keats 3349 The Rainy Day Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 3350 The Precept of Silence Lionel Johnson 3351 "Moan, Moan, Ye Dying Gales". . . .Henry Necle 3351 Sorrow Aubrey Thomas De Vere. . . . 3352 Time and Grief. .... Williafn Lisle Bowles 3352 Grief Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . 3353 Pain St. John Lucas 3353 A Farewell Alfred Tennyson 3354 "The Day is Done" Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 3355 The Bridge Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 3356 "My Life is Like the Summer Rose".. 7?/c//arJ/Z'e»ry Wilde.. 3358 "As I Laye A-Thynkynge" Richard Harris Barham 3359 The Harp of Sorrow Ethel Clifford 3360 The Journey Onwards Thomas Moore 3360 Song, "I try to knead and spin". . . .Louise Imogen Guiney 3361 My Sorrow Seumas 0' Sullivan. ........ 3362 Spirit of Sadness Richard Le Gallienne 3362 " 'Tis But a Little Faded Flower " .... Ellen Clcmcfitine Howarth. . . 3363 To Each His Own Margaret Root Garvin 3363 Song, "Rarely, rarely comest thou" . .Percy Bysshe Shelley 3364 The Nameless One James Clarence Mangan .... 3365 "De Mortuis Nil Nisi Bonum" Richard Realf 3367 Hope and Despair . .Lascelles Abercrombie 3368 Dejection: An Ode. Sa^nuel Taylor Coleridge . ... 3369 Work without Hope. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. . . . 3373 Care Virginia Woodward Cloud. . . 3373 At the Salon Florence Wilkinson Evans. . . 3373 The Wind's Way Grace Hazard Conkling 3374 Tropical Town Salomon de la Selva , 3374 Sunset Wings Dante Gabriel Rossetti 3375 Morality. Matthew Arnold. 3376 Cui Bono Thomas Carlyle 3377 Mutability Percy Bysshe Shelley 3377 A Fanc3' from Fontenelle Austin Dobson 3378 "Oh, Earher Shall the Rosebuds Blow" William- Johnson-Cory 3378 The Dove John Keats 3379 The Whisperers Wilfrid Wilson Gibson 3379 Ixxvi Table of Contents PAGE On a Tear Samuel Rogers 3380 The Rosary of My Tears Ahrani J. Ryan 3381 Endurance Elizabeth Akers 3382 Langley Lane Robert Buchanan 3383 The Weakest Thing Elizabeth Barrett Browning . . 3385 Song — "We only ask for sunshine". . . Helen Hay Whitney 3386 The House of Pain Floretice Earle Coates 3386 Wise, Lizette Woodworth Reese .... 3387 "Multum Dilexit" Hartley Coleridge 3387 Pierette in Memory William Griffith 3388 "Wind me a Summer Crown" Menella Bute Smedley 3388 To the Harpies Arthur Davison Ficke 3389 The Bridge of Sighs Thomas Hood 3390 The Song of the Shirt Thomas Hood 3393 Stanzas, "In a drear-nighted De- cember " John Keats 3395 The Dead Faith Fannie Heaslip Lea 3396 The Ballad of The Boat Richard Garnett 3396 Eldorado Edgar Allan Foe 3397 A Lost Chord Adelaide Anne Procter 3398 Little Gray Songs from St. Joseph's.. Grace Fallow Norton 3399 Birthright .John Drinkivater 3401 Immortahs David Morton 3401 Sonnets John Masefield 3401 ; "THE DESPOT'S DESPOT" -Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam Ernest Dowson 3404 Death's Final Conquest . .James Shirley 3404 Death's Subtle Ways James Shirley 3405 Man's Mortality Simon Wastell 3405 To Death Anne Finch 3407 The Genius of Death George Croly 3408 "Oh, Why Should the Spirit of Mor- tal be Proud " William Knox 3409 The Hour of Death Felicia Dorothea Hemans.. . . 34 11 The Sleep Elizabeth Barrett Browning . . 3412 Azrael Robert Gilbert Welsh 3414 "Where Lies the Land" Arthur Hugh Clough 3414 Up-hill Christina Georgina Rossetti. . 3415 The Bourne Christina Georgina Rossetti. . 3415 The Conqueror Worm Edgar Allan Foe 3416 The City in the Sea . .Edgar Allan Foe 3417 The Reaper and the Flowers.. ..... .Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 3418 The Closing Scene Thomas Buchanan Read. ... 3419 Mors et Vita Samuel Waddington 3422 "What is to Qome " ; William Ernest Henley 3422 A Roundel of Rest Arthur Symons 3423 "When the Most is Said" Mary Ainge de Vere 3423 The Garden of Proserpine Algernon Charles Swinburne. 3424 The Changing Road Katherine Lee Bates 3427 The Great Misgiving William Watson 3428 The Dead Coach Katharine Tynan 3429 L'Envoi Willa Sibert Gather 3429 Death Florence Earle Coates 343o A Dirge John Webster 3430 Dirge from "Cymbeline". William Shakespeare 3431 Dirge in Cymbeline William Collins 3431 Hallowed Ground Thomas Campbell 3432 The Churchyard , Robert Buchanan 3435 The Old Churchyard of Bonchurch . . . Philip Bourke Marston 3436 Table of Contents Ixx vn PAGE The Indian Burj'ing-ground Philip Freneau 3438 God'5-Acre Henry Wadsuorth LongfeUow 3439 The Citj- of the Dead Richard Burton 3440 The Garden that I Love Florence L. Henderson 3441 The Old Sexton Park Benjamin 344i The Two ^'iIlages Rose Terry Cooke 3442 Daybreak Henry Wads-Luorth Longfellow 3443 Thanatopsis William Cidlen Bryant 3444 The Dance of Death Austin Dobsan 3446 '•'FACIXG THE SUXSET" The Lie Waller Raleigh 3449 His Pilgrimage Walter Raleigh . . .-, 3451 The Conclasion. Walter Raleigh 3453 Death's Summons Thomas Xashe 3453 His Winding-Sheet Robert Herrick 3454 A Praj-er in the Prospect of Death. . . Robert Burns 3455 Song of the Silent Land Henry Wadsuorth LongjeUow 3456 June William Cidlen Bryant 345? Love, Time, and Death Frederick Locker-Lam pson . . 3458 A Wish ilaitJieu.' Arfiold 3459 Next of Kin Christina Georgiua Rcssetti.. 3460 A Better Resurrection Christina Georgina Rossetti. . 3'46r The Summer is Ended Christina Georgina Rossetti. . 3462 A Little Parable Anne Reeve Aldrich 3462 ;My Cross Zitella Cocke 3463 In the Hospital Mary Woolsey Howland .... 3463 When Sarah Chauncey Woolsey. . . . 3464 ''Ex Libris" Arthur Upson 3466 In Extremis George Sterling 3466 Spinning Helen Hunt Jackson 3467 "Some Time at Eve" Lizzie Clark Hardy 3468 Xight T.W. RoUeston 3469 Afterwards Violet Fane 3469 A Hundred Years to Come William Goldsmith Broum. . . 3470 The Last Camp-fire Sharlot M. Hall . 3471 Interlude Ella Wheeler Wilcox 3472 The One Hope Dante Gabriel Rossetti 3473 The I^mp in the West Ella Eigginson 3473 The Djdng Reservist Maurice Baring 3474 'Tf Love were Jester at the Court of Death" Frederic Laurence Knowks. . 3474T Constancj- Minor Watson 3475 The Wild Ride Louise Lmogen Giiiney 3475 •T Would not Live Alway" William Augustus Muhleti- berg 3476 Traveller's Hope Charles GranTille 3478 Sealed Orders Richard Burton 3478 Song, "T make mj- shroud" Adelaide Crapsey . ......... 34781 A Song of Li\-ing Amelia Josephine Burr 3479" Compensation y • ■ • ■P'^ul Laurence Dunbar 3479 The Recessional Charles G. D. Roberts 34S0 Jklountain Song Harriet Monroe 3481 To M. E. W Gilbert Keith Chesterton 3482 Returning Ruth Guthrie Harding 3482 '"O World, be not So Fair" Grace Falloic Norton 3483 ^'OXE FIGHT MORE" Prospice Robert Brouming 3484 Requiem Robtrt Louis Stevenson 4385 :Xxviii Table of Contents PAGE " Oh May I Join the Choir Invisible " . George Eliot 3485 Last Lines Emily Bronte 3486 Laus Mortis Frederic Lawrence Knowles. . 3487 "When I Have Fears" John Keats. ../.... 3488 Last Sonnet John Keats 2489 The Dying Christian to His Soul . . . .Alexander Pope 3489 "Beyond the Smiling and the Weep- ing" Horatius Bonar 3490 "I Strove with None" Walter Savage Landor 3491 Death Walter Savage Landor 3491 Life Anna Letitia Barbauld 3491 Dying Hymn Alice Gary 3492 In Harbor Paul Hamilton Hayne 3493 The Last Invocation Walt Whitman 3494 "Darest Thou Now, O Soul" Walt Whitman : 3494 Waiting John Burroughs 3495 In the Dark George Arnold 3496 Last Verses William Moiherd'ell 3496 The Rubicon William Winter 3497 When I Have Gone Weird W^ays John G. Neihardt 3498 A Rhyme of Life Charles Warren Stoddard.. . . 3499 "Thalatta! Thalatta" Joseph Broiimlee Brou'n 3499 Requiem F. Norreys Connell 3500 Invictus William Ernest Henley 3500 "A Late Lark Twitters from the Quiet Skies" William Ernest Henley 3501 "In After Days" Austin Dohson 3502 "Call Me Not Dead" Richard Watson Gilder 3502 Epilogue from "Asolando" Robert Browning 3503 Crossing the Bar Alfred Tennyson 3504 L'Envoi Rudyard Kipling 3504 Envoi John G. Neihardt 3505 Greek Folk Song Margaret Widdemer 3506 "When I am Dead and Sister to the Dust " Elsa Barker 3506 A Parting Guest James Whitcomb Riley 3507 The Stirrup Cup John Hay 3507 "THEY ARE ALL GONE" Friends Departed Henry Vaughan 3508 "Over the River" Nancy Woodbury Priest 3509 Resignation Henry Wadsivorth Longfellow 3510 Afterward Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward 3512 Sometime May Riley Synith 35 13 "The Mourners Came at Break of Day" Sarah Flower Adams 3514 What of The Darkness? Richard Le Gallienne 3515 A Sea Dirge William Shakespeare 3516 Epitaphs Ben Jonson 3516 Song from "The Devil's Law Case" . . John Webster 3517 On the Tombs in Westminster Francis Beaumont 3517 Epitaph on the Countess Dowager of Pembroke William Browne 3518 An Epitaph Intended for Himself. . . .James Beattie 3518 Lycidas John Milton 35^9 To the Pious Memory of the Accpm- plished Young Lady, Mrs. Anne Killigrew John Dryden 3524 Heraclitus William Johnson-Cory 3529 Elegy to the Memory of an Unfor- tunate Lady Alexander Pope 353© Table of Contents Ixxix Elegy Written in a Countn.- Church- yard Thomas Gray 3532 The Settlers Laurence Emisman 3536 "He Bringeth Them Unto Their De- sired Haven" L. Frank Tooker 3537 In the Lilac-rain Edith Matilda Thomas 3539 A Dead March Cosmo Monkhouse 3540 Tommy's Dead Sydney Dohell 3542 In Memoriam Richard Monckton Milnes. . . 3545 Her Epitaph Thomas William Parsons . . . 3545 The Death Bed Thomas Hood '. 3546 Hester , Charles Lamb 3547 "Softly Woo Away Her Breath'' . . . .Bryan Waller Procter 3548 A Death-Bed James Aldrich 3548 "She Died in Beauty" Charles Doyne Sillery 3548 The White Jessamine John Banister Tahb 3549 Early Death Hartley Coleridge 355° The Moss-Rose Henry Xrd-bolt 3550 A Requiem , James Thomson 355i Dirge Felicia Dorothea Hemans 3551 The Lamp of Poor Souls Marjorie L. C. Pickthall. ... 3552 Sentence Witter Bynner 3553 Resurrection Harry Kenlp 3553 The Sleeper Clinton Scollard 3553 The Widow's Mite Frederick Locker-Lampson . . 3554 Mother and Poet Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . 3555 A Mother in Egj-pt Marjorie L. C. Pickthall. . . . 3558 The Dark Road Ethel Clifford 3559 Out of Hearing Jane Barloriv 3560 '■John Anderson, My Jo" Charles G. Blanden 3560 The Spring of the Year Allan Cimningham 3561 The Graves of a Household Felicia Dorothea Hemans.. . . 3561 The Family Meeting Charles Sprague 3562 The Two .\pril ^lornings William Words'worth 3564 " Surprised bj' Joy " William Wordsworth 3566 The Revel Bartholomrw Douling 3566 The Choice Dante Gabriel Rossetti 3568 Readen ov a Head-Stwone William Barnes 3569 The Two Mysteries Mary Mapes Dodge 3570 Forever John Boyle O'Reilly 3571 Xow and Afterwards Dinah Maria Miilock Craik . 3572 '"Xow the Laborer's Task is O'er".. . .John Lodge Ellerton 3573 Love and Death ifargarel Deland 3574 \'an Elsen Frederick George Scott 3574 The Flight Lloyd Mijflin 3575 Ripe Grain Dora Reed Goodale 3575 "The Land Which Xo Otie Knows" Ebenezer Elliott 3576 The Hills of Rest Albert Bigeloiv Paine 3577 At the Top of the Road Charles Bu.xton Going 3577 Shemuel Edward Bowen 357S She and He Edwin Arnold 3579 After Death in Arabia Edwin Arnold 3582 SEXTIXEL SOXGS ' To the Earl of Warwick, oa the Death of Mr. Addison Thomas Tickell 3584 The Eagle that is Forgotten Vachel Lindsay 3587 Elegiac Stanzas William Wordsworth 3587 William Blake James Thomson 3589 Edwin Booth ^ ^^ra. i. Alice Brorwn 3590 Ixxx Table of Contents PAGE General William Booth Enters into Heaven Vachel Lindsay 3593 E. B. B James Thomson 3594 Robert Burns William Alexander 3595 On a Fly-leaf of Burns's Songs Frederic Lawrence Knowles. . 3596 On the Deaths of Thomas Carlyle and George Eliot Algernon Charles Swinburne. 3596 At the Grave of Champernowne John Albee 3597 The Opening of the Tomb of Charle- magne Aubrey de Vere. 3597 By the Statue of King Charles at Charing Cross Lionel Johnson 3598 Chavez Mildred McNeal Sweeney . . . 3600 Coleridge Theodore Watls-Dunton 3601 Cowper's Grave Elizabeth Barrett Browning . . 3601 On a Bust of Dante Thomas William Parsons. . . 3604 Dickens in Camp ' Bret Harte 3606 Drake's Drum Henry Newbolt 3607 On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake Fitz-Greene Halleck 3^*08 "Oh, Breathe Not His Name" Thomas Moore 3609 Vanquished Francis Fisher Browne 3609 O. Henry Vachel Lindsay 3610 Adonais Percy Bysshe Shelley 3612 To the Sister of Elia Walter Savage Landor 3625 In Memory of Walter Savage Landor .Algernon Charles Swinburne. 3626 On the Death of Mr. Robert Levet . . . Samuel Johnson 3628 "O Captain! My Captain " Walt Whitman 3629 "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed" Walt Whitman 3630 Lincoln, the Man of the People Edwin Markham 3639 The Master ; Edwin Arlington Robinson . . 3640 On the Life-Mask of Abraham Lin- coln Richard Watson Gilder 3642 Abraham Lincoln Tom Taylor 3642 Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Austin Dobson .3645 Mary Queen of Scots C. Tennyson-Turner 3646 The Angelus Florence Earle Coates 3646 Under The Portrait of Milton John Dryden. 3647 In Memory of "Barry Cornwall" Algernon Charles Swinburne. 3647 In Memoriam Edwin Arnold 3648 To the Memory of My Beloved Mas- ter William Shakespeare Ben Jonson 3650 On the Portrait of Shakespeare Ben Jonson 3652 To Shakespeare Hartley Coleridge 3652 Shakespeare • Matthew Arnold 3653 An Epitaph on the Admirable Dramatic Poet, W. Shakespeare John Milton 3653 To William Sharp Clinton Scollard 3654 An Ode on the Unveiling of the Shaw Memorial Thomas Bailey Aldrich 3655 Memorabilia Robert Browning 3657 Robert Louis Stevenson Lizette Woodworth Reese 3657 Bayard Taylor John Greenleaf Whittier 3658 LacrimiE Musarum William Watson 3659 Tennyson Thomas Henry Huxley 3663 For a Copy of Theocritus Austin Dobson 3664 Theocritus Oscar Wilde 3664 The Quiet Singer Charles Hanson Towne 3665 Thoreau's Flute Louisa May Alcott 3667 Ave Atque Vale Thomas S. Jones, Jr 3668 The Warden of the Cinque Ports, . . .Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 3670 Table of Contents Ixxxi Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington Alfred Tennyson 3672 Memorial Verses ., Matthew Arnold 3680 Wordsworth's Grave William Watson 3682 ;- JERUSALEM THE GOLDEN Jerusalem John Mason Neale 3689 The New Jerusalem. . . : Unknown 3693 Peace Henry Vaughan 3695 Paradise Frederick William Faber. . . . 3695 The World Henry Vaughan 3696 The White Island Robert Herrick 3698 "This World is all a Fleeting Show" . . Thomas Moore 3699 The Land o' the Leal Carolina Nairne 3699 Heavenward Carolina Nairne. , 3700 "Rest is Not Here" Carolina Nairne 3701 At Home in Heaven James Montgomery. 3702 Paradise Christina Geargina Rossetti. . 3705 "Heaven Overarches Earth and Sea " Christina Georgina Rossetti. . 3706 The Sunset City Henry Sylvester Cornwell. . . . 3706 Gradatim Josiah Gilbert Holland 3707 The Other World Harriet Beecher Stowe 3708 My Ain Countree Mary Lee Demarest 3710 Home Edward Rowland Sill 37 n Chartless Emily Dickinson 3711 "It Cannot Be" Dain'd Banks Sickels 3712 A Thanksgiving to God for His Howie. Robert Herrick 3713 The Shepherd Boy Sings in the Valley of Humiliation John Bunyan 3714 The Pilgrim John Bunyan 3715 "The Bird, Let Loose in Eastern Skies" Thomas Moore 37 15 " He Liveth Long who Liveth W'ell " . . H or alius Bonar 3716 The Master's Touch H or alius Bonar 3717 How We Learn Horatius Bonar 3717 Love , George Herbert 37 18 The Collar George Herbert 3719 Virtue George Herbert 3720 Discipline George Herbert 3720 Holy Baptism George Herbert 3721 Unkindness .George Herbert 3722 Prayer , Richard Crashaw 3723 Providence , Reginald Heber 3726 The Beloved Katherine Tynan 3727 My Legacy Helen Hunt Jackson 3727 The Starry Host John Lancaster Spalding. . . . 3729 The Celestial Surgeon Robert Louis Stevenson 3729 The Way, the Truth, and the Life .... Theodore Parker 3730 The Inner Light Frederic William Henry Myers 3730 Heredity Lydia Avery Coonley Ward. . 3731 Bringing Our Sheaves Elizabeth Akers 3731 Take Heart Edna Dean Proctor ; 3732 Forward Edna Dean Proctor 3733 "The Harvest Waits" Lloyd Mifflin _ 3734 One Gift I Ask. . .> Virginia Bioren Harrison . . . 3734 Magdalen Henry Kingsley 3735 God's Will Mildred Howells. 3736 After the Martyrdom Scharmel Iris 3736 The Burial of Moses Cecil Frances Alexander . . . . 3736 Ixxxii Table of Contents PAGE The Crooked Footpath Oliver Wendell Holmes 3739 Allah's Tent Arthur Colton 3740 St. John Baptist Arthur O'Shaughnessy 3740 For the Baptist William Drummond 3741 "The Spring is Late" Louise Chandler Moulton . . . 3741 The Question Rachel Annand Taylor 3742 A Divine Rapture Francis Quarks 3742 "If I Could Shut the Gate Against my Thoughts" John Daniel 3743 His Litany to the Holy Spirit Robert Herrick 3744 To Keep a True Lent Robert Herrick 3745 The Fallen Star George Barley 3746 "We Need not Bid, for Cloistered Cell" John Keble 3747 "A Child My Choice" Robert Southwell 3747 An L'pper Chamber Frances Bannerman. 3748 The Second Crucifixion Richard Le Gallienne 3749 The Voice of Christmas Harry Kemp 3750 Te Martyrum Candidatus Lionel Johnson 3 751 On a Sculptured Head of the Christ. . . Mahlon Leo7iard Fisher 3751 Good King Wenceslas John Neal 3752 Simon the Cyrenean Lucy Lyttleton 3753 The Winged Worshippers Charles Sprague 3754 De Sheepfol' Sarah Pratt McLean Greene. . 3755 The Lost Sheep. Elizabeth Cecilia Clephane.. . 3756 Lost but Found Horatius Bonar 3757 Stains Theodosia Garrison 3758 A Hymn to God the Father John Donne 3759 Sheep and Lambs Katharine Tynan 3759 "All's Well" William Allen Butler 3760 Living Waters Caroline Spencer 3761 One by One Adelaide Anne Procter 3761 Unbelief Elizabeth York Case 3762 "There is no Death" John Luckey McCreery 3763 The Fool's Prayer Edward Rowland Sill 3764 The Eclipse Henry Vaughan 3766 Comfort Elizabeth Barrett Browning. . 3766 St. Agnes' Eve Alfred Tennyson. . . ; 3767 His Banner Over Me Gerald Massey 3768 Jesus the Carpenter Catharine C. Liddell. -. 3768 "I Saw Thee" Ray Palmer 3769 The Veteran of Heaven Francis Thompson. : 377o Lucifer in Starlight George Meredith 3771 Hora Christi Alice Brown 3772 Christus Consolator Rossiter Worthington Ray- mond. 3773 That Holy Thing George Macdonald.. 3774 What Christ Said George Macdonald 3774 San Lorenzo Giustiniani's Mother. . . . Alice Meynell 3775 A Ballad of Trees and the Master Sidney Lanier. . 3776 The Mystery Ralph Hodgson 3776 SONGS OF PRAISE Dies Irai ^ A braham Coles, tr 3777 Stabat Mater Dolorosa ! Abraham Coles, tr 3779 Veni, Sancte Spiritus Catharine Winkworth, tr.. . . 3780 Veni, Creator Spiritus Johii Dryden, tr 3782 Stanzas from "Song to David" Christopher Smart 3783 Nox Xocti Indicat Scientiam William Habington 3786 "The Spacious Firmament on 'High." .Joseph Addison 3787 I'able of Contents Ixxxiii PAGE Universal Prayer Alexander Pope 3788 "OGod, Our Help in Ages Past" Isaac Watts.. 3790 "Jesus, Lover of My Soul" Charles Wesley 3791 "A Charge to Keep I Have" Charles Wesley 3792 Coronation Edward Perronet 3792 "Holy, Holy, Holy" Reginald Heber 3793 "The Son of God Goes Forth to War" Reginald Heber 3794 "From Greenland's Icy Mountains "..i^e^^'wa/fi? Heber 3795 Light Shining Out of Darkness William Cowper 3796 Rock of Ages Augustus Montague Toplady. 3797 Love to the Church Timothy Dwighl 3797 Good Tidings of Great Joy to All People James Montgomery 3798 Christ Our Example in Suffering. . . .James Montgomery 3799 "Just as I Am " Charlotte Elliott 3800 "Blest Be the Tie that Binds" John Fawcett 3801 "In the Cross of Christ I Glory". . . .John Bowring 3802 "Abide with Me" Henry Francis Lyte 3802 The Hour of Peaceful Rest William Bingham Tappan . . 3803 The Pillar of the Cloud John Henry Newman 3804 "Nearer to Thee" Sarah Flower Adams 3805 "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" Frederick Henry Hedge 3806 Prayer to the Trinity James Edmeston 3807 In Sorrow Thomas Hastings 3808 "Just for To-day" Sybil F. Partridge 3808 Lovest Thou Me? William Cowper 3809 The Voice from Galilee Horatius Bonar. 3810 Faith Ray Palmer 3810 He Standeth at the Door Arthur Cleveland Coxe 3811 "There is a Green Hill" Cecil Frances Alexander .... 3812 Nearer Home Phoebe Cary 3813 "Onward, Christian Soldiers" Sabine Baring-Gould 3814 Evening George Washington Doane . . . 3815 A Dedication Rudyard Kipling 3816 APPENDIX CONTAINING A FEW OF THE MORE FAMOUS POEMS IN OTHER LANGUAGES, OF WHICH TRANSLATIONS OR PARAPHRASES OCCUR IN THE FOREGOING PAGES Dies Irae Tommdso di Celano 3819 Stabat Mater Dolorosa Jacopone da Todi 3821 Veni, Sancte Spiritus Robert II. of France 3822 Veni, Creator Spiritus St. Gregory the Great {?) .... 3823 Urbs Syon Aurea Bernard of Cluny 3824 Urbs Beata Hierusalem Unknown 3826 Vivamus, Mea Lesbia Gaius Valerius Catullus 3827 Pei'sicos Odi Quintus Horatius Flaccus . . . 3827 Integer Vitae, Quintus Horatius Flaccus . . . 3828 Rectius Vives Quintus Horatius Flaccus . . . 3829 De Brevitate Vitae Unknown 3829 Lauriger Horatius Unknown 3831 Ein Feste Burg Martin Luther 3831 Lied, "Ins stille land" Johann Gaudenz von Salis- Seewis 3832 Die Wacht am Rhein Max Schneckenburger 3833 * Des Deutschen Vaterland Ernst Morifz Arndt 3834 La Marseillaise Claude Joseph Rouget de Lisle 3836 Ixxxiv Table of Contents PAGB Ballade des Dames du Temps Jadis. . . FranQois Villon 3837 Ballade de Frere Lubin Clement Marot.. 3838 Le Grenier Pierre-Jean de Beranger .... 3839 Le Roi d' Yvetot Pierre-Jean de Beranger .... 3840 Fantaisie Gerard de Nerval 3842 L'Art Theophile Gautier 3842 Carcassonne Gustave Nadaud 3844 Hassgesang Gegen England Ernst Lissauer 3846 Index of Authors 3849 Index of First Lines 3913 Index of Titles 3975 PART I POEMS OF YOUTH AND IgE 'd 8 gnhq'L -r .-:n ttd t>ciij lO THE HUMAN SEASONS Four Seasons fill the measure of the year; There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear Takes in all beauty with an easy span: Aok ■ :Ma01 He has his Summer, when luxuriously Spring's honeyed cud of youthful thought he loves To ruminate, and by such dreaming high Is nearest unto Heaven: quiet coves His soul has in its Autumn, when his mngs He furleth close; contented so to look On mists in idleness — to let fair things Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook: — He has his Winter too of pale misfeature, Or else he would forego his mortal nature. John Keats [1795-1821J THE BABY *^ONLY A BABY SMALL" Only a baby smaU, Dropped from the skies, Only a laughing face, Two sunny eyes; Only two cherry hps, One chubby nose; Only two little hands, Ten Httle toes. Only a golden head, Curly and soft; Only a tongue that wags Loudly and oft; Only a little brain, Empty of thought; Only a little heart, Troubled with naught. Only a tender flower Sent us to rear; Only a life to love While we are here; Only a baby small, Never at rest; Small, but how dear to us, God knoweth best. Matthias Barr [1831-= ONLY Something to live for came to the place, Something to die for maybe, Something to give even sorrow a grace, x-rj// And yet it was only a baby! bauot I 3 Poems of Youth and Age Cooing, and laughter, and gurgles, and cries, Dimples for tenderest kisses, Chaos of hopes, and of raptures, and sighs, Chaos of fears and of bhsses. Last year, hke all years, the rose and the thorn; This year a wilderness maybe; But heaven stooped under the roof on the morn That it brought them only a baby. Harriet Prescott Spoford [1835- INFANT JOY "I HAVE no name; I am but two days old." What shall I call thee? "I happy am, Joy is my name." Sweet joy befall thee! Pretty joy! Sweet joy, but two days old. Sweet joy I call thee; Thou dost smile, I sing the while; Sweet joy befall thee! William Blake [1757-1827] BABY From " At the Back of the North Wind " Where did you come from, baby dear? Out of the everywhere into the here. Where did you get those eyes so blue? Out of the sky as I came through. What makes the hght in them sparkle and spin? Some of the starry spikes left in. Where did you get that little tear? JiamoS I found it waiting when I got here. To a New-born Baby Girl What makes your forehead so smoo.tii;and, high? A soft hand stroked it as I went by.,, g„,,p„ r,^^ What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? I saw something better than any one knows. Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? Three angels gave me at once a kiss. ""^t., Where did you get this pearly ear? God spoke, and it came out to hear. Where did you get those arms and hands? Love made itself into bonds and bands. Feet, where did you come, you darling things? From the same box as the cherubs' wings. How did they all just come to be you? God thought about me, and so I grew. But how did you come to us, you dear? God thought about you, and so I am here. r-.- , t r-j George Macdonald [1824-1905J TO A NEW-BORN BABY GIRL And did thy sapphire shallop slip Tts moorings suddenly, to dip Adown the clear, ethereal sea From star to star, all silently? What tenderness of archangels In silver thrilling syllables Pursued thee, or what dulcet hymn Low-chanted by the cherubim? And thou departing must have heard The holy Mary's farewell word, Who with deep eyes and wistful smile Remembered Earth a Httle while. Now from the coasts of morning pale ComeS; safe to port thy tiny sail. Now have we seen by early sun, Thy miracle of life begun. All breathing and aware thou art. With beaixty t^em,pj,^(i^ji^,t^y^^ea;|:t 6 Poems of Youth and Age To let thee recognize the thrill ./ Of wings along far azure hill, . ■ . A And hear within the hollow sky . tf.ff^jf/ Thy friends the angels rushing by. These shall recall that thou hast known Their distant country as thine own, ' To spare thee word of vales and streams, ' And publish heaven through thy dreams. The human accents of the breeze Through swaying star-acquainted tijees ^ , Shall seem a voice heard earlier, r ^ Her voice, the adormg sigh of her, When thou amid rosy cherub-play Didst hear her call thee, far away, "- '-^^^ "^^-^ *- And dream in very Paradise [j f)ily woH The worship of thy mother's eyes, irrorf} boO Grace Hazard Conkling [i8 TO LITTLE RENEE ON FIRST SEEING HER LYING IN HER CRADLE Who is she here that now I see, This dainty new divinity, Love's sister, Venus' child? She shows Her hues, white lily and pink rose, r _. And in her laughing eyes the snares That hearts entangle unawares. Ah, woe to men if Love should yield iis: His arrows to this girl to wield Even in play, for she would give Sore wounds that none might take and live. Yet no such wanton strain is hers. Nor Leda's child and Jupiter's Is she, though swans no softer are Than whom she fairer is by far. For she was born beside the rill That gushes from Parnassus' hill. And by the bright Pierian spring She shall receive an offering From every youth who pipes a strain Beside his flocks upon the plain. ■• - To Little Renee But I, the first, this very day, Will tune for her my humble lay, Invoking this new Muse to render My oaten reed more sweet and tender, Within its vibrant hollows wake^ j . Such dulcet voices for her sake ' ' ' As, curved hand at straining ear, I long have stood and sought to hear ; Borne with the warm midsummer breeze With scent of hay and hum of bees Faintly from far-off Sicily. . . . , Ah, well I know that not for us r -r ' ' ■ §11 Oi 01 J. Are Virgil and Theocritus, ' ^^^r And that the golden age is past , ■■, k ^> Whereof they sang, and thou, thq last, Sweet Spenser, of their god-like line. Soar far too swift for verse of mine^ Uo <' One strain to compass of your song. Yet there are poets that prolong Of your rare voice the ravishment In silver cadences; content Were I if I could but rehearse One stave of Wither's starry verse, Weave such wrought richness as recalls Britannia's lovely Pastorals, Or in some garden-spot suspire • v.ij One breath of Marvell's magic fire When in the green and leafy shade He sees dissolving all that's made. Ah, little Muse, still far too high On weak, clipped wings my wishes fly I ^I Transform them then and make them doves, Soft-moaning birds that Venus loves, - That they may circle ever low Above the abode where you shall grow Into your gracious womanhood. And you shall feed the gentle brood From out your hand — content they'll be Only to coo their songs to thee. William Aspenwall Bradley [1878- Poems of Youth and Age A RHYME OF ONE ! lir//' You sleep upon your mother's breast, Your race begun, A welcome, long a wished-for Guest, Whose age is One. A Baby-Boy, you wonder why You cannot run; You try to talk — how hard you try!— = You're only One. Ere long you won't be such a dunce: You'll eat your bun. And fly your kite, like folk who once Were only One. You'll rhyme and woo, and fight and joke, Perhaps you'll pun! Such feats are never done by folk Before they're One. Some day, too, you may have your joy, And envy none; Yes, you, yourself, may ov/n a Boy, Who isn't One. He'll dance, and laugh, and crow; he'll do As you have done: (You crown a happy home, though you Are only One.) But, when he's grown shall you be here , -:-:)vob mt*;, To share his fun, no]pnRiT And talk of times when he (the Dear!) Was hardly One? Dear Child, 'tis your poor lot to be My httle Son; I'm glad, though I am old, you see, — While you are One. Frederick Locker-Lampson [1821-1895I To a New-Born Child-'i TO A NEW-BORN CHILDii bnA Small traveler from an unseen shore, By mortal eye ne'er seen before, To you, good-morrow. You are as fair a little dame As ever from a glad world came . To one of sorrow. ,^ We smile above you, but you fret; We call you gentle names, and yet i; :,iir. Your cries redouble. ^ ) 3w H 'Tis hard for little babes to prize The tender love that underlies A life of trouble. And have you come from Heaven to earth? That were a road of Httle mirth, A doleful travel. ''Why did I come?" you seem to cry, But that's a riddle you and I '"!•'' Can scarce unravel. Perhaps you really wished to come. But now you are so far from home Repent the trial. What ! did you leave celestial bliss To bless us with a daughter's kiss? What self-denial! Have patience for a little space, You might have come to a worse place, Fair Angel-rover. No wonder now you would have stayed, But hush your cries, my little maid, r^i The journey's over. For, utter stranger as you are, There yet are many hearts ajar For your arriving, And trusty friends and lovers true Are waiting, ready-made for you, Without your striving. 10 Poems of Youth and Age The earth is full of lovely things, And if at first you miss your wings, You'll soon forget them; And others, of a rarer kind Will grow upon your tender mind — If you mil let them — Until you find that your exchange '^^ Of Heaven for earth expands your rdnge E'en as a flier, And that your mother, you and I, . // If we do what we should, may fly Than Angels higher. ■/ til lotVL Cosmo Monkhouse [i 840-1 901] BABY MAY ii Cheeks as soft as July peaches, Lips whose dewy scarlet teaches Poppies paleness — round large eyes Ever great with new surprise, Minutes filled with shadeless gladness,' , Minutes just as brimmed with sadness, Happy smiles and wailing cries. Crows and laughs and tearful eyes. / Lights and shadows swifter born Than on mnd-swept Autumn corn. Ever some new tiny notion -tl Making every limb all motion — Catching up of legs and arms, Thro^\-ings back and small alarms, "'^ Clutching fingers — straightening jerks, '^ Twining feet whose each toe works, ELickings up and straining risings. Mother's ever new surprisings. Hands all wants and looks all wonder At all things the heavens under, Tiny scorns of smiled reprovings , .} That have more of love than lovings, ,r,A^bnB' Alice ii Mischiefs done with such a winning Archness, that we prize such sinning^j ^ j Breakings dire of plates and glasses, Graspings small at all that passes, Pullings off of all that's able To be caught from tray or table; Silences — small meditations,: ^ ^ji r Deep as thoughts of cares for nations, ^^ Breaking into wisest speeches \ In a tongue that nothing teaches, All the thoughts of whose possessing Must be wooed to light by guessing; Slumbers — such sweet angel-seemings, That we'd ever have such dreamings, Till from sleep we see thee breaking,- ah i And we'd always have thee waking ; '•■'' -^'^ Wealth for which we know no measure, Pleasure high above all pleasure, .--i (-1 Gladness brimming over gladness, ' ''A Joy in care — delight in sadness. Loveliness beyond completeness. Sweetness distancing all sweetness. Beauty all that beauty may be— That's May Bennett, that's my baby. William Cox Bennett [1820-1895] ALICE Of deepest blue of summer skies Is wrought the heaven of her eyes. Of that fine gold the autumns wear Is wrought the glory of her hair. Of rose leaves fashioned in the south Is shaped the marvel of her mouth. - > And from the honeyed lips of bliss Is drawn the sweetness of her kiss, 'Mid twilight thrushes that rejoice " Is found the cadence of her voice, 12 Poems of Youth and Age Of winds that wave the western fir Is made the velvet touch of her. Of all earth's songs God took the half To make the ripple of her laugh. I hear you ask, "Pray who is she?"— This maid that is so dear to me. ^ "A reigning queen in Fashion's whirl?" Nay, nay! She is my baby girl. Herbert Bashford [1873 SONGS FOR FRAGOLETTA I Fragoletta, blessed one! What think you of the light of the sun? Do you think the dark was best, Lying snug in mother's breast? Ah! I knew that sweetness, too, Fragoletta, before you! But, Fragoletta, now you're born, You must learn to love the morn, Love the lovely working light, Love the miracle of sight. Love the thousand things to do — Little girl, I envy you! — Love the thousand things to see. Love your mother, and — love me! And some night, Fragoletta, soon, I'll take you out to see the moon; And for the first time, child of ours. You shall — think of it! — ^look on flowers, And smell them, too, if you are good. And hear the green leaves in the wood Talking, talking, all together In the happy windy weather; And if the journey's not too far For little limbs so lately made, Limb upon limb like petals laid, We'll go and picnic in a star. Songs for Fragoletta 13 Blue eyes, looking up at me, I wonder what you really see, Lying in your cradle there, Fragrant as a branch of myrrh? Helpless little hands and feet, so helpless! so sweet! • .' tower UTiere winged hopes might build! We saw — though none hke us might see— = Such precious promise pearled Upon the petals of our wee White Rose of all the world. But evermore the halo Of angel-hght increased. Like the mystery of moonlight That folds some fairy feast. "Baby Sleeps" ; 27 Snow-white, snow-soft, snow-silently Our darling bud uncurled, '"'■ And dropped in the grave — God's lap — our wee White Rose of all the world. Our Rose was but in blossom, Our life was but in spring. When down the solemn midnight We heard the spirits sing, "Another bud of infancy With holy dews impearled!" And in their hands they bore our wee White Rose of all the world. You scarce could think so small a thing Could leave a loss so large; Her little light such shadow fling From dawn to sunset's marge. In other springs our life may be In bannered bloom unfurled. But never, never match our wee White Rose of all the world. Gerald Massey [182 8-1907] INTO THE WORLD AND OUT Into the world he looked with sweet surprise; The children laughed so when they saw his eyes. Into the world a rosy hand in doubt He reached — a pale hand took one rosebud out. "And that was all — quite all!" No, surely! But The children cried so when his eyes were shut. Sarah M. B. Piatt [1836- "BABY SLEEPS" She is not dead, but sleepeth. —Lvke viii. 52.. 1 r The baby wept; The mother took it from the nurse's arms, And hushed its fears, and soothed its vain alarms, And baby slept. 28 Poems of Youth and Age Again it weeps, And God doth take it from the mother's arms, From present griefs, and future unknown harms. And baby sleeps. Samuel Hinds [i 793-1872] BABY BELL I Have you not heard the poets tell How came the dainty Baby Bell Into this world of ours? The gates of heaven were left ajar: With folded hands and dreamy eyes, Wandering out of Paradise, She saw this planet, like a star. Hung in the glistening depths of even — Its bridges, running to and fro. O'er which the white-winged Angels go, Bearing the holy Dead to heaven. She touched a bridge of flowers — those feet, So light they did not bend the bells Of the celestial asphodels, They fell like dew upon the flowers : Then all the air grew strangely sweet. And thus came dainty Baby Bell Into this world of ours. rr- n ,.r She came and brought delicious May; The swallows built beneath the eaves; Like sunhght, in and out the leaves The robins went, the livelong day; The lily swung its noiseless bell; And on the porch the slender vine Held out its cups of fairy wine. How tenderly the twihghts fell! Oh, earth was full of singing-birds And opening springtide flowers, .A'V When the dainty Baby Bell Came to this world of ours. Baby Bell 29 m O Baby,, dainty Baby Bell , How fair she grew from day to day! "WTiat woman-nature filled her eyes, WTiat poetry -within them laj^ — Those deep and tender twihght eyes, So full of meaning, pure and bright As if she yet stood in the light Of those oped gates of Paradise. And so we loved her more and more : Ah, never in our hearts before Was love so lovely born : We felt we had a Hnk between This real world and that unseen — The land beyond the morn; And for the love of those dear eyes, For love of her whom God led forth, (The mother's being ceased on earth WTien Baby came from Paradise,) — For love of Him who smote our lives, And woke the chords of joy and pain. We said, Dear Christ ! — our hearts bowed down Like violets after rain. IV And now the orchards, which were white And pink ydth. blossoms when she came, Were rich in autumn's mellow prime; The clustered apples burnt Hke flame. The folded chestnut burst its shell. The grapes hung purpling, range on range; And time -uTOught just as rich a change In Httle Baby Bell. Her lissome form more perfect grew. And in her features we could trace. In softened curves, her mother's face. Her angel-nature ripened too: We thought her lovely when she came,' But she was holy, saintly now . . . Around her pale angelic brow We saw a slender ring of flame. 30 Poems of Youth and Age God's hand had taken away the seal That held the portals of her speech; And oft she said a few strange words WTiose meaning lay beyond our reach. She never was a child to us, We never held her being's key; We could not teach her holy things WTio was Christ's self in purity. VI It came upon us by degrees, We saw its shadow ere it fell — The knowledge that our God had sent His messenger for Baby Bell. We shuddered with unlanguaged pain, And all our hopes were changed to fears^ And all our thoughts ran into tears Like sunshine into rain. We cried aloud in our beHef , "Oh, smite us gently, gently, God! Teach us to bend and kiss the rod, i\nd perfect grow through grief." Ah! how we loved her, God can tell; Her heart was folded deep in ours. Our hearts are broken. Baby Bell! vn At last he came, the messenger, The messenger from unseen lands: And what did dainty Baby Bell? She only crossed her httle hands. She only looked more meek and fair! We parted back her silken hair. We wove the roses round her brow — ^\^lite buds, the summer's drifted snow — Wrapped her from head to foot in flowers . , . And thus went dainty Baby Bell Out of this world of ours. Thomas Bailey Aldrich [183 7-1907] IN THE NURSERY MOTHER GOOSE'S MELODIES Mistress Mary, quite contrary, How does your garden grow? With cockle-sheils, and silver bells, And pretty maids all in a row. There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, She had so many children she didn't know what to do; She gave them some broth without any bread; Then whipped them all soundly and put them to bed. Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater. Had a wife and couldn't keep her; He put her in a pumpkin shell And there he kept her very well. RuB-a-dub-dub, Three men in a tub. And who do you think they be? The butcher, the baker. The candlestick-maker; Turn 'em out, knaves all three I I'll tell you a story About Jack a Nory — And now my story's begun; I'll teU you another About Johnny, his brother— = And now my story is done. 31 32 Poems of Youth and Age Hickory, dickory, dock, The mouse ran up the clock; The clock struck one, The mouse ran down, Hickory, dickory, dock. A DiLLAR, a dollar, A ten o'clock scholar, What makes you come so soon? You used to come at ten o'clock But now you come at noon. There was a little man. And he had a little gun, And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead; He shot Johnny Sprig Through the middle of his wig, And knocked it right off his head, head, head. There was an old woman, and what do you think? She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink: Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet : Yet this little old woman could never be quiet. She went to a baker to buy her some bread, And when she came home, her husband was dead; She went to the clerk to toll the bell. And when she came back her husband was well. If I had as much money as I could spend, I never would cry old chairs to mend; Old chairs to mend, old chairs to mend; I never would cry old chairs to mend. If I had as much money as I could tell, I never would cry old clothes to sell; Old clothes to sell, old clothes to sell; I never would cry old clothes to sell. Mother Goose's Melodies ^S One misty, moisty morning, When cloudy was the weather, I met a Uttle old man 3. Clothed all in leather; He began to bow and scrape, And I began to grin, — How do you do, and how do you do, And how do you do again? >^5T3fHT :>■ oH If all the world were apple-pie, ^ . And all the sea were ink, And all the trees were bread and cheese, What should we have to drink? Pease-pudding hot. Pease-pudding cold, Pease-pudding in the potia Kfl Nine days old. Some like it hot. Some like it cold, V Some hke it in the pot, • '; Nine days old. Hey, diddle, diddle, The cat and the fiddle. The cow jumped over the moon; The little dog laughed To see such sport, • jj^y mff And the dish ran away with the spoon-. ■ -o^t Little Jack Horner sat in the corner Eating a Christmas pie; He put in his thumb, and pulled out a plum, And said, "What a good boy am I!" 3^ Poems of Youth and Age Little Miss Muffet, Sat on a tuffet, Eating of curds and wheyjtii u jsm I There came a great spider ' That sat down beside her, And frightened Miss Mufifet away. n)d bnA There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile. He found a crooked sixpence against a crooked stile : He bought a crooked cat, which caught a crooked mouse, And they all lived together in a little crooked house. ; -.rl! Ih bilk Little Polly Flinders, Sat among the cinders, Warming her pretty little toes; Her mother came and caught her, And whipped her little daughter For spoiHng her nice new clothes. Barber, barber, shave a pig, How many hairs will make a wig? " Four-and- twenty, that's enough." Give the barber a pinch of snuff. Little Boy Blue, come blow up your horn, The sheep's in the meadow, the cow's in the corn; But where is the boy that looks after the sheep? He's under a hay-cock, fast asleep. Will you awake him? No, not I; For if I do, he'll be sure to cry. There was a man of our town, And he was wondrous wise, He jumped into a bramble bush, And scratched out both his eyes: Mother Goose's Melodies ^5 But when he saw his eyes were out, With all his might and main, He jumped into another bush. And scratched 'em in again. The north wind doth blow. And we shall have snow. And what will poor Robin do then, Poor thing? He'll sit in a barn, And to keep himself warm, Will hide his head under his wing,: iul jaO Poor thing! aio bnA HiGGLEBY, piggleby, my black hen, She lays eggs for gentlemen; Sometimes nine, and sometimes ten, Higgleby, piggleby, my black hen. Three wise men of Gotham rii3 qjO Went to sea in a bowl; ca & bnA If the bowl had been stronger, ^' '- ^H My song had been longer. ^>nA There was an old woman lived under a hill,^i3jf j ,f{0 And if she's not gone, she lives there still. M-7/ Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have you been? I've been to London to look at the Queen., i Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, what did you there? ; 'i I frightened a little mouse under the chair. ;^, There were two blackbirds sitting on a hill, ^^H The one named Jack, the other named Jill; .]-'-Vf Fly away, Jack! Fly away, Jill! Come again, Jack! Come again, Jill! 3:6. Poems of Youth and Age Goosey, goosey, gander, Whither shall I wander, Up stairs, down stairs, And in my lady's chamber. There I met an old man Who would not say his prayers; Ltook him by his left leg And threw him down the stairs. Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? Yes, sir; yes, sir, three bags full. One for my master, one for my dame, And one for the little boy that lives in the lane. Bye, baby bunting, .'^^^tooiH Daddy's gone a-hunting To get a little rabbit-skin To wrap the baby bunting in. Old King Cole was a merry old soul, And a merry old soul was he; He called for his pipe, and he called for his bowl, And he called for his fiddlers three. Every fiddler, he had a fiddle, and a very fine fiddle had he; Twee tweedle dee, tweedle dee, went the fiddlers. Oh, there's none so rare, as can compare ' ^^^^ With King Cole and his fiddlers three! Ride a cock-horse to Banbury Cross, ■ ^ To see a fine lady ride on a white horse; ^^ * Rings on her fingers, and bells on her toes. She shall have music wherever she goes. Hector Protector was dressed all in green^^^^^T Hector Protector was sent to the Queen. The Queen did not like him, no more did the King; So Hector Protector was sent back again. ---^^ -^ Mother Goose's Melodies 37 Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers; .^ . .•> A peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked; rj ^gau*! If Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers, " Where's the peck of pickled peppers Peter Piper picked? Jack Sprat could eat no fat, His wife could eat no lean. And so, betwixt them both, you see, They licked the platter clean. The lion and the unicorn Were fighting for the crown; The lion beat the unicorn All round about the town. Some gave them white bread, And some gave them brown; Some gave them plum cake. And sent them out of town. As Tommy Snooks and Bessy Brooks Were walking out one Sunday, Says Tommy Snooks to Bessy Brooks, "To-morrow wiU be Monday." Curly locks! Curly locks! Wilt thou be mine? - Thou shalt not wash dishes t ' J Nor yet feed the swine; ■/; biBut sit on a cushion And sew a fine seam, And feed upon strawberries. Sugar and cream. Blow, wind, blow! and go, mill, go! That the miller may grind his corn; That the baker may take it and into rolls make it, And send us some hot in the morn. 38 Poems of Youth and Age Six little mice sat down to spin, Pussy passed by, and she peeped in. "\Miat are you at, my little men?" u . .. .':' Making coats for gentlemen. " c otjH //' " Shall I come in and bite off your threads? " "No, no, Miss Pussy, you'll snip off our heads." "Oh, no, I'U not, I'll help you to spin." "That may be so, but you don't come in!" Bobby SnArxoE's gone to sea, Silver buckles at his knee; WTien he comes back, he'll marry me, Bonny Bobby Shaftoe. Bobby Shaftoe 's fat and fair, Combing down his yellow hair; He's my love for evermair. Bonny Bobby Shaftoe. RocK-A-BYE, baby, thy cradle is green; Father's a nobleman, mother's a queen; And Betty's a lady, and wears a gold ring; And Johnny's a drummer, and drums for the King. Hush-a-bye, baby, on the tree- top, VvTien the wind blows the cradle -^ill rock; WTien the bough breaks, the cradle will fall, Down will come baby, bough, cradle, and all. To market, to market, to buy a fat pig, Home again, home again, jiggety-jig; To market, to market, to buy a fat hog, Home again, home again, jiggety-jog; To market, to market, to buy a plum bun, Home again, home again, market is done. Little Bo-peep 39 JACK AND JILL Jack and Jill went up the hill, To fetch a pail of water; Jack fell down and broke his crown And Jill came tumbling after. Up Jack got and home did trot As fast as he could caper, And went to bed to mend his head With vinegar and brown paper. THE QUEEN OF HEARTS The Queen of Hearts She made some tarts, All on a summer's day; The Knave of Hearts He stole those tarts, And ^^-ith them ran away. The Kuig of Hearts Called for the tarts, And beat the Knave full sore; - The Knave of Hearts Brought back the tarts. And vowed he'd steal no more! LITTLE BO-PEEP Little Bo-peep has lost her sheep. And can't tell where to find them; Leave them alone, and they'U come home, And bring their tails behind them. Little Bo-peep fell fast asleep, And dreamed she heard them bleating; But when she awoke, she found it a joke. For they were still a-fleeting. 40 Poems of Youth and Age Then up she took her httle crook, Determined for to find them; She fomid them indeed, but it made her heart bleed, For they'd left their tails behind them! It happened one day, as Bo-peep did stray, Unto a meadow hard by. There she espied their tails side by side, All hung on a tree to dry. She heaved a sigh, and wiped her eye, And over the hillocks she raced; And tried what she could, as a shepherdess should, That each tail should be properly placed. ]\fARY'S LAMB Mary had a httle lamb, Its fleece was white as snow; And everywhere that Mary went, The lamb was sure to go. He followed her to school one day. Which was against the rule; It made the children laugh and play To see a lamb at school. And so the teacher turned him out, But still he hngered 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'U keep me from all harm." "What makes the lamb love Mary so? ' The eager children cried. "Oh, Mary loves the lamb, you know, The teacher quick replied. " Sing a Song of Sixpence " 41 And you each gentle animal In confidence may bind, And make them follow at your will, If you are only kind. THE STAR Twinkle, twinkle, little star, How I wonder what you are, Up above the world so high. Like a diamond in the sky. When the blazing sun is set. And the grass with dew is wet. Then you show your Httle light, Twinkle, twinkle, all the night. Then the traveler in the dark Thanks you for your tiny spark, He could not see where to go If you did not twinkle so. In the dark blue sky you keep, And often through my curtains peep, For you never shut your eye Till the sun is in the sky. As your bright and tiny spark Lights the traveler in the dark. Though I know not what you are. Twinkle, twinkle, little star. Jane Taylor [i 783-1824] "SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE" Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye; Four-and-twenty blackbirds Baked in a pie; 4a Poems of Youth and Age When the pie was opened , co/ f.r'/ The birds began to sing; Wasn't that a dainty dish To set before the King? The King was in his counting-house, Counting out his money; The Queen was in the parlor, Eating bread and honey; The maid was in the garden Hanging out the clothes; When down came a blackbird, And nipped off her nose. SIMPLE SIMON Simple Simon met a pieman Going to the fair; Says Simple Simon to the pieman, "Let me taste your ware." Says the pieman to Simple Simon, "Show me first your penny"; Says Simple Simon to the pieman. "Indeed I have not any." Simple Simon went a-fishing For to catch a whale; All the water he had got Was in his mother's pail. Simple Simon went to look If plums grew on a thistle; He pricked his fingers very much, Which made poor Simon whistko THE BREAKFAST SONG At five o'clock he milks the cow, The busy farmer's man. At six o'clock he strains the milk And pours it in the can. "When I Was a Bachelor" 43 At seven o'clock the milkman's horse Must go to town — "get up!" At eight o'clock Nurse Karen pours The milk in Baby's cup. At five o'clock the Baby sleeps As sound as sound can be. At six o'clock he laughs and shouts, So wide awake is he. At seven o'clock he's in his bath, At eight o'clock he's dressed, Just when the milk is ready, too, Sd you can guess the rest. Emilie Poulsson [1853- 'I HAD A LITTLE HUSBAND" I HAD a little husband No bigger than my thumb; I put him in a pint pot, And there I bade him drum. I bought a little horse, That galloped up and down; I bridled him and saddled him, And sent him out of town. I gave him some garters, To garter up his hose, And a Httle handkerchief, To wipe his pretty nose. 'WTIEN I WAS A BACHELOR" When I was a bachelor I lived by myseK; And all the bread and cheese I got I put upon the shelf. The rats and the mice They made such a strife, I was forced to go to London To buy me a wife. 44 Poems of Youth and Age The streets were so bad, And the lanes were so narrow, I was forced to bring my wife home In a wheelbarrow. The wheelbarrow broke, x\nd my wife had a fall, Down came wheelbarrow, Little wife and all. "JOHNNY SHALL HAVE A NEW BONNET' Johnny shall have a new bonnet, And Johnny shall go to the fair, And Johnny shall have a blue ribbon To tie up his bonny brown hair. And why may not I love Johnny, And why may not Johnny love me? And why may not I love Johnny As well as a.nother body? And here's a leg for a stocking, And here's a foot for a shoe; And he has a kiss for his daddy, And one for his mammy, too. And why may not I love Johnny, And why may not Johnny love me? And why may not I love Johnny, As well as another body? THE CITY MOUSE AND THE GARDEN MOUSE The city mouse lives in a house; — The garden mouse lives in a bower. He's friendly with the frogs and toads, And sees the pretty plants in flower. The city mouse eats bread and cheese;— The garden mouse eats what he can; We will not grudge him seeds and stocks. Poor little timid furry man. Christina Georgina Rossetti [i 830-1 894I Merry are the Bells " 45 ROBIN REDBREAST Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree, Up went pussy-cat, and dowTi went he; Down came pussy-cat, and away Robin ran; Said little Robin Redbreast, " Catch me if you can." Little Robin Redbreast jumped upon a wall, Pussy-cat jumped after him, and almost got a fall; Little Robin chirped and sang, and what did pussy say? Pussy-cat said naught but "Mew," and Robin flew away. SOLOMON GRUNDY Solomon Grundy, Born on a Monday, Christened on Tuesday, Married on Wednesday, Took ill on Thursday, Worse on Friday, Died on Saturday, Buried on Sunday, This is the end of Solomon Grundy. "MERRY ARE THE BELLS" Merry are the bells, and merry would they ring, Merry was myself, and merry could I sing; With a merry ding-dong, happy, gay, and free. And a merry sing-song, happy let us be ! Waddle goes your gait, and hollow are your hose: Noddle goes your pate, and purple is your nose: Merry is your sing-song, happy, gay, and free; With a merry ding-dong, happy let us be! Merry have we met, and merry have we been; Merry let us part, and merry meet again; With our merry sing-song, happy, gay, and free, With a merry ding-dong, happy let us be! ?^ Poems of Youth and Age WHEN GOOD KING ARTHUR RULED THIS LAND " When good King Arthur ruled this land, He was a goodly king; He stole three pecks of barley meal, To make a bag-pudding. A bag-pudding the queen did make, And stuffed it well mth plums: And in it put great lumps of fat, . ^ As big as my two thumbs. The king and queen did eat thereof, And noblemen beside; And what they could not eat that night, The queen next morning fried. "I HAD A LITTLE DOGGY" I HAD a little Doggy that used to sit and beg; But Dogg}^ tumbled down the stairs and broke his little leg. Oh! Doggy, I will nurse you, and try to make you well. And you shall have a collar with a Httle silver bell. Ah! Doggy, don't you think that you should very faith- ful be, For having such a loving friend to comfort you as me? And when your leg is better, and you can run and play. We'll have a scamper in the fields and see them making hay. But, Doggy, you must promise (and mind your word you keep) Not once to tease the httle lambs, or run among the sheep; And then the Httle yellow chicks that play upon the grass. You must not even wag your tail to scare them as you pass. "A FARMER WENT TROTTING" A FARMER went trotting upon his gray mare; Bumpet}^, bumpety, bump! With his daughter behind him, so rosy and fair; Lumpety, lumpety, lump! The Cow 47 A raven cried croak! and they all tumbled down; Bumpety, bumpety, bump! The mare broke her knees, and the farmer his crown; Lumpety, lumpety, lump! The mischievous raven flew laughing away; Bumpety, bumpety, bump! And vowed he would serve them the same the next day; Lumpety, lumpety, lump! THE OWL AND THE EEL AND THE WARMING PAN" The owl and the eel and the warming-pan, They went to call on the soap-fat man. The soap-fat man he was not within : He'd gone for a ride on his rolling-pin. So they all came back by the way of the town, And turned the meeting-house upside down. Laura E. Richards [1850- THE COW Thank you, pretty cow, that made Pleasant milk to soak my bread, Every day, and every night. Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white. Do not chew the hemlock rank, Growing on the weedy bank; But the yellow cowslips eat. They will make it very sweet. Where the purple violet grows, Where the bubbling water flows, Where the grass is fresh and fine. Pretty cow, go there and dine. Ann Taylor [1782-1866I 4^ Poems of Youth and Age THE LAMB Little Lamb, who made thee? l Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee Hfe, and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead 5 Gave thee clothing of dehght, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice. Making all the vales rejoice? Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee. Little Lamb, I'll tell thee; He is called by thy name. For He caUs Himself a Lamb. He is m.eek, and He is mild; He became a httle child. I a child, and thou a lamb. We are called by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee! Little Lamb, God bless thee. William Blake [175 7-1 82 7] LITTLE RAINDROPS Oh, where do you come from, You httle drops of rain, Fitter patter, pitter patter, Down the window-pane? They won't let me walk, And they won't let me play, And they won't let me go Out of doors at all to-day. They put away my playthings Because I broke them all, And then they locked up all my bricks. And took away my ball. The House that Jack BuiJt 49 Tell me, little raindrops, Is that the way you play, Fitter patter, pitter patter, All the rainy day? They say I'm very naughty. But I've nothing else to do But sit here at the window; I should Hke to play with you. The little raindrops cannot speak. But "pitter, patter pat" Means, "We can play on this side: Why can't you play on //ja/? " "MOON, SO ROUND AND YELLOW" Moon, so round and yellow. Looking from on high. How I love to see you Shining in the sky. Oft and oft I wonder, WHien I see you there, Hov^ they get to light you, Hanging in the air: Where you go at morning. When the night is past. And the sun comes peeping O'er the hills at last. Sometime I will watch you Slyly overhead, .i..j' ...... When you think I'm sleeping ^^^^ Snugly in my bed. Matthias Barr [1831- THE HOUSE THAT JACK BtJILT This is the house that Jack built. This is the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. JO Poems of Youth and Age' ^ This is the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the priest all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn Old Mother Hubbard 51 That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the cock that crowed in the morn That waked the priest all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt -? That lay in the house that Jack built. This is the farmer sowing his corn That kept the cock that crowed in the morn That waked the priest all shaven and shorn That married the man all tattered and torn That kissed the maiden "all forlorn That milked the cow with the crumpled horn That tossed the dog That worried the cat That killed the rat That ate the malt '^ That lay in the house that Jack built. OLD MOTHER HUBBARD Old Mother Hubbard Went to the cupboard, To get her poor dog a bone: But when she got there The cupboard was bare, And so the poor dog had none. She went to the baker's To buy him some bread. But when she came back < I The poor dog was dead. 52 Poems of Youth and Age She went to the joiner's To buy him a coffin, But when she came back The poor dog was laughing. She took a clean dish To get him some tripe, 'dT But when she came back He was smoking a pipe. She went to the fishmonger's To buy him some fish, But when she came back He was licking the dish. She went to the tavern For white Tvine and red, ■^'"■■^ But when she came back j-r^ The dog stood on his head. She went to the hatter's To buy him a hat. But when she came back He was feeding the cat. She went to the barber's To buy him a wig. But when she came back He was dancing a jig. . She went to the fruiterer's To buy him some fruit. But when she came back He was playing the flute. She went to the tailor's To buy him a coat, But when she came back He was riding a goat. She went to the cobbler's To buy him some shoes. But when she came back He was reading the news. The Death and Burial of Cock Robin S3 She went to the seamstress To buy him some Hnen, But when she came back The dog was spinning. She went to the hosier's To buy him some hose, But when she came back He was dressed in his clothes. The dame made a curtesy, The dog made a bow. The dame said, "Your servant," The dog said, "Bow-wow." This wonderful dog Was Dame Hubbard's delight; He could sing, he could dance. He could read, he could write. She gave him rich dainties Whenever he fed, And built him a monument When he was dead. THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF COCK ROBIN Who killed Cock Robin? "I," said the Sparrow, "With my bow and arrow, I killed Cock Robin." Who saw him die? "I," said the Fly, ,-r, " With my little eye, .-. I saw him die." Who caught his blood? "I," said the Fish, . // "Withmy Httle dish," I caught his blood." 54 Poems of Youth and Age -ii i WTio'll make his shroud? "I," said the Beetle, "With my thread and needle, I'll make his shroud." ^^^lo'll dig his grave? "I,'' said the Owl, " With my spade and trowel, I'll dig his grave." Who'll be the parson? "I," said the Rook, "With my httle book. I'll be the parson," VvTio'U be the clerk? "I," said the Lark, " I 'U say Amen in the dark; I'll be the clerk." WTio'll be chief mourner? "I," said the Dove, f^^- "I mourn for my love; I'll be chief mourner." WTio'll bear the torch? ZiaO.^ : "I," said the Lmnet, "I'll come in a minute, I'll bear the torch." Who'll sing his dirge? "I," said the thrush, "As I sing in the bush I'U sing his dirge." Who'll bear the pail? "W>," said the \Vren, Both the Cock and the Hen; "WVU bear the paU." WTio'U carry his coffin? "I," said the Kite, "If it be in the night, I'U carry his coffin." 3-^^'^ • Baby-land '^S Who'U toU the bell? "I," said the Bull, "Because I can pull, I'U toll the bell." All the birds of the air Fell to sighing and sobbing When they heard the bell toll For poor Cock Robin. iHT I 2B bnA .3ao xlaO BABY-LAND u aorio sioHT "Which IS the way to Baby-land?" " ' ' Any one can tell; Up one flight, ^^^ ^gy^^ gj ^j j oj j^^^ I To your right; r^ ^^^ bsnsqo I c),r Please to ring the bell." .[p |ono xlnO "What can you see in Baby-land?" A-jsrlT "Little folks in white- ^^^^ ^^^ ^^q Downy heads, . ,r,„-; r t ,./ Cradle-beds, Faces pure and bright!" .n, to^ i i: ;ij'.)j i "What do they do in Baby-land?" "Dream and wake and play. Laugh and crow, rlj O -. , ... Shout and grow; ^ mu-.4 ., iltiV/ , JpUy times have they ! " .^^^^ ^l^jil ^jh "What do they say in Baby-land?" ^^ ^-^ j "Why, the oddest things; ^^^^ ;^„^^{^ ^^ Might as well ■ ^^^.^r . ., .^.^ ,,,q rlo o 1 \- Try to tell What a birdie smgs! "Who is the Queen of Baby-land?" "Mother, kind and sweet; And her love. Born above, Guides the Uttle feet." George Cooper [1840— 56 Poems of Youth and Age THE FIRST TOOTH There once was a wood, and a very thick wood, So thick that to walk was as much as you could; But a sunbeam got in, and the trees understood. I went to this wood, at the end of the snows, And as I was walking I saw a primrose; Only one! Shall I show you the place where it grows? There once was a house, and a very dark house. As dark, I believe, as the hole of a mouse, Or a tree in my wood, at the thick of the boughs. I went to this house, and I searched it aright, I opened the chambers, and I found a light; Only one! Shall I show you this little lamp bright? There once was a cave, and this very dark cave One day took a gift from an incoming wave; And I made up my mind to know what the sea gave. I took a lit torch, I walked round the ness When the water was lowest; and in a recess In my cave was a jewel. Will nobody guess? there was a baby, he sat on my knee. With a pearl in his mouth that was precious to me, His little dark mouth like my cave of the sea! 1 said to my heart, "And my jewel is bright! He blooms like a primrose! He shines like a light!" Put your hand in his mouth ! Do you feel? He can bite! William Brighty Rands [1823-1882I "■^' BABY'S BREAKFAST Baby wants his breakfast, Oh! what shall I do? Said the cow, "I'll give him) -^^8!j \v\ Nice fresh milk — moo-^p.^" 9:?A The Moon ^^'^o^ 57 Said the hen, " CMt-dah cut! I have laid an egg For the Baby's breakfast — Take it now, I beg I" And the buzzing bee said, "Here is honey sweet. Don't you think the Baby Would Hke that to eat?" Then the baker kindly Brought the Baby's bread. "Breakfast is all ready," Baby's mother said; "But before the Baby Eats his dainty food. Will he not say 'Thank you!' To his friends so good?" Then the bonny Baby . ^i^\{ Laughed and laughed away. ..^ .rr That was all the "Thank you" He knew how to say. Emilie Poulsson [1853-= THE MOON O, LOOK at the moon! She is shining up there; O mother, she looks '^ Like a lamp in the airi Last week she was smaller, And shaped like a bow; But now she's grown bigger, And round as an O. Pretty moon, pretty moon, How you shine on the door, And make it all bright On my nursery floor! ,58^ Poems of Youth and Age You shine on my playthings, And show me their place, And I love to look up At your pretty bright face. And there is a star Close by you, and maybe That small tmnkhng star Is your Httle baby. Eliza Lee Follen [1787-1859] BABY AT PLAY Brow bender, Eye peeper, Nose smeller, Mouth eater. Chin chopper, Knock at the door — ^peep in, Lift up the latch — walk in. Here sits the Lord Mayor, here sit his two men. Here sits the cock, and here sits the hen; Here sit the chickens, and here they go in Chippety, chippety, chippety, chin. This Httle pig went to market; This Uttle pig stayed at home; This httle pig got roast beef; This httle pig got none; This little pig cried wee^ wee, all the way home^ One, two. Buckle my shoe; Three, four. Shut the door; Five, six, Pick up sticks; Seven, eight, Lay them straight; Nine, ten, A good fat hen; Eleven, tw^elve, Who -ftill delve? . , . Foot Soldiers 59 Thirteen, fourteen, Maids a-courting; Fifteen, sixteen, Maids a-kissing; Seventeen, eighteen, Maids a-waiting; Nineteen, twenty. My stomach's empty. / A / a r THE DIFFERENCE :, Eight fingers, Ten toes. Two eyes. And one nose. Baby said When she smelt the rose, "Oh! what a pity I've only one nose!" Ten teeth In even rows. Three dimples, And one nose. Baby said Wlien she smelt the snuff, "Deary me! One nose is enough." Laura E. Richards [1850- FOOT SOLDIERS 'Tis all the way to Toe-town, Beyond the Knee-high hill. That Baby has to travel down To see the soldiers drill. "^^^ ^^^' ^KoVL A One, two, three, four, five, a-row — ,■ A captain and his men — ; ,; . oAnd on the other side, you know, p/^ Are six, seven, eight, nine, ten. John Banister Tabb [184 5- 1909] 6o Poems of Youth and Age TOM THUMB'S ALPHABET A WAS an Archer, who shot at a frog; B was a Butcher, who had a great dog; C was a Captain, all covered with lace; D was a Drunkard, and had a red face; E was an Esquire, with pride on his brow; F was a Farmer, and followed the plow; G was a Gamester, who had but ill luck; H was a Hunter, who hunted a buck; I was an Innkeeper, who loved to bouse; J was a Joiner, who built up a house; K was a King, so mighty and grand; L was a Lady, who had a white hand; M was a Miser, and hoarded his gold; N was a Nobleman, gallant and bold; O was an Oysterman, who went about town; P was a Parson, and wore a black gown ; Q was a Quack, with a wonderful pill; R was a Robber, who wanted to kill; S was a Sailor, who spent all he got; T was a Tinker, and mended a pot; U was an Usurer, a miserable elf; V was a Vintner, who drank all himself; W was a Watchman, who guarded the door; X was Expensive, and so became poor; Y was a Youth, that did not love school; Z was a Zany, a poor harmless fool. GRAMMAR IN RHYME Three little words, you often see, Are articles A, An, and The. A Noun is the name of anything, As School, or Garden, Hoop, or Swing. Adjectives teU the kind of Noun, As Great, Small, Pretty, White, or Brown. Instead of Nouns the Pronouns stand. Her head. His face, Your arm. My hand. The Garden Year ' 6i Verbs tell of something being done — ' To Read, Count, Laugh, Sing, Jump, or Run. How things are done the Adverbs tell, As Slowly, Quickly, lU, or WeU. Conjunctions join the words together — As men And women, ^vind And weather. The Preposition stands before A noun, as In or Through a door, The Interjection shows surprise. As Oh! how pretty! Ah! how wise! The WTiole are called nine parts of speech, Which reading, writing, speaking teach. DAYS OF THE MONTH Thirty days hath September, April, June, and November; Ah the rest have thirty-one; February twenty-eight alone, — Except in leap year, at which time February's days are twenty-nine. THE GARDEN YEAR January brings the snow, Makes our feet and fingers glow. February brings the rain, Thaws the frozen lake again. March brings breezes, loud and shrill, To stir the dancing daffodil. April brings the primrose sweet, Scatters daisies at our feet. May brings flocks of pretty lambs Skipping by their fleecy dams. June brings tuHps, lilies, roses. Fills the children's hands with posies. 6^ Poems of Youth and Age Hot July brings cooling showers^, .,^, .^^ , .auSl -Apricots, and gillyflowers. .bBsH ol^ August brings the sheaves of com^ ^^ Then the harvest home is borne. ' ' ^ Warm September brings the fruit; Sportsmen then begin to shoot. Fresh October brings the pheasant; Then to gather nuts is pleasant. Dull November brings the blast; Then the leaves are whirhng fast. ' Chill December brings the sleet, Blazing fire, and Christmas treat. Sara Coleridge [1S02-1852] RIDDLES There was a girl in our town, Silk an' satin was her gown. Silk an' satin, gold an' velvet, Guess her name, three times I've telled it. (Ann.) As soft as silk, as white as milk. As bitter as gall, a thick green wall, And a green coat covers me all. (A walnut.) Make three fourths of a cross, And a circle complete; And let two semicircles On a perpendicular meet; Next add a triangle That stands on two feet; Next two semicircles. And a circle complete. (TOBACCO.) Flour of England, fruit of Spain, Met together in a shower of rain; Put in a bag tied round with a string, If you'll tell me this riddle, I'U give you a ring. . , . :. (A plum-pudding.) Riddles .maoH ^3 In marble walls as white as milk, " ,rr,»-fr[t tn ./, r ,/ Lined with a skin as soft as silk, Within a fountain crystal clear, , j^ A golden apple doth appear. "^y No doors there are to thiis stronghold. Yet thieves break in and steal the gold. (An egg.) , , rH Little Nanny Etticoat, In a white petticoat, And a red nose; The longer she stands. The shorter she grows. (A candle.) . •, Long legs, crooked thighs. Little head and no eyes. (A pair of tongs.) Thirty white horses upon a red hill, Now they tramp, now they champ, now they stand still. (The teeth.) Formed long ago, yet made to-day, Employed while others sleep; ^• WTiat few would like to give away, Nor any wish to keep. (A bed.) Lives in "\\inter. Dies in summer, And grows with its root upwards. (An icicle.) i^, Elizabeth, Lizzy, Betsy and Bess, All went together to seek a bird's nest; They found a nest with five eggs in it; They each took one and left four in it. Thomas a Tattamus took two T's, To tie two tups to two tall trees, To frighten the terrible Thomas a Tattamus! Tell me how many T's there are in all THAT! Old Mother Twitchett had but one eye,, , ,,■ ^ And a long tail which she let fly; .5 n ^-^^ :.! And every time she went over a gap, She left a bit of her tail in a trap. (A needle and thread.) 64- Poems of Youth and Age As I went through a garden gap, Who should I meet but Dick Red-Cap! :' A stick in his hand, a stone in his throat, aifi ji 7/ If you'll tell me this riddle, I'll give you a groat.' t^"] A (A cherry). Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall; All the king's horses and all the king's men -""— j^^i-. Cannot put Humpty Dumpty together again. '(Aff egg!) As I was going to St. Ives, ' '-^ '• I met a man with seven wives, '^- ^^ ^ Every wife had seven sacks, Every sack had seven cats, Every cat had seven kits — Kits, cats, sacks, and wives. How many were going to St. Ives? (One.) Two legs sat upon three legs. With one leg in his lap; In comes four legs And runs away with one leg; Up jumps two legs. Catches up three legs. Throws it after four legs. And makes him drop one leg. (A man, a stool, a leg of mutton, and a dog.) PROVERBS If wishes were horses, Beggars would ride; If turnips were watches, I'd wear one by my side. A MAN of words, and not of deeds^^iJ^JL/^ ^^■ Is like a garden full of weeds; 'i-"^^ ^ ^' For when the weeds begin to grow. Then doth the garden overflow. Proverbs 6^ He that would thrive . j i Must rise at five; •^'5 He that hath thriven May He till seven ; And he that b}' the plough would thrive, Himself must either hold or drive. A SWARM of bees in May Is worth a load of hay; A swarm of bees in June Is worth a silver spoon; A swarm of bees in July Is not worth a fly. They that wash on Monday Have all the week to dry; They that wash on Tuesday Are not so much awr}^; They that wash on Wednesday Are not so much to blame ; They that wash on Thursday, Wash for shame; They that wash on Friday, Wash in need; And they that wash on Saturday, Oh, they are slovens, indeed. > Needles and pins, needles and pins, When a man marries, his trouble begins. For every evil under the sun, There is a remedy, or there is none. If there be one, try and find it; If there be none, never mind it. Tommy's tears, and Mary's fears, WlU make them old before their years. If "ifs" and "ands" Were pots and pans, A There would be no need for tinkerSl'^ 66 Poems of Youth and Age For want of a nail, the shoe was lost; For want of the shoe, the horse was lost; For want of the horse, the rider was lost; For want of the rider, the battle was lost; For want of the battle, the kingdom was lost: And all from the want of a horseshoe nail. WEATHER WISDOM A SUNSHINY shower Won't last half an hour. Rain before seven, Fair by eleven. The South, wind brings wet weather, The North wind wet and cold together; The West wind always brings us rain, The East wind blows it back again. IMarch winds and April showers Bring forth May flowers. Evening red and morning gray Set the traveller on his way. But evening gray and morning red, Bring the rain upon his head. Rainbow at night Is the sailor's delight; Rainbow at morning, Sailors, take warning. OLD SUPERSTITIONS See a pin and pick it up. All the day you'll have good luck; See a pin and let it lay. Bad luck you will have all day. Old Superstitions 67 Cut your nails on Monday, cut them for news; Cut them on Tuesday, a pair of new shoes; Cut them on Wednesday, cut them for health; Cut them on Thursday, cut them for wealth; Cut them on Friday, cut them for woe; Cut them on Saturday, a journey you'll go; Cut them on Sunday, you'll cut them for evil, For all the next week you'll be ruled by the devil. Marry Monday, marry for w^ealth; Marry Tuesday, marry for health; Marry Wednesday, the best day of all; Marry Thursday, marry for crosses, Marry Friday, marry for losses, .. . .- . Marry Saturday, no luck at all. Sneeze on a Monday, you sneeze for danger; Sneeze on a Tuesday, you'll kiss a stranger; Sneeze on a Wednesday, you sneeze for a letter; Sneeze on a Thursday, for something better; Sneeze on a Friday, you sneeze for sorrow; Sneeze on a Saturday, your sweetheart to-morrow; Sneeze on a Sunday, your safety seek — The devil will have you the whole of the week. Monday 's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace, Wednesday's child is full of woe, Thursday's child has far to go, Friday's child is loving and giving, Saturday 's child Vv^orks hard for its living. And a child that 's born on the Sabbath day Is fair and wise and good and gay. THE ROAD TO SLUMBERLAND WYNKEN, BLYXKEX, AND NOD DUTCH LULLABY Wyxxex. Blynken. and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe, — Sailed on a river of crystal Hght Into a sea of dew. "Wliere are you going, and what do you wish?". The old moon asked the three. "We have come to fish for the herrmg fish That hve in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we! " Said V\ynken, .-. ,^^ .. Blynken, .\nd Nod. .^ The old moon laughed and sang a song, As they rocked in the wooden shoe ; And the ^^ind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew. The httle stars were the herring fish That Uved in that beautiful sea — "Now cast your nets wherever you wish,— p Never afeard are wel" ^, So cried the stars to the fishermen three, r \\'ynken, Bhmken, And Nod. All night, long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam, — Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home: 68 The Sugar-Plum Tree 6g 'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed As if it could not be; And some folk thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed Of saihng that beautiful sea; But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a httle head, . ,^ .r - .-, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies , ■ tiiy.r h:iJ Is a wee one's trundle-bed; So shut your eyes while Mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three: — Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. Eugene Field [1850-1895] THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE Have you ever heard of the Sugar-Plum Tree? 'Tis a marvel of great renown! It blooms on the shore of the LoUypop sea In the garden of Shut-Eye Town; The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet (As those who have tasted it say) That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit to be happy next day. When you've got to the tree, you would have a hard time To capture the fruit which I sing; The tree is so tall that no person could climb To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing! But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat, And a gingerbread dog prowls below — And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar-plums tempting you so: 70 Poems of Youth and Age You say but the word to that gingerbread dog And he barks with such terrible zest That the chocolate cat is at once all agog, As her swelling proportions attest. .,,,.,,. ,, And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around .da I iuS. From this leafy limb unto that, And the sugar-plums tumble, of course, to the ground — Hurrah for that chocolate cat! There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes, With stripings of scarlet or gold, And you carry away of the treasure that rains, As much as your apron can hold! So come, little child, cuddle closer to me In your dainty white nightcap and gown, And I'll rock you away to that Sugar-Plum Tree In the garden of Shut-Eye Town. Eugene Field [i 850-1 895I WHEN THE SLEEPY MAN COMES When the Sleepy Man comes with the dust on his eyes, (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) He shuts up the earth, and he opens the skies. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!) He smiles through his fingers, and shuts up the sun; (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) The stars that he loves he lets out one by one. --^^'^'^ ^--^^ (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!) '^ 2^^) ;i boo-g jx ' i He comes from the castles of Drowsy-boy Town'; ' ' ' ' ' (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) At the touch of his hand the tired eyelids fall down, (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!) ." He comes with a murmur of dream in his Wriigfe^; '•'''' '"' ■ (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) And whispers of mermaids and wonderful things. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!) Auld Daddy Darkness 71 Then the top is a burden, the bugle a bane; (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) When one would be faring down Dream-a-way Lane. 7/ (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!) r When one would be wending in Lullaby Wherry, (Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!) , To Sleepy Man 's Castle, by Comforting Ferry. (So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie !) Charles G. D. Roberts [1860- AULD DADDY DARKNESS Auld Daddy Darkness creeps frae his hole, Black as a blackamoor, bhn' as a mole: Stir the fire till it lowes, let the bairnie sit, Auld Daddy Darkness is no wantit yit. See him in the corners hidin' frae the licht, See him at the windov/ gloomin' at the nicht; Turn up the gas licht, close the shutters a'. An ' Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa'. Awa' to hide the birdie within its cosy nest, Awa' to lap the wee flooers on their mither's breast, Awa' to loosen Gaffer Toil frae his daily ca', For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a'. He comes when we 're weary to wean 's frae oor waes, He comes when the bairnies are getting aff their claes; To cover them sae cosy, an' bring bonnie dreams. So Auld Daddy Darkness is better than he seems. Steek yer een, my wee tot, ye '11 see Daddy then; He's in below the bed claes, to cuddle ye he's fain; ' Noo nestle to his bosie, sleep and dream yer fill. Till Wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin' owre the hill. ' James Ferguson [i8 - ? - J 72 Po^ms, of Youth and Age WILLIE WINKIE Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town, Upstairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown, Tirlin ' at the window, cryin ' at the lock, "Are the weans in their bed? — for it's noo ten o'clock." Hey, Willie Winkie! are 3^e comin' ben? The cat's singin ' gay thrums to the sleepin' hen, The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna gie a cheep; But here's a waukrife laddie, that winna fa' asleep. Onything but sleep, ye rogue ! — glowrin' like the moon, Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon, Rumbhn', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a cock, Skirhn' like a kenna-what — wauknin' sleepin' folk! Hey, Willie Winkie! the wean's in a creel! Waumblin' aff a bodie 's knee like a vera eel, Ruggin' at the cat's lug, and ravellin' a' her thrums: Hey, WiUie Winkie! — See, there he comes! William Miller [1810-1872] THE SANDMAN The rosy clouds float overhead. The sun is going down; And now the sandman's gentle tread Comes stealing through the town. "White sand, white sand," he softly cries, And as he shakes his hand. Straightway there lies on babies' eyes His gift of shining sand. , Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown. As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town. From sunny beaches far away — Yes, in another land — He gathers up at break of day His store of shining sand. The Dustman 73 No tempests beat that shore remote, No ships may sail that way; His httle boat alone may float I Within that lovely bay. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown. As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town. He smiles to see the eyelids close Above the happy eyes; And every child right well he knows, — Oh, he is very wise ! But if, as he goes through the land, A naughty baby cries, His other hand takes dull gray sand To close the wakeful eyes. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town. So when you hear the sandman's song Sound through the twilight sweet. Be sure you do not keep him long A-waiting in the street. Lie softly down, dear little head. Rest quiet, busy hands. Till, by your bed his good-night said. He strews the shining sands. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town. Margaret Thomson Janvier [1845-1913I THE DUSTMAN When the toys are growing weary, And the twilight gathers in; When the nursery still echoes With the children's merry din; 74 Poems of Youth and Age Then unseen, unheard, unnoticed Comes an old man up the stair, Lightly to the children passes, Lays his hand upon their hair. Softly smiles the good old Dustman ; In their eyes the dust he throws. Till their little heads are falling, And their weary eyes must close. Then the Dustman very gently Takes each little dimpled hand Leads them through the sweet green shadows, Far away in slumberland. Frederic Edward Weatherly [1848- SEPHESTIA'S LULLABY From " Menaphon " Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. Mother's v/ag, pretty boy. Father's sorrow, father's joy; When thy father first did see Such a boy by him and me. He was glad, I was woe; Fortune changed made him so. When he left his pretty boy. Last his sorrow, first his joy. Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee. Streaming tears that never stint, Like pearl-drops from a flint. Fell by course from his eyes. That one another's place supphes; Thus he grieved in every part, Tears of blood fell from his heart. When he left his pretty boy. Father's sorrow, father's joy. "Sleep, Baby, Sleep" 75 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee. The wanton smiled, father wept, Mother cried, baby leapt; More he crowed, more we cried, Nature could not sorrow hide: He must go, he must kiss Child and mother, baby bhss, For he left his pretty boy. Father's sorrow, father's joy. Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee. When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee. Robert Greene [1560?-! 59 2] " GOLDEN SLUMBERS KISS YOUR EYES " From " Patient Grissel " Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, Smiles awake you when you rise. Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, And I will sing a lullaby. Rock them, rock them, lullaby. Care is heavy, therefore sleep you, You are care, and care must keep you. Sleep, pretty wantons^ do not cry, And I will sing a luUaby. Rock them, rock them, lullaby. Thomas Dekker [i57o?-i64i?] "SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP" Sleep, baby, sleep! what ails my dear, What ails my darling thus to cry? Be still, my child, and lend thine ear, To hear me sing thy lullaby. My pretty lamib, forbear to weep; Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep. 76 Poems of Youth and Age Thou blessed soiil, what canst thou fear? ^^llat thing to thee can mischief do? Thy God is now thy father dear, His holy Spouse thy mother too. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. Though thy conception was in sin, A sacred bathing thou hast had; And though thy birth unclean hath been, A blameless babe thou art now made. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; ■ Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. While thus thy lullaby I sing, For thee great blessings ripening be; Thine Eldest Brother is a king. And hath a kingdom bought for thee. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear; For whosoever thee offends By thy protector threatened are. And God and angels are thy friends. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. When God with us was dwelling here,. In httle babes He took dehght; Such innocents as thou, my dear, Are ever precious in His sight. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. A httle infant once was He; And strength in weakness then was laid Upon His Vhgin ^Mother's knee, That power to thee might be conveyed. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. Mother's Song 77 In this thy frailty and thy need He friends and helpers doth prepare, Which thee shall cherish, clothe, and feed, For of thy weal they tender are. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. The King of Kings when He was born, Had not so much for outward ease; By Him such dressings were not worn, Nor such like swaddHng-clothes as these. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby sleep. Within a manger lodged thy Lord, Where oxen lay and asses fed: Warm rooms we do to thee afford, An easy cradle for a bed. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. The wants that He did then sustain Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee, And by His torments and His pain Thy rest and ease secured be. My baby, then forbear to weep ; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep= Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this A promise and an earnest got Of gaining everlasting bhss. Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not. Sweet baby, then forbear to weepj Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. George Wither [1583-1667I MOTHER'S SONG My heart is like a fountain true That flows and flows with love to you. As chirps the lark unto the tree So chirps my pretty babe to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. ^8 Poems of Youth and Age There 's not a rose where 'er I seek, As comely as my baby's cheek. There's not a comb of honey-bee, So full of sweets as babe to me. And it's 0! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. There 's not a star that shines on high, Is brighter than my baby's eye. There 's not a boat upon the sea, Can dance as baby does to me. And it's 0! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. No silk v/as ever spun so fine As is the hair of baby mine. My baby smells more sweet to me Than smells in spring the elder tree. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. A httle fish swims in the well, So in my heart does baby dwell. A little flower blows on the tree. My baby is the flower to me. And it's 0! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. The Queen has sceptre, crown and ball. You are my sceptre, crown and all. For all her robes of royal silk. More fair your skin, as white as milk. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. Ten thousand parks where deer do run, Ten thousand roses in the sun, ' Ten thousand pearls beneath the sea. My babe more precious is to me. And it's O! sweet, sweet! and a lullaby. Unknown A LULLABY Upon my lap my sovereign sits And sucks upon my breast; Meanwhile his love sustains my life And gives my body rest. Sing lullaby, my little boy, Yt,3ing lullaby, mine only joy! A Cradle Hymn '\ 79 When thou hast taken thy repast, Repose, my babe, on me; So may thy mother and thy nurse ; - i'/V Thy cradle also be. Sing lullaby, my little boy. Sing lullaby, mine only joy: I grieve that duty doth not work All that my wishing would, Because I would not be to thee " " But in the best I should. Sing lullaby, my little bey, Sing lullaby, mine only joy! Yet as I am, and as I may, I must and will be thine. Though all too Httle for thy self Vouchsafing to be mine. Sing lullaby, my httle boy, Sing lullaby, mine only joy! Richard Rowlands [fl. 1565-1620I A CRADLE HYMN Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber, ■ Holy angels guard thy bed! Heavenly blessings without number Gently faUing on thy head. Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, House and home, thy friends provide; All \^'ithout thy care or payment : All thy wants are well supphed. How much better thou 'rt attended Than the Son of God could be, When from heaven He descended And became a child like thee! Soft and easy is thy cradle : Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, WTien His birthplace was a stable And His sp|tes^,|)ed was hay. 8o Poems of Youth and Age Blessed babel what glorious features — Spotless fair, divinely bright! ;Must He dwell with brutal creatures? How could angels bear the sight? Was there nothing but a manger Cursed sinners could afford To receive the heavenly stranger? Did they thus affront their Lord? Soft, my child: I did not chide thee, Though my song might sound too hard; 'Tis thy mother sits beside thee, And her arms shall be thy guard. Yet to read the shameful story How the Jews abused their King, How they ser\'ed the Lord of Glory, ]Makes me angr^- while I sing. See the kinder shepherds round Him, TeUing wonders from the sky! Where they sought Him. there they found Him. With His Virgin mother by. See the lovely babe a-dressing; Lovely infant, how He smiled! When He wept, the mother 's blessing Soothed and hushed the holy child. Lo. He slumbers in His manger, WTiere the homed oxen fed; Peace, my darhng; here's no danger, Here 's no ox anear thy bed. 'Twas to save thee, child, from dying. Save my dear from burning flame, Bitter groans and endless cr\-ing. That thy blest Redeemer came. Lullaby o-*^ 8i May'st thou live to know and fear Him, Trust and love Him all thy days; Then go dwell forever near Him, See His face, and sing His praise! Isaac Watts [i 674-1 748] CRADLE SONG Sleep, sleep, beauty bright, Dreaming in the joys of night; Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep Little sorrows sit and weep. Sweet babe, in thy face Soft desires I can trace, Secret joys and secret smiles, ihdl Little pretty infant wiles. . .-.r As thy softest Hmbs I feel Smiles as of the morning steal 'er thy cheek, and o 'er thy breast Where thy httle heart doth rest. \i.b dJiv, O the cunning wiles that creep In thy little heart asleep! When thy little heart doth wake, Then the dreadful night shall break. William Blake [ 1 7 5 7- 1 8 2 7] LULLABY . jijiir, )rfl bnA Baloo, loo, lammy, now baloo, my dear, Does wee lammy ken that its daddy's no here? Ye 're rocking full sweetly on mammy 's warm knee, But daddy's a-rocking upon the salt sea. Now hushaby, lammy, now hushaby, dear; Now hushaby, lammy, for mother is near. The wild wind is raving, and mammy's heart's sair; The wild wind is raving, and ye dinna care. 1 Poems of Youth and Age Sing baloo, loo, lammy, sing baloo, my dear; Sing baloo, loo, lammy, for mother is here. My wee bairnie 's dozing, it 's dozing now fine, And O may its wakening be bhther than mine! (x-ir c-|,rdi; -dv^ \\ jjv;v\ Carolina N air ne [1766-1845I LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF O, HUSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, Thy mother a lady, 'both lovely and bright; The woods and the glens, from the tov/ers which we see, They are all belonging, dear babie, to thee. ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo. 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. ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo. O, hush thee, my babie, the time scon will 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. ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo. Walter Scott [17 y 1-1832] diob nn'iO. 3b hi y^dl nadW GObD-WlGHT ' '^^ Little baby, lay your head On your pretty cradle-bed; Shut your eye-peeps, now the day And the light are gone away; All the clothes are tucked in tight; ^lAa Little baby dear, good-night. - - - -3oG Yes, my darhng, well I know f^^^^i^ ^^g How the bitter wind doth blow; And the winter's snow and raiiifgyxf ^^qY Patter on the window-pane: JzudwoK ; Hi But they cannot come in here, ^{ivy sdT To my Httle baby dear; -^y/ bliw adT :iadL Lullaby 83 For the window shutteth fast, Till the stormy night is past; And the curtains warm are spread Round about her cradle bed : So till morning shineth bright, Little baby dear, good-night. Jane Taylor [17 83-1 824] " LULLABY, O LULLABY " Lullaby! O lullaby! Baby, hush that httle cry! '"^^ Light is dying, Bats are flying. Bees to-day with work have done; So, till comes the morrow's sun, Let sleep kiss those bright eyes dry!- LuUaby! O lullaby. Lullaby! luUaby! Hushed are all things far and nigh; ".:' Flowers are closing. Birds reposing, All sweet things with life are done. Sweet, till dawns the morning sun, Sleep, then kiss those blue eyes dry. ;',' LuUaby! O luUaby! William Cox Bennett [1820-1895] LULLABY From " The Princess " Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea. Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the roUing waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow. Blow him again to me; While my little one, whUe my pretty one, sleeps. 84 Poems of Youth and Age Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father ^^ill come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father "u-ill come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west fr;:* - Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one. sleep, my pretty one. sleep. Alfred Tennyson [i 809-1892] THE COTTAGER TO HER IXF.\XT The days are cold, the nights are long, The north-Ts-ind sings a doleful song; Then hush again upon my breast; All merry things are now at rest, Save thee, my pretty love! The kitten sleeps upon the hearth; The crickets long have ceased their mirth; There 's nothing stirring in the house ■ Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse; Then why so bus}' thou? Nay I start not at that sparkling Hght; 'Tis but the moon that shines so bright On the v,-indow-pane bedropped with rain: There. Httle darhngl sleep again. And wake when it is day I Dorothy Wordsworth [i 804-1 847] TROT, TROT ! EvEEY evening Baby goes Trot, trot, to town, Across the river, through the fields, Up hill and down. Trot, trot, the Baby goes, ■y^. , Up hill and down, -..^ ^^^^^ ^^ Holy Innocents 85" To buy a feather for her hat, To buy a woolen gown. Trot, trot, the Baby goes; The birds fly down, alack! "You cannot have our feathers, dear," They say, "so please trot back." Trot, trot, the Baby goes; The lambs come bleating near. "You cannot have our wool," they say, "But we are sorry, dear." Trot, trot, the Baby goes, Trot, trot, to town; She buys a red rose for her hat. She buys a cotton gown. Mary F. Butts [1836- HOLY INNOCENTS Sleep, httle Baby, sleep; The holy Angels love thee. And guard thy bed, and keep A blessed watch above thee. No spirit can come near Nor evil beast to harm thee: Jnl Sleep, Sweet, devoid of fear Where nothing need alarm thee. The Love which doth not sleep. The eternal Arms surround thee: The Shepherd of the sheep In perfect love hath found thee. Sleep through the holy night, Christ-kept from snare and sorrow. Until thou wake to light And love and w^armth to-morrow. Christina Georgina Rossetti [1830-1894] 86 Poems of Youth and Age LULLABY From " The Mistress of the Manse " RocKABY, lullaby, bees in the clover! Crooning so drowsily, cr>ing so low, Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover! Down into wonderland, Down to the under-land ;T Go, oh go! Down into wonderland go! Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover! (Tears on the eyeHds that waver and weep!) Rockaby, lullaby — bending it over! Do\\Ti on the mother- world, -'^'' Down on the other world, Sleep, oh sleep! Do^NTi on the mother- world sleep! Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover! Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn ! Rockaby, lullaby, dear Httle rover! Into the stilly world, Into the lily world. Gone ! oh gone ! Into the lily world gone ! Josiah Gilbert Holland [1819-1881] CRADLE SONG From '"Bitter-Sweet" What is the httle one thinking about? Very w^onderful things, no doubt! Unwritten history! Unfathomed mystery! Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and drinks, And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks, ^'' Cradle Song 87 As if his head were as full of kinks And curious riddles as any sphinx! Warped by colic, and wet by tears, Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears, Our little nephew will lose two years; And he '11 never know Where the summers go; — He need not laugh, for he '11 find it so ! Who can tell what a baby thinks? Who can follow the gossamer links By which the mannikin feels his way Out from the shore of the great unknown, Blind, and wailing, and alone, Into the light of day? — Out from the shore of the unknown sea. Tossing in pitiful agony; — Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls. Specked with the barks of little souls, — Barks that were launched on the other side, And slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide! What does he think of his mother's eyes? What does he think of his mother's hair? What of the cradle-roof, that flies Forward and backward through the air? What does he think of his mother 's breast. Bare and beautiful, smooth and white. Seeking it ever with fresh delight, — Cup of his life, and couch of his rest? What does he think when her quick embrace Presses his* hand and buries his face Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell With a tenderness she can never tell. Though she murmur the words Of all the birds,— Words she has learned to murmur well? Now he thinks he '11 go to sleep ! I can see the shadow^ creep Over his eyes, in soft eclipse. Over his brow, and over his lips, 88 Poems of Youth and Age Out to his little finger-tips! /. Softly sinking^ down he goes! Down he goes! down he goes! - i ,: 'See! he is hushed in sweet repose! • y;< Josiah Gilbert Holland [ 1 8 1 9- 1 J AN IRISH LULLABY I 'VE found my bonny babe a nest On Slumber Tree, I 'U rock you there to rosy rest, Asthore Machree! Oh, luUa lo! sing all the leaves On Slumber Tree, Till everything that hurts or grieves Afar must flee. '^ r I 've put my pretty child to float Away from me, :S Within the new moon's silver boat ■» On Slumber Sea. And when your starry sail is o 'er From Slumber Sea, My precious one, you'll step to shore On Mother's knee. Ticl ;-■ Alfred Percevfll Graves (1846- CRADLE SONG n. Lord Gabriel, wilt thou not rejoice q When at last a little boy's HrW Cheek lies heavy as a rose, _^ rrp And his eyehds close? Gabriel, when that hush may be, This sweet hand all heed fully I'll undo, for thee alone. From his mother's own. anil at»V!l^ Cradle Song 89 Then the far blue highways paven With the burning stars of heaven He shall gladden with the sweet Hasting of his feet — Feet so brightly bare and cool^ Leaping, as from pool to pool;:;H From a little laughing boy Splashing rainbow joy! Gabriel, wilt thou understand How to keep his hovering hand — Never shut, as in a bond. From the bright beyond? — Nay, but though it cling and close Tightly as a climbing rose. Clasp it only so — aright. Lest his heart take fright. (Dormi, dormi, tu:' The dusk is hung with blue.) n Lord ]\Iichael, wilt not thou rejoice WTien at last a little boy's Heart, a shut-in murmuring bee, Turns him imto thee? Wilt thou heed thine armor well — To take his hand from Gabriel, So his radiant cup of dream IMay not spill a gleam? He will take thy heart in thrall, Telhng o'er thy breastplate, all Colors, in his bubbling speech, With his hand to each. {Dormi, dormi, tu. Sapphire is the blue: Pearl and beryl, they are called^ Chrysoprase and emerald, ^ Poems of Youth and Age Sard and amethyst. Numbered so, and kissed.) Ah, but find some angel word For thy sharp, subduing sword! Yea, Lord Michael, make no doubt He will find it out: {Dormi, dormi, tu! .' His eyes will look at you.) m Last, a little morning space, Lead him to that leafy place Where Our Lady sits awake, For all mothers' sake. Bosomed with the Blessed One, He shall mind her of her Son, Once so folded^ from all harms, In her shrining arms. {In her veil of blue, Dormi, dormi, tu.) So;— and fare thee well. Softly, — Gabriel . . . When the first faint red shall come, Bid the Day-star lead him home, For the bright world's sake-^;,/; . To my heart, awake. Josephine Preston Peabody [1874- MOTHER-SONG FROM "PRINCE LUCIFER = White little hands! Pink little feet! Dimpled all over, Sweet, sweet, sweet! What dost thou wail for? The unknown? the unseen? The ills that are coming, The joys that have been? ; : Kentucky Babe ^ 9^ ■'^^ Cling to me closer, "t sigoQ Closer and closer, Till the pain that is purer Hath banished the grosser. Drain, drain at the stream, love, Thy hunger is freeing, That was born in a dream, love, Along '^dth thy being! Little fingers that feel For their home on m\^ breast- Little lips that appeal For their nurture, their rest! WTiy, why dost thou v/eep, dear?i ,qo5i<^ Nay, stifle thy cries, .. ..r-.-J Till the dew of thy sleep, dear, Lies soft on tliine eyes. Alfred Austin [i 835-1913] KEXTUCKY BABE 'Skeeters am a hummin" on de honeysuckle vine, — Sleep, Kentucky Babe! Sandman am a comin' to dis little coon of mine, — Sleep, Kentucky Bade! Silv'ry moon am shmin ' in de heabens up above, BoboUnk am pinin' fo' his little lady love: Yo' is mighty hicky, Babe of old Kentucky, — Close yo ' eyes in sleep. Fly away. Fly away, Kentucky Babe, fly away to rest^ Fly away, Lay yo' kuiky, woolly head on yo' mammy's breast, — Um — Um — , Close yo' e^-es in sleep. Daddy's in de cane-brake wid his little dog and gun, — Sleep, Kentucky Babe! 'Possum fo' yo' breakfast when yo' sleepin' time is done, — Sleep, Kentucky Babe! 9? Poems of Youth and Age Bogie man 11 catch yo' sure unless yo' close yo' eyes, Waitin' jes outside de doo' to take yo' by surprise: Bes' be keephi' shady, Little colored lady, — Close yo^ eyes in sleep. Richard Henry Buck [1869- MINNIE AND WINNIE Minnie and Winnie slept in a shell. Sleep, little ladies I And they slept well. Pink was the shell within, silver without; Sounds of the great sea wandered about. Sleep, little ladies! Wake not soon! Echo on echo dies to the moon. Two bright stars peeped into the shell. "\Aliat are they dreaming of? Who can tell?" Started a green linnet out of the croil ; Wake, little ladies! The sun is aloft. Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892! BED-TIME SONG mhfTp^ Sleep, my baby, while I sing Bed-time news of everything. Chickens run to mother hen; Piggy curls up in the pen. In the field, all tired with play, Quiet now the lambkins stay. Kittens cuddle in a heap — Baby, too, must go to sleep! Sleep, my baby, while I sing Bed- time news of everything. Now the cows from pasture come; Bees fly home with drowsy hum. Little birds are in the nest. Under mother-bird's soft breast. ibh&Q. Over all soft shadows creep — Baby now must go to sleep. .bucking the Baby In 93 Sleep, my baby, while I sing Bed-time news of everything. Sleepy flowers seem to nod, Drooping toward the dewy sod; While the big sun's fading light Bids my baby dear good-night. Mother loving watch will keep; Baby now must go to sleep. Emilie Poulsson [1853- TUCKING THE BABY IN The dark-fringed eyelids slowly close On eyes serene and deep; Upon my breast my own sweet child Has gently dropped to sleep; I kiss his soft and dimpled cheek, I kiss his rounded chin, Then lay him on his little bed, And tuck my baby in. How fair and innocent he lies; Like some small angel strayed. His face still warmed by God's own smile, That slumbers unafraid; Or like some new embodied soul. Still pure from taint of sin — My thoughts are reverent as I stoop To tuck my baby in. What toil must stain these tiny hands That now lie still and white? What shadows creep across the face That shines with morning light? These wee pink shoeless feet — how far Shall go their lengthening tread, When they no longer cuddled close May rest upon this bed? O what am I that I should train An angel for the skies; Or mix the potent draught that feeds The soul within these eyes? 94 Poems of Youth and Age I reach him up to the sinless Hands Before his cares begin, — Great Father, ^dth Thy folds of love, O tuck my baby in. Curtis May [i8 "JENNY WI' THE AIRN TEETH" What a plague is this o' mine, Winna steek an e'e; Though I hap liim o'er the heid, As cosy as can be. Sleep an' let me to my wark — A' thae claes to aim — Jenny wi' the aim teeth. Come an' tak' the bairn! Tak' him to your ain den, \Miaur the bogie bides, But first put baith your big teeth In his wee plump sides; Gie your auld gray pow a shake. Rive him frae my grup, Tak' him whaur nae kiss is gaun V\'hen he waukens up. Wliatna noise is that I hear Coomin' doon the street? Weel I ken the dump, dump, O' her beetle feet; Mercy me I she's at the door! Hear her Hft the sneck; WHieesht, an' cuddle mammy noOj Closer roun' the neck. Jenny wi' the airn teeth. The bairn has aft his claes; Sieepin' safe an' soun', I think — Dinna touch liis taes. "^ Cuddle Doon 9S Sleepin' bairns are no for you, Ye may turn aboot, An' tak' awa' wee Tarn next door — I hear him screichin' oot. Dump, dump, awa' she gangs Back the road she cam', I hear her at the ither door, Speirin' after Tarn; He's a crabbit, greetin' thing — The warst in a' the toon, Little hke my ain wee wean — Losh, he's sleepin' soun'! Mithers hae an awfu' wark Wi' their bairns at nicht, Chappin' on the chair wi' tangs, To gie the rogues a fricht; Aulder bairns are fleyed wi' less, Weel eneuch v/e ken, Bigger bogies, bigger Jennies, ^^^ ,^^ Frichten muckle men. Alexander Anderson [1845- 1909] CUDDLE DOON The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht Wi' muckle faucht an' din; "O, try an' sleep, ye waukrife rogues, Your father's comin' in." They never heed a word I speak; I try to gie a froon, But aye I hap them up, an' cry, "O bairnies, cudjdle^jdoiQ;!-.'' ; , - ol Iliw liiffw orao') Wee Jamie wi' the curly held — .b[rj He aye sleeps next the wa' — Bangs up an' cries, "I want a piece;" The rascal starts them a'. f6 Poems of Youth and Age I rin an' fetch them pieces, drinks, They stop awee the soun' ; Then draw the blankets up an' cry, "Noo, weanies, cuddle doon." But ere five minutes gang, wee Rab Cries oot, frae 'neath the claes, "Mither, mak' Tarn gie ower at once-= He's kittlin' wi' his taes. " The mischief's in that Tam for tricks, He'd bother half the toon; But aye I hap them up an' cry, "O bairnies, cuddle doon." At length they hear their father's fit. An', as he steeks the door, They turn their faces to the v/a'. While Tam pretends to snore. "Hae a' the weans been gude?" he asks, As he pits aff his shoon; "The bairnies, John, are in their beds. An' lang since cuddled doon." An' just afore we bed oorsel's, We look at oor wee lambs; Tam has his airm roun' wee Rab's neck. An' Rab his airm roun' Tam's. I lift wee Jamie up the bed. An' as I straik each croon, I whisper, till my heart fills up, "O bairnies, cuddle doon." The bairnies cuddle doon at nicht Wi' mirth that's dear to me; But sune the big warl's cark an' care Will quaten doon their glee. Yet, come what will to ilka ane. May He who sits aboon Aye whisper, though their pows be bauld, "O bairnies, cuddle doon." Alexander Anderson [184 5- 1909] Bedtime 97 BEDTIME 'Tis bedtime; say your hymn, and bid " Good-night; God bless Mamma, Papa, and dear ones all," Your half-shut eyes beneath your eyehds fall, Another minute, you will shut them quite. Yes, I will carry you, put out the light, And tuck you up, although you are so tall! What will you give me, sleepy one, and call ' My wages, if I settle you all right? I laid her golden curls upon my arm, I drew her little feet within my hand, Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss. Her heart next mine beat gently, soft and warm She nestled to me, and, by Love's command. Paid me my precious v/ages—" Baby's Kiss." Francis Robert St. Clair Erskine [1833-1890! .^THAaH ^3V oT ;iob bfiA 89 . ■^3\6 boO THE DUTY OF CHILDREMoY HAPPY THOUGHT '^^^^ I .^^'^ ^ ' ^ hnk The world is so full of a number of things, ..yTf I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850- 1894] WHOLE DUTY OF CHILDREI!^ '''^^' ^ A CHILD should always say what's true vAl And speak when he is spoken tOy. i,=:7i i,-jfi arfg And behave mannerly at table; ^m ?m his*! At least as far as he is able. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] POLITENESS Good little boys should never say "I will," and "Give me these"; O, no ! that never is the way, But "Mother, if you please." And "If you please," to Sister Ann Good boys to say are ready; And, "Yes, sir," to a Gentleman, And, "Yes, ma'am," to a Lady. Elizabeth Turner [ ? -1846] RULES OF BEHAVIOR Hearts, like doors, will ope with ease To very, very little keys. And don't forget that two of these Are "I thank you" and "If you please.' 98 The Lovable Child 99 Come when you're called, Do what you're bid, Close the door after you. Never be chid. - . 7v.i Seldom "can't," /'■- vH Seldom "don't;" Never "shan't," Never "won't." LITTLE FRED When little Fred Was called to bed. .ik He always acted right; He kissed Mama, ^'j j- i.'iti uoY And then Papa, ,, „.:; , And wished them all good- night. He made no noise. Like naughty boys. But gently up the stairs Directly went, When he was sent, Xqq&tl And always said his prayers. ;l.i,j JUtL THE LOVABLE CHILg ^^,^^^ Frisky as a lambkin, J^i/m;^^^4T Busy as a bee— That's the kind of little girl People like to see. 17 Modest as a violet. As a rosebud sweet — That's the kind of little girl People like to meet. Bright as is a diamond, ; ;...i^ { Pure as any pearl — • Everyone rejoices in Such a little girl. lOO Poems of Youth and Age Happy as a robin, •■'oJ Gentle as a dove — ■ 1 That's the kind of little girl Everyone will love. Fly away and seek her, Little song of mine, For I choose that very girl As my Valentine. Emilie Poulsson [1853- GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN Children, you are very little, And your bones are very brittle; If you would grow great and stately, You must try to walk sedately. You must still be bright and quiet, And content with simple diet; And remain, through all bewild'ring, Innocent and honest children. Happy hearts and happy faces, Happy play in grassy places — • That was how, in ancient ages, Children grew to kings and sages. But the unkind and the unruly, And the sort who eat unduly, They must never hope for glory — Theirs is quite a different story! Cruel children, crying babies, All grow up as geese and gabies, Hated, as their age increases, By their nephews and their nieces. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] REBECCA'S AFTER-THOUGHT Yesterday, Rebecca Mason, In the parlor by herself, Broke a handsome china basin. Placed upon the mantel-shelf. A Rule for Birds' Nesters loi Quite alarmed, she thought of going Very quietly away, Not a single person knowing. Of her being there that day. But Rebecca recollected She was taught deceit to shun; And the moment she reflected, Told her mother what was done; a -/l.'b Who commended her behavior, ,,,jrfj w£a I Loved her better, and forgave her.,,^ ihdi di'N/ Elizabeth Turner [ ? -1846] KINDNESS TO ANIMALS Little children, never give Pain to things that feel and live; Let the gentle robin come For the crumbs you save at home, — As his meat you throw along He'll repay you with a song; Never hurt the timid hare Peeping from her green grass lair, •Let her come and sport and play On the lawn at close of day; The little lark goes soaring high To the bright windows of the sky. Singing as if 'twere always spring, And fluttering on an untired wing, — Oh! let him sing his happy song. Nor do these gentle creatures wrong. A RULE FOR BIRDS' NESTERS The robin and the red-breast, The sparrow and the wren; ll'^sAs bn/- If ye take out o' their nest, ^' " ■ " ' Ye'il never thrive again! tO'l Poems of Youth and Age The robin and the red-breast, The martin and the swallow; If ye touch one o' their eggs, Bad luck moII surely follow! "SING ON, BLITHE BIRD" I've plucked the berry from the bush, the brown nut from the tree, But heart of happy little bird ne'er broken was by me. I saw them in their curious nests, close couching, slyly peer With their wild eyes, like ghttering beads, to note if harm were near; I passed them by, and blessed them all; I felt that it was good To leave unmoved the creatures small whose home was in the wood. And here, even now, above my head, a lusty rogue doth sing; He pecks his sweUing breast and neck, and trims his little wing. He mil not fly; he knows full weU, while chirping on that spray, I would not harm him for the world, or interrupt his lay. Sing on, sing on, blithe bird! and fill my heart with summer gladness; It has been aching many a da}^ mth measures full of sadness! William Motherwell [1797-1835I "I LIKE LITTLE PUSSY" I LIKE little Pussy, her coat is so warm; And if I don't hurt her she'll do me no harm. So I'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away, But Pussy and I very gently will play. She shall sit by my side, and I'll give her some food; And she'll love me because I am gentle and good. I'll pat httle Pussy and then she wiU purr. And thus show her thanks for my kindness to her. The Little Gentleman 103 I'll not pinch her ears, nor tread on her paw, Lest I should provoke her to use her sharp claw; I never will vex her, nor make her displeased. For Pussy can't bear to be worried or teased. Jane Taylor [1783- 1824] LITTLE THINGS Little drops of water, Little grains of sand, Make the mighty ocean And the pleasant land. So the little moments, Humble though they be, Make the mighty ages Of eternity. So our little errors Lead the soul away From the path of virtue, Far in sin to stray. Little deeds of kindness, Little words of love. Help to make earth happy Like the heaven above. Julia Fletcher Carney [1823-1908I THE LITTLE GENTLEMAN From " Little Derwent's Breakfast " Take your meals, my little man. Always like a gentleman; Wash your face and hands with care, . Change your shoes, and brush your hair; Then so fresh, and clean, and neat. Come and take your proper seat:, Do not loiter and be late. Making other people wait; I04 roems ot Youth and Age Do not rudely point or touch: ,,-1 n'i Do not eat and drink too much:.%£ig i jg^ Finish what you have, before You even ask, or send for more : Never crumble or destroy Food that others might enjoy; They who idly crumbs will waste Often want a loaf to taste! Never spill your milk or tea. Never rude or noisy be ; Never choose the daintiest food, Be content with what is good: Seek in all things that you can To be a Httle gentleman. THE CRUST OF BREAD I MUST not thr9w upon' the floor The crust I cannot eat; For many little hungry ones Would think it quite a treat. My parents labor very hard To get me wholesome food; Then I must never waste a bit That would do others good. For wilful waste makes woeful want. And I may Hve to say, Oh ! how I wish I had the bread That once I threw away! ^'HOW DOTH THE LITTLE BUSY BEE" How doth the little busy bee Improve each shining hour, And gather honey all the day From- ever>" opening flower! The Brown Thrush 105 How skilfully she builds her cell! How neat she spreads the wax! And labors hard to store it well With the sweet food she makes. In works of labor or of skill; I would be busy too; For Satan finds some mischief still For idle hands to do. In books, or work, or healthful play, Let my first years be passed. That I may give for every day Some good account at last. Isaac Watts [i 674-1 748] THE BROWN THRUSH There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in the tree. "He's singing to me! He's singing to me! " And what does he say, little girl, little boy? "Oh, the world's running over with joy! Don't you hear? Don't you see? Hush! Look! In my tree, I'm as happy as happy can be!" And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see, And five eggs, hid by me in the juniper-tree? '^^^-^ ^^^^ Don't meddle! Don't touch! little girl, little boy,' " ' ^'' Or the world will lose some of its joy! Now I'm glad! Now I'm free! And I always shall be, If you never bring sorrow to me." So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, To you and to me, to you and to me; And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, "Oh, the world's running over with joy! But long it won't be, Don't you know? Don't you see? Unless we're as good as can be." Lucy Larcom [18 24-1 893] io6 Poems of Youth and Age THE SLUGGARD 'Tis the voice of a sluggard; I heard him complain, "You have waked me too soon; I must slumber again"; As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. "A little more sleep, and a Httle more slumber"; Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number; And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands Or walks about saunt'ring, or trifling he stands. I passed by his garden, and saw the wild brier The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher; The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags; And his money still w^astes till he starves or he begs. ! £ a'aaanT I made him a visit, still hoping to find '§rii2 a en That he took better care for improving his mind, "^ ^^^ He told me his dreams, talked of eating and drinking. But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking. Said I then to my heart, "Here's a lesson for me; That man's but a picture of what I might be; But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, Who taught me betimes to lo v^e working and reading." Isaac Watts [i 674-1 748] 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; • - ^'^^' It might have graced a rosy bower, Itt'ci-f Instead of hiding there. ^-o. Dirty Jim 107 Yet there it was content to bloom, In modest tints arrayed; And there diffused a sweet perfume, Within the silent shade. Then let me to the valley go. This pretty flower to see; That I may also learn to grow In sweet humihty. Ja7ie Taylor [17 83-1 824] DIRTY JIM There was one Httle Jim, 'Tis reported of him, And must be to his lasting disgrace, That he never was seen \Mth hands at all clean, Nor yet ever clean w^as his face. His friends were much hurt To see so much dirt, And often they made him quite clean; But all was in vain. He got dirty again. And, not at aU fit to be seen. It gave him no pain To hear them complain. Nor his own dirty clothes to survey; His indolent mind No pleasure could find In tidy and wholesome array. The idle and bad, Like this httle lad, May love dirty ways, to be sure; But good boys are seen. To be decent and clean. Although they are ever so poor. '^ Jane Taylor [1783-1824] io8 Poems of Youth and Age THE PIN "Dear me! what signifies a pin, Wedged in a rotten board? I'm certain that I won't begin, At ten years old, to hoard; I never wiU be called a miser, That I'm determined," said Eliza. So onward tripped the Httle maid, And left the pin behind, Which very snug and quiet lay, To its hard fate resigned; Nor did she think (a careless chit) 'Twas worth her while to stoop for it. Next day a party was to ride, To see an air baUoon; And all the company beside Were dressed and ready soon; But she a woeful case was in, For want of just a single pin. In vain her eager eyes she brings, To every darksome crack; There was not one, and yet her things Were dropping off her back; She cut her pincushion in two. But no, not one had fallen through. At last, as hunting on the floor, Over a crack she lay, The carriage rattled to the door. Then rattled fast away; But poor Eliza was not in, For want of just — a single pin! There's hardly anything so small, So trifhng or so mean. That we may never want at all. For service unforeseen; ;l .Jane and Eliza 109 And wilful waste, depend upon't, Brings, almost always, woeful want! Ami Taylor [i 782-1866] JANE AND ELIZA ^,, Theee were two little girls, neither handsome nor plain, One's name was Eliza, the other's was Jane; They were both of one height, as I've heard people say, And both of one age, I believe, to a day, 'Twas fancied by some, who but slightly had seen them, There w^as not a pin to be chosen between them; But no one for long in this notion persisted. So great a distinction there really existed. Eliza knew well that she could not be pleasing, WTiile fretting and fuming, while sulking or teasing; And therefore in company artfully tried. Not to break her bad habits, but only to hide. So, when she was out, with much labor and pain, She contrived to look almost as pleasant as Jane; But then you might see that, in forcing a smile, Her mouth was uneasy, and ached all the while. And in spite of her care it would sometimes befaU That some cross event happened to ruin it all; And because it might chance that her share was the worst; Her temper broke loose, and her dimples dispersed. But Jane, who had nothing she wanted to hide, And therefore these troublesome arts never tried, Had none of the care and fatigue of concealing. But her face always showed what her bosom was feeling. At home or abroad there was peace in her smile, A cheerful good nature that needed no guile. And Ehza worked hard, but could never obtain The affection that freely was given to Jane. Ann Taylor [1782-1866] no Poems of Youth and Age MEDDLESOME MATTY One ugly trick has often spoiled The sweetest and the best; Matilda, though a pleasant child, . ni ji! One ugly trick possessed, Which, hke a cloud before the skies, Hid all her better quahties. Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid, m-jfb n'^-^^^ P^^P - ^ ^^^^ ^^^ ^^ ^^ ' * Or tnt the kettle, if you did But turn your back a minute. In vain you told her not to touch, Her trick of meddling grew so much. JcfO- aaanT rrO ■1" oionfil 8BwT' T 913f{T > on iuQ b £ JBMg 08 Her grandmamma went out one day, ' And by mistake she laid Her spectacles and snuff-box gay Too near the little maid; "Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on, As soon as grandmamma is gone." Forthwith she placed upon her nose The glasses large and wide; And looking round, as I suppose. The snuff-box too she spied: "Oh! what a pretty box is that; I'll open it," said httle Matt. "I know that grandmamma would say, 'Don't meddle with it, dear'; But then, she's far enough away, And no one else is near: Besides, what can there be amiss In opening such a box as this?" So thumb and finger went to work To move the stubborn lid. And presently a mighty jerk The mighty mischief did; om isH ■iiA '').i jGiiT >^d bnA ^^' riBUua jdi hnA ion bfili 1; 10 araori j ' '§ luhaarf' !W Bsii3J u flotr^sBB odT Contented John . 1 1 1 For all at once, ah! woeful case, . >r The snuff came puffing in her face. *^jj Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, beside, A dismal sight presented; In vain, as bitterly she cried, Her folly she repented. \^[\ In vain she ran about for ease; ^no 1uc S^^ could do nothing now but sneeze. She dashed the spectacles away, To wipe her tingHng eyes, And as in twenty bits they lay. Her grandmamma she spies. "Heydey! and what's the matter now?" Cried grandmamma, with Hfted brow. Matilda, smarting with the pain, And tingling still, and sore. Made many a promise to refrain From meddling evermore. And 'tis a fact, as I have heard. She ever since has kept her word. Ann Taylor [i 782-1866] CONTENTED JOHN One honest John Tomkins, a hedger and ditcher. Although he was poor, did not v/ant to be richer; For all such vain wishes in him were prevented By a fortunate habit of being contented. Though cold were the weather, or dear were 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'll be thankful for bread; And, though fretting may make my calamities deeper, It can never cause bread and cheese to be cheaper." 112 Poems of Youth and Age If John was afficted with sickness or pain, He mshed himself better, but did not complain, Nor He do\^^l to 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 stUl; For he said that revenging the injury done Would be making two rogues when there need be but one. And thus honest John, though his station was humble, Passed through this sad world \\ithout even a grumble; And I msh that some folks, who are greater and richer, Would copy John Tomkins, the hedger and ditcher. Ja7ie Taylor [1783-1824I FRIENDS How good to lie a little while And look up through the tree! The Sky is like a kind big smile Bent sweetly over me. The Sunshine flickers through the lace Of leaves above my head, And kisses me upon the face Like Mother, before bed. The Wind comes stealing o'er the grass To whisper pretty things; And though I cannot see him pass, I feel his careful wings. So many gentle Friends are near )! Whom one can scarcely see, A child should never feel a fear, [t Wherever he may be. .i^,;;:.- . Ahbie Famell Brown [18 "There Was a Little Girl" 113 ANGER Anger in its time and place '^ May assume a kind of grace. ^' It must have some reason in it. And not last beyond a minute. • • .-p If to further lengths it go, ., r_/ It does into malice grow. 'Tis the difference that we see 'Twixt the serpent and the bee. If the latter you provoke, It inflicts a hasty stroke, Puts you to some little pain, But it never stings again. Close in tufted bush or brake Lurks the poison-swelled snake Nursing up his cherished wrath; In the purlieus of his path, In the cold, or in the warm, Mean him good, or mean him harm. Wheresoever fate may bring you, The vile snake will always sting you. Charles and Mary Lamb "THERE WAS A LITTLE GIRL" ." " There was a little girl, who had a little curl Right in the middle of her forehead. And when she was good, she v\'as very, very good, i But when she was bad she was horrid. ' > She stood on her head, on her little trundle-bed. With nobody by for to hinder ; She screamed and she squalled, she yelled and she bawled, And drummed her little heels against the winder. Her mother heard the noise, and thought it was the boys Playing in the empty attic. She rushed upstairs, and caught her unawares, '•- And spanked her, most emphatic. Unknown 114 Poems of Youth and Age THE REFORMATION OF GODFREY GORE GoDEREY Gordon Gustavus Gore — No doubt you have heard the name beforer-r; , Was a boy ^yho never would shut a door^rrr tT The wind might whistle, the wind might roar, And teeth be aching and throats be sore. But still he never would shut the door. His father would beg, his mother implore, "Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore, We really do wish you would shut the door!" Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore; But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore. When he walked forth the folks would roar, "Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore, Why don't you think to shut the door? " They rigged out a Shutter with sail and oar, And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore On a voyage of penance to Singapore. But he begged for mercy, and said, "No more! Pray do not send me to Singapore On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!" "You will?" said his parents; "then keep on shore! But mind you do! For the plague is sore Of a fellow that never will shut the door, Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!" William Brighty Rands [i 823-1 882I .balwxid . . THE BEST FIRM ,yp, X PRETTY good firm is "Watch & Waite," And another is "Attit, Early & Layte;" And still another is "Doo & Dairet;" But the best is probably "Grinn & Barrett." Kuicuvu:'.'.: Walter G. Doty [1876- How the Little Kite Learned to Fly 115 A LITTLE PAGE'S SONG . HT {13th Century) God's lark at morning I would be! I'd set my heart within a tree - Close to His bed and sing to Him Right merrily A sunrise hymn. At night I'd be God's troubadour! Beneath His starry walls I'd pour Across the moat such roundelays He'd love me sure — And maybe praise! William Alexajider Percy [1885- HOW THE LITTLE KITE LEARNED TO FLY "I NEVER can do it," the little kite said, As he looked at the others high over his head ; "I know I should fall if I tried to fly." "Try," said the big kite;, "only try! njj^ ^^(1 Or I fear you never will learn at all."jftof{ loVT But the little kite said, "I'm- afraid I'll fall." The big kite nodded: "Ah well, goodby; I'm off;" and he rose toward the tranquil sky. Then the little kite's paper stirred at the sight, And trembling he shook himself free for flight. First whirhng and frightened, then braver grown, Up, up he rose through the air alone, Till the big kite looking down could see The Httle one rising steadily. j^^^g ^^^ Then how the little kite thrilled with pride, As he sailed with the big kite side by side! While far below he could see the ground, And the boys like small spots moving round. They rested high in the quiet air. And only the birds and the clouds were there. "Oh, how happy lam!" the httle kite cried, "And all because I was brave, and tried." Unknown ii6 Poems of Youth and Age THE BUTTERFLY AND THE BEE Methought I heard a butterfly Say to a laboring bee: "Thou hast no colors of the sky On painted wings hke me." "Poor child of vanity! those dyes, And colors bright and rare," With mild reproof, the bee replies, "Are all beneath my care. " Content I toil from morn till eve, And, scorning idleness, To tribes of gaudy sloth I leave The vanity of dress." Willidfn Lisle Bowles [1762-1850] THE BUTTERFLY The butterfly, an idle thing, Nor honey makes, nor yet can sing, - As do the bee and bird; ^^3. Nor does it, like the prudent ant, . .j^-£ Lay up the grain for times of want, ,, m'l A vdse and cautious hoard. ^jf j nsHT My youth is but a summer's day: Then hke the bee and ant I'll lay A store of learning by; And though from flower to flower I rove, '\^ My stock of wisdom I'll improve, Nor be a butterfly. Adelaide O'Keefe [177^-1855] ^^ ofirC// MORNING The lark is up to meet the sun, The bee is on the wing, The ant her labor has begun. The woods with music ring. Buttercups and Daisies , ,117 Shall birds and bees and ants be wise, While I my moments waste? Oh, let me with the morning rise, And to my duties haste. ;;, , p . Why should I sleep till beams of morn Their light and glory shed? Immortal beings were not born To waste their time in bed. Jane Taylor [1783-1824] BUTTERCUPS AND DAISIES ; vjjia A Buttercups and daisies, qj n^ssS Oh, the pretty flowers; uim6qu'} cIU Coming ere the spring time, no £ :ro>T To tell of sunny hours, ;ig gjjj ^q While the trees are leafless, ^ ; ,;/ While the fields are bare, ^''isffi Buttercups and daisies Spring up here and there. i Jsiji J A ' 'Ere the^ snow-drop peepeth, -^ ^ t h 1 1 / Ere the crocus bold, .■'''' Ere the early primrose -'^ ^'-^^ '^^ Opes its paly gold, — [^^ Somewhere on the sunny, bank ^^^^^^ ^ Buttercups are bright; ' ' ' ■ Somewhere midst the frozen grass Peeps the daisy white.;**^ ^^^ - Little hardy flowers, ^.^^ ^^ ^^g Like to children poor, ^ . cr Playing in their sturdy health .^ ,, .^^^ n3f[W By their mother's door. .^^^^^ ^y^ Purple with the north-wind, _, j ^„ jt- Yet alert and bold; '^^ f^^ ^^.^^ Fearing not, and caring not, . -; .,, .Though they be a-cold! ^, ^^^ .^^^^^ ^^ Ii8 Poems of Youth and Age What to them is winter! What are stormy showers! Buttercups and daisies :^i ,riO Are these human flowers! " '^ He who gave them hardships " ' And a Hfe of care, Gave them Hkewise hardy strength And patient hearts to bear. Mary Ilowitt [ 1 7 9 9- 1 1 THE ANT AND THE CRICKET Ur.8] A SILLY young cricket, accustomed to sing Through the warm, sunny months of gay summer and spring, Began to complain, when he found that at home His cupboard was empty and winter was come. Not a crumb to be found On the snow-covered ground; Not a flower could he see. Not a leaf on a tree: ''Oh, what will become," says the cricket, " of me?" At last by starvation and famine made bold. All dripping with wet and all trembhng with cold, Away he set off to a miserly ant. To see if, to keep him alive, he would grant Him shelter from rain: A mouthful of grain He wished only to borrow, He'd repay it to-morrow: If not, he must die of starvation and sorrow. Says the ant to the cricket, "I'm your servant and friend, But we ants never borrow, we ants never lend; But tell me, dear sir, did you lay nothing by When the weather was warm?" Said the cricket, "Not I. My heart was so hght That I sang day and night. For all nature looked gay." "You sang, sir, you say? Go then," said the ant, "and dance winter away." Deeds of Kindness 119 Thus ending, he hastily Kfted the wicket And out of the door turned the poor Httle cricket. Though this is a fable, the moral is good: If you live without work, you must live without food. Unknown AFTER WINGS This was your butterfly, you see, — His fine \\ings made him vain: The caterpillars crawl, but he Passed them in rich disdain. — My pretty boy says, *'Let him be Only a worm again!" O child, when things have learned to wear Wings once, they must be fain To keep them always high and fai?# woH Think of the creeping pain 38i-£iii.. -^n He got entangled in a net. or! Jua With dreadful rage, he stamped and tore/*' And straight commenced a lordly roar; ^" W^hen the poor mouse, who heard the noise, Attended, for she knew his voice. Then what the lion 's utmost strength j A Could not effect, she did at length; jH With patient labor she appHed Her teeth, the network to divide; 'T And so at last forth issued he, i A A lion, by a mouse set free. ^ il fon lol Few are so small or weak, I guess, " \ But may assist us in distress. Nor shall we ever, if we 're -^dse, y The meanest, or the least despise. " " Jeffreys Taylor [i 792-1 853] THE BOY AND'' THE WOLF A LITTLE Boy was set to keep A little flock of goats or sheep; He thought the task too solitary. And took a strange perverse vagary: ^2 SCHT To call the people out of fun, To see them leave their work and run, He cried and screamed with all his might, — "Wolf! wolf!" in a pretended fright. Some people, working at a distance. Came running in to his assistance. They searched the fields and bushes round, The Wolf was nowhere to be found. 122 Poems of Youth and Age The Boy, delighted with his game, _ ^^i± A few days after did the same, tjiofqml And once again the people came. The trick was many times repeated. At last they found that they were cheated. One day the Wolf appeared in sight, The Boy was in a real fright. He cried, "Wolf! wolf!" — the neighbors heard, But not a single creature stirred. "We need not go from our employ, — 'Tis nothing but that idle boy." The little Boy cried out again, // "Help, help! the Wolf!" he cried in vain. A At last his master came to beat him. He came too late, the Wolf had eat him. This shows the bad effect of lying. And likewise of continual crying. If I had heard you scream and roar, For nothing, twenty times before, Although you might have broke your arm, Or met with any serious harm, Your cries could give me no alarm; They would not make me move the faster, Nor apprehend the least disaster; I should be sorry when I came. But you yourself would be to blame. John Hookham Frere [i 769-1 846I THE STORY OF AUGUSTUS, WHO WOULD NOT HAVE ANY SOUP — ,:.-lv Augustus was a chubby lad; Fat, ruddy cheeks Augustus had; And everybody saw with joy The plump and hearty, healthy boy. He ate and drank as he was told, And never let his soup get cold. The Story of Little Suck-a-thumb 123 But one day, one cold winter 's day, /. He screamed out — "Take the soup away! take the nasty soup away! 1 won't have any soup to-day." ; i' Next day begins his tale of woes; ) bnA Quite lank and lean Augustus grows, , • Yet, though he feels so weak and ill, The naughty fellow cries out still— "Not any soup for me, I say:' take the nasty soup away! 1 won't have any soup to-day." The third day comes; O what a sin! To make himself so pale and thin. Yet, when the soup is put on table. He screams, as loud as he is able, — ' " "Not any soup for me, I say: take the nasty soup away! 1 won't have any soup to-day." Look at him, now the fourth day's come! He scarcely weighs a sugar-plum; He's like a little bit of thread, And on the fifth day, he was — dead! From the German of Heinrich Hoffman [i 798-1874] THE STORY OF LITTLE SUCK-A-THUMB One day, mamma said: "Conrad dear, I must go out and leave you here. But mind now, Conrad, what I say, Don 't suck your thumb while I 'm away. The great tall tailor always comes • / To little boys that suck their thumbs; And ere they dream what he 's about, He takes his great sharp scissors out And cuts their thumbs clean off, — and then, You know, they never grow again." %2^ c Poems of Youth and Age Mamma had scarcely turned her back, IvThe thumb was in, alack! alack! The door flew open, in he ran, The great, long, red-legged scissors-man. Oh, children, see! the tailor's come And caught our little Suck-a-Thumb. Snip! snap! snip! the scissors go; And Conrad cries out — "Oh! oh! oh!" Snip! snap! snip! They go so fast. That both his thumbs are off at last. Mamma comes home; there Conrad stands. And looks quite sad, and shows his hands; — "Ah!" said mamma, "I knew he'd come To naughty httle Suck-a-Thumb." Fro7n the German of Heinrich Hofman [i 798-1874] WRITTEN IN A LITTLE LADY'S LITTLE ALBUM Hearts good and true Have wishes few In narrow circles bounded, And hope that lives On what God gives Is Christian hope well founded. SmaU things are best; ,^ , Grief and unrest To rank and wealth are given; But httle things On little wings Bear little souls to heaven. Frederick William Faber [181 4-1 863] MY L.ADY WIND My Lady Wind, my Lady Wind, Went round about the house to find A chink to set her foot in; She tried the keyhole in the door, i '"3'" She tried the crevice in the floor, And drove the chimney soot in. A Farewell I2_ And then one night when it was dark She blew up such a tiny spark That all the town was bothered; Frorn it she raised such fame and smoke That many in great terror woke. And many more were smothered. ^ ^^^ And thus when once, my little dears, A whisper reaches itching ears — The same will come^ you'll jQnd: Take my advice, restrain the tongue. Remember what old nurse has sung Of busy Lady Wind. Unknown TO A CHILD Small service is true service while it lasts: Of humblest friends, bright creature! scorn not one: The daisy, by the shadow that it casts. Protects the lingering dewdrop from the sun. William Wordsworth [1770-1850] A FAREWELL My' fairest child, I have no song to give you; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray: Yet, if you will, one quiet hint I '11 leave you For every day. I '11 tell you how to sing a clearer carol Than lark who hails the dawn on breezy down; j^j;. To earn yourself a purer poet's laurel Than Shakespeare's crown. Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever; Do noble things, not dream them, all day long: And so make Life, and Death, and that For Ever One grand sweet song. Charles Kingsley [ 1 8 1 9- 1 8 7 5] RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD REEDS OF INNOCENCE Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, [" On a cloud I saw a child, ] And he laughing said to me: "Pipe a song about a lamb!" So I piped with merry cheer. "Piper, pipe that song again;" So I piped: he wept to hear. ; "Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe; ^ ^^^. Sing thy songs of happy cheer I'^'^^^^^^^ So I sang the same again. While he wept with joy to hear. "Piper, sit thee down and write In a book that all may read." . ^ So he vanished from my sight ;'.^^^ ^^^^ And I plucked a hollow reed. And I made a rural pen, And I stained the water clear, . ,■ , '/ h3i III And I wrote my happy songs ^^ Every child may joy to hear'.' William Blake [17 5 7- 182 7] THE WONDERFUL WORLD Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World, With the wonderful water round you curled. And the wonderful grass upon your breast, World, you are beautifully dressed. 126 "The World's Music 127 The wonderful air is over me, And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree — It walks on the water, and whirls the mills, And talks to itself on the tops of the hills. , , ^ You friendly Earth, how far do you go, ' ' With the wheat-fields that nod and the rivers that flow, With cities and gardens, and cliffs and isles, ( And people upon you for thousands of miles? Ah! you are so great, and I am so small| '^ '"•' ' I tremble to think of you, World, at all; ^^^^ ^^^ And yet, when I said my prayers to-day, A whisper inside me seemed to say, " You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot : You can love and think, and the Earth cannot!" William Brighty Ranis [1823-1882I THE WORLD'S MUSIC The world's a very happy place, - // . Where every child should dance and sing, And always have a smihng face. And never sulk for anything. .; ■ I waken when the morning's come, And feel the air and light alive With strange sweet music like the hum !J Of bees about their busy hive. The linnets play among the leaves // At hide-and-seek, and chirp and sing; i 7/ While, flashing to and from the eaves, fT The swallows twitter on the wing. The twigs that shake, and boughs that sway; And tall old trees you could not climb; And winds that come, but cannot stay, Are gaily singing all the time. 128 Poems of Youth and Age From dawn to dark the old mill-wheel labnow ariT - Makes music, going round and round ;ow arii hnA And dusty-white with flour and meal:^iij no aAiaw il The miller whistles to its sound. :>?>'[ ot sM&i bah. And if you hsten to the rain ^^^ ^^y ,77,,ri When leaves and birds and bees are dumb>^ ^y^^J You hear it pattering on the pane ;.,,, -.^^.-^ ^^-t^,^ Like Andrew beating on his drun^.,^,.^ c^[qcy^q r^riA The coals beneath the kettle croon, And clap their hands and dance in glee; And even the kettle hums a tune To tell you when it's time for tea. '^* The world is such a happy place, tn sib uo Y That children, whether big or small, ' ' '" '' ^ Should'always have a smihng face, And never, never sulk at all. Gabriel Setoun [i86i= A BOY'S SONG Where the pools are bright and deep, Where the gray trout lies asleep, Up the river and over the lea. That 's the way for Billy and me. ; .a/ Where the blackbird sings the latest. Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, Where the nestlings chirp and flee, That 's the way for Billy and me. Where the mowers mow the cleanest. Where the hay hes thick and greenest, There to track the homeward bee, That 's the way for Billy and me. Where the hazel bank is steepest. Where the shadow falls the deepest, Where the clustering nuts fall free, That 's the way for Billy and me. Going Down. Hill on a Bicycle 129 Why the boys should drive away Little sweet maidens from the play, Or love to banter and fight so well, That 's the thing I never could tell. But this I know. I love to play Through the meadow, among the hay; Up the water and over the lea. That's the way for Billy and me. James Hogg [1770-1835] GOING DO\^'X HILL OX A BICYCLE A boy's SOXG With hfted feet, hands stiU, I am poised, and down the hiU Dart, vrith. heedful mind; The air goes by in a wind. Swifter and yet more swift, Till the heart with a mighty lift [Makes the lungs laugh, the throat cry:-— "0 bird, see; see, bird, I fly. "Is this, is this your joy? O bird, then I, though a boy, For a golden moment share Your feathery Hfe in air!" ^'^ Say, heart, is there aught like this In a world that is fuU of bhss? 'Tis more than skating, bound ." ~ Steel-shod to the level ground. Speed slackens nov\-, I float Awhile in my air>- boat; TiU, v>-hen the wheels scarce crawl, !Mv feet to the treadles fall. 130 Poems of Youth and Age Alas, that the longest hill Must end in a vale ; but still, Who climbs Vvith toil, wheresoe 'er, Shall find wings waiting there. Henry Charles Beeching [1859- PLAYGROUXDS In summer I am ver\' glad .8i-o«'^' We children are so small, For we can see a thousand things That men can't see at all. They don't know much about the moss And aU the stones they pass : They never lie and play among The forests in the grass : They walk about a long way off; And, when we 're at the sea, Let father stoop as best he can He can't find things hke me. But, when the snow is on the ground And all the puddles freeze, I wish that I were ver\" tall, High up above the trees. Laurence Alma-Tadema [li "\\TiO K\S SEEX THE WTXD?". Who has seen the wind? Neither I nor you : But when the leaves hang trembling, ..^ T The wind is passing through. ,''\ Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I: But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by. Christina Georgina Rosseiti [1830-1894! The Wind's Song 131 THE WIND'S SOXG WINDS that blow across the sea, What is the story that you bring? Leaves clap their hands on every tree And birds about their branches sing. You sing to flowers and trees and birds Your sea-songs over all the land. x • Could you not stay and whisper words' A little child might understand? The roses nod to hear you sing; But though I Ksten all the day^ You never tell me amlhing Of father 's ship so far away= Its masts are taller than the trees; Its sails are silver in the sim; There's not a ship upon the seas So beautiful as father 's one. With wings spread out it flies so fast It leaves the waves aU white with foam. Just whisper to me, blowing past. If you have seen it saihng home. 1 feel your breath upon m}'- cheek, .And in my hair, and on my brow. Dear winds, if you could only speak, I know that you would tell me now. ;My father 's coming home, you 'd say, With precious presents, one, two, three; A shawl for mother, beads for May, And eggs and shells for Rob and me. - The winds sing songs where 'er they roam ; The leaves all clap their Uttle hands; For father 's ship is coming home With wondrous things from foreign lands. Gabriel Setoun [1861- 132 Poems of Youth and Age THE PIPER ON THE HILL A child's song Kr-A There sits a piper on the hill Who pipes the livelong day, And when he pipes both loud and 'shfUl, The frightened people say: ''The wind, the wind is blowing up y 'Tis rising to a gale." ■• ' ■ The women hurry to the shore To watch some distant sail. The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind, Is blowing to a gale. But when he pipes all sweet and low, •' ^. The piper on the hill, I hear the merry women go ■ ' With laughter, loud and shrill: ''The wind, the wind is coming south 'Twill blow a gentle day." They gather on the meadow-land.- ^r\fj To toss the yellow hay. ■ r .t The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind, . . j- Is blowing south to-day. >- ■ i u \\ And in the morn, when winter comes,, , , To keep the piper warm. The little Angels shake their wings To make a feather storm: "The snow, the snow has come at last!'' The happy children call, ^i/;. And "ring around" they dance in glee( And watch the snowflakes fall. The wind, the wind, the wind, the wind, Has spread a snowy pall. But when at night the piper plays, I have not any fear, Eecause God 's windows open wide The pretty tune to hear; The Wind and the Moon 133 And when each crowding spirit looks, From its star window-pane, A watching mother may behold Her httle child again. The mind, Ihe wind, the wind, the wind, May blow her home again. Dora Sigerson Shorter [i8 - THE ^^^XD .\xd the ^ioox Said the Wind to the !Moon. 'T will blow you out; ^'o^ stare t^^.^ ^^j^r In the air Like a ghost in a chair. Always looking what I am about — -^ I hate to be watched; I'll blow you out."-^^ .,.^r ..fLj The Wind blew hard, and out went the Aloon. So, deep - 5 sH On a heap Of clouds to sleep, Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon, ^Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon." He turned in his bed ; she was there again ! On high In the sky. With her one ghost eye, The ^loon shone white and alive and plain. Said the Wind, "I wiU blow you out again." The Wind blew hard, and the INIoon grew dim. "With my sledge. And my wedge, I have knocked off her edge! If only I blow right fierce and grim. The creature will soon be dimmer than dim." -TTO\^ 134 Poems of Youth and Age He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a threads ''One puff More 's enough gahijjHN h To blow her to snuff! i' ji - sTT One good puff more where the last was bred, And glimmer, ghmmer, glum will go the thread." He blew a great blast, and the thread wa,s gone. In the air Nowhere Was a moonbeam bare; Far off and harmless the shy stars shone — "' Sure and certain the Moon was gone! The Wind he took to his revels once more; On down, In town, Like a merry-mad clown, ^f^oul dVBwIA He leaped and halloed with whistle and^itoaf-^'-^'^' ^ "What's that?" The glimmering thread once more! iiV/ ^dl He flew in a rage — he danced and blew; But in vain ^o Was the pain Of his bursting brain; ^,q For still the broader the Moon-scrap grew, , mlf^ The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew. Slowly she grew — till she filled the night, ^ And shone On her throne In the sky alone, A matchless, wonderful silvery light, '^ Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night. ;> Said the Wind: ''What a marvel of power am I! ] With my breath, Good faith! I blew her to death — First blew her away right out of the sky- Then blew her in; what strength have I!" ^ij -jd£ "'!?/ Baby Seed Song 135 But the Moon she knew nothing about ,th^j§.%ir;.< For high ,fi \o barl UdW In the sky, ■ (['t With her one white eye, t Motionless, miles above the air, (// She had never heard the great Wind blare. George Macdonald [1824- 1905] CHILD'S SONG IN SPRING The silver birch is a dainty lady. She wears a satin gown; ; The elm tree makes the old churchyard shady, She will not live in town. The English oak is a sturdy fellow. He gets his green coat late; The willow is smart in a suit of yellow, While brown the beech trees wait. Such a gay green gown God gives the larches — As green as He is good ! The hazels hold up their arms for arches When Spring rides through the wood. The chestnut 's proud, and the Hlac 's pretty, The poplar 's gentle and tall, But the plane tree 's kind to the poor duU city— I love him best of all! Edith Neshit [1858- BABY SEED SONG Little brown brother, oh ! Httle brown brother, Are you awake in the dark? Here we lie cosily, close to each other: Hark to the song of the lark — "Waken!" the lark says, "waken and dress you; Put on your green coats and gay, Blue sky will shine on you, sunshine caress you— - Waken! 'tis morning — 'tis May!" 136 Poems of Youth and Age Little brown brother, oh! little brown brother, ;>[ What kind of flower will you be? I'll be a poppy — all w^hite, Hke my mother; Do be a poppy hke me. WTiatI you're a sun-flov/er? How I shaU miss you When you're grown golden and highl ;ri9rid But I shall send all the bees up to kiss you; Little brown brother, good-bye. _ / ;^ Edith Nesbit [1858- LITTLE DANDELION Gay httle Dandehon Lights up the meads, Smngs on her slender foot, .jri'-^ TeUeth 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 Dandehon Greeteth the May. Brave little Dandelion! Fast falls the snow, Bending the daffodil's Haughty head low. Under that fleecy tent, Careless of cold, -.^ Bhthe httle Dandelion Counteth her gold. ■^'''*'' Meek httle Dandehon Groweth more fair. Till dies the amber dew Out from her hair. .140 Little White Lily?.)*! 8^37 High rides the thirsty sun, Fiercely and high; Faint Httle Dandehon Closeth her eye. Pale little Dandelion, In her white shroud, Heareth the angel-breeze ^ 1 i" Call from the cloud; Tiny plumes fluttering IMake no delay; Little winged Dandelion Soareth away. Helen Barron Bosiivick [1826- LITTLE WHITE LILY From " Within and Without " Little White Lily sat by a stone, Drooping and waiting till the sun shone. Little White Lily sunshine has fed; Little WTiite Lily is lifting her head. Little WTiite Lily said: "It is good, Little WTiite Lily's clothing and food." Little WTiite Lily dressed like a bride ! Shining with whiteness, and crowned beside! Little White Lily drooping mth pain, Waiting and waiting for the wet rain, Little White Lily holdeth her cup; Rain is fast faUing and filhng it up. Little \Miite Lily said : " Good again, WTien I am. thirsty to have the nice rain. Now I am stronger, now I am cool; Heat cannot burn me, my veins are so full." Little WTiite Lily smells very sweet; On her head sunshine, rain at her feet. Thanks to the sunshine, thanks to the rain, Little WTiite LUy is happy again. George Macdonald [1824-1905I 13^ Poems of Youth and Age WISHING Ring-ting! I Tvish I were a Primrose, A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the Spring! The stooping bough above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, And the Elm- tree for our King! Nay, — stay ! I msh I were an Elm- tree, A great lofty Elm- tree, ^^ith green leaves gay! The winds would set them dancing. The sun and moonshine glance in. The Birds would house among the boughs, And sweetly sing! — no ! I wish I were a Robin, A Robin or a Uttle Wren, eve^y^vhere to go; Through forest, field, or garden, And ask no leave or pardon, Till Winter comes with icy thumbs To ruffle up our wing. WeU— teU! WTiere should I fly to, Where go to sleep in the dark w^ood or dell?,- Before a day w^as over. Home comes the rover, For Mother's kiss, — sweeter this Than any other thing! William Allingham [1824-1889I IN THE GARDEN I SPIED beside the garden bed A tiny lass of ours, Who stopped and bent her sunny head Above the red June flowers. Pushing the leaves and thorns apart, She singled out a rose. And in its inmost crimson heart. Enraptured, plunged her nose. 1 v^ Glad Day C139 "O dear, dear rose, come, tell me true — Come, tell me true," said she, "If I smell just as sweet to you As you smell sweet to me!" ^ Ernest Crosby [1856-1907] THE GLADNESS OF NATURE Is this a time to be cloudy and sad, When our mother Nature laughs around; When even the deep blue heavens look glad, And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? There are notes of Joy from the hang-bird and wren, And the gossip of swallows through all the sky; The ground-squirrel gaily chirps by his den, And the wilding bee hums merrily by. The clouds are at play in the azure space And their shadows at play on the bright-green vale. And here they stretch to the frolic chase. And there they roll on the easy gale. There's a dance of leaves in that aspen bower, There's a titter of winds in that beechen tree. There's a smile on the fruit, and a smile on the flower, And a laugh from the brook that runs to the sea. And look at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles On the dewy earth that smiles in his ray. On the leaping waters and gay young isles; Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away. William Cullen Bryant [1794-1878] GLAD DAY Here's another day, dear. Here's the sun again Peeping in his pleasant way Through the window pane. 140 Poems of Youth and Age — d: Rise and let him in, dear, Hail him/'hip hurray!" Now the fun will all begin. Here's another day! Down the coppice path, dear, Through the dewy glade, (When the Morning took her bath What a splash she made!) Up the wet wood-way, dear, Under dripping green Run to meet another day, Brightest ever seen. Mushrooms in the field, dear, Show their silver gleam. What a dainty crop they yield Firm as clouted cream, Cool as balls of snow, dear, Sweet and fresh and round! Ere the early dew can go We must clear the ground. ' ' ■ Such a lot to do, dear, Such a lot to see! How we ever can get through Fairly puzzles me. Hurry up and out, dear, Then — away! away! In and out and round about, Here's another day! r, W. Graham Robertson [1867 THE TIGER Tiger! Tiger I burning bright. In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could fram-e thy fearful symmetry? irVr >:-T k Answer to a Child's Question I41 In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes? ^ On what wings dare he aspire? [i^j jj'I Wliat the hand dare seize the fije?v r^' And what shoulder, and what art, i Could twist the sinews of thy heart? jJ And when thy heart began to beat, Whsit dread hand and what dread feet? - 1 "IMiat the hammer? what the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears. And watered heaven ^^-ith their tears, Did He smile His work to see? ■' Did He who made the Lamb, make thee? Tiger! Tiger! burning bright. In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? William Blake [1757-1827] ANSWER TO A CHILD'S QUESTION Do you ask what the birds say? The Sparrow, the Dove, The Linnet and Thrush say, "I love and I love!" In the winter they're silent — the vnnd is so strong; WTiat it says, I don 't know, but it sings a loud song. But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather, And singing, and loving — -aU come back together. But the Lark is so brimful of gladness and love. The green fields below him, the blue sky above, That he sings, and he sings, and for ever sings he — "I love my Love, and my Love loves mel" Samuel Taylor Coleridge [17 7 2-1 834] 142 Poems of Youth and Age HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN I'll tell you how the leaves. came down.;' • The great Tree to his children said: " "You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown, Yes, very sleepy, little Red. It is quite time to go to bed." "Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf, "Let us a little longer stay; Dear Father Tree, behold our grief! 'Tis such a very pleasant day, '■* ^'"' We do not want to go away." ''''^^ ^^ So, just for one more merry day To the great Tree the leaflets clung, Frolicked and danced, and had their way, Upon the autumn breezes swung. Whispering all their sports among — "Perhaps the great Tree will forget. And let us stay until the spring. If we all beg, and coax, and fret." uCV But the great Tree did no such thing;n L He smiled to hear them whispering, ''f^ "Come, children, all to bed," he cried; And ere the leaves could urge their prayer, He shook his head, and far and wide, Flutteriug and rustling everywhere, . Down sped the leaflets through the air. I saw them ; on the ground they lay. Golden and red, a huddled swarm, Waiting till one from far away, ^^/j , ,_[ White bedclothes heaped upon her arm, >•, h;r{W Should come to wrap them safe and warm. : The great bare Tree looked down and smiled;^ '■'-'^^^ "Goodnight, dear httle leaves," he said, '^fi^ ^^-"^ And from below each sleepy child ^^ *iyii nsaig sriT Rephed, "Goodnight," and mufiiiuiMj^s sri-crfirlT "It is so nice to go to bed ! " vrn ovol : '.> , • j» 1 : V, Susan Coolidge [1845-1905] A Legend of the Northland 143 A LEGEND OF THE NORTHLAND Away, away in the Northland, Where the hours of the day are few, And the nights are so long in winter That they cannot sleep them through; Where they harness the swift reindeer To the sledges, when it snows; And the children look like bear's cubs In their funny, furry clothes: They tell them a curious story — I don't believe 'tis true; And yet you may learn a lesson If I tell the tale to you. Once, when the good Saint Peter Lived in the world below. And walked about it, preaching, Just as he did, you know. He came to the door of a cottage, In traveling round the earth. Where a little woman was making cakes. And baking them on the hearth; And being faint with fasting, For the day was almost done. He asked her, from her store of cakes, , To give him a single one. So she mxade a very little cake. But as it baking lay. She looked at it, and thought it seemed Too large to give away. Therefore she kneaded another. And still a smaller one; But it looked, when she turned it over, As large as the first had done. 144 Poems of Youth and Age Then she took a tiny scrap of dough, And rolled and rolled it flat; And baked it thin as a wafer — But she couldn't part with that. For she said, "]\Iy cakes that seem too small When I eat of them myself, xAre yet too large to give away." So she put them on the shelf. Then good Saint Peter grew angry, For he was hungry and faint; And surely such a woman Was enough to provoke a saint. And he said, "You are far too selfish To dwell in a human form. To have both food and shelter. And fire to keep you warm. "Now, you shall build as the birds do, And shall get your scanty food By boring, and boring, and boring, All day in the hard, dry wood." Then up she went through the cliimney, Never speaking a word. And out of the top flew a Vv^oodpecker, For she was changed to a bird. She had a scarlet cap on her head, j\nd that was left the same. But all the rest of her clothes were burned Black as a coal in the flame. .\nd every country school-boy Has seen her in the wood, Where she Hves in the trees till this very day, Boring and boring for food. And this is the lesson she teaches: Live not for yourself alone. Lest the needs you ^dll not pity Shall one day be your ov.n. "^" The Cricket's Story 145 Give plenty of what is given to you, Listen to pity's call; Don't think the little you give is great, : And the much you get is small. Now, my little boy, remember that, And try to be kind and good. When you see the woodpecker's sooty dress. And see her scarlet hood. You mayn't be changed to a bird though you live As selfishly as you can; But you will be changed to a smaller thing — A mean and selfish man. Phosbe Cary [1824-1871] THE CRICKET'S STORY The high and mighty lord of Glendare, The owner of acres both broad and fair, Searched, once on a time, his vast domains, His deep, green forest, and yellow plains. For some rare singer, to make complete The studied charms of his country-seat; But found, for all his pains and labors. No sweeter songster than had his neighbors. Ah, what shall my lord of the manor do? He pondered the day and the whole night through. He called on the gentry of hill-top and dale; And at last on Madame the Nightingale, — . Inviting, in his majestical way. Her pupils to sing at his grand" soiree. That perchance among them my lord might find Some singer to whom his heart inclined. What wonder, then, when the evening came^. .,,. . And the castle gardens were all aflame :&\ adJ oT With the many curious lights that hung O'er the ivied porches, and flared among The grand old trees and the banners proud, That many a heart beat high and loud. 146 Poems of Youth and Age While the famous choir of Glendare Bog, IQ EstabHshed and led by the Brothers Frog, Sat thrumming as hoarsely as they were able, ,(j In front of the manager's mushroom table! The overture closed with a crash — then, hark! Across the stage comes the sweet-voiced Lark. She daintily sways, with an airy grace. And flutters a bit of gossamer lace. While the leafy alcove echoes and thrills With her liquid runs and lingering trills. Miss Goldfinch came next, in her satin gown, And shaking her feathery flounces down, With much expression and feeling sung Some "Oil's" and "Ah's" in a foreign tongue; While to give the affair a classic tone. Miss Katydid rendered a song of her own. In which each line closed as it had begun. With some wonderful deed which she had done. Then the Misses Sparrow, so prim and set. Twittered and chirped through a long duet ; ^ And poor little Wren, who tried with a wiU, But who couldn't tefl "Heber" from "Ortonville," Unconscious of sarcasm, piped away And courtesied low o'er a huge bouquet Of crimson clover-heads, culled by the dozen, By some brown-coated, plebeian cousin. But you should have heard the red Robin sing His Enghsh ballad, "Come, beautiful Spring!" And Master Owlet's melodious tune, "O, meet me underthe silvery moon!" Then, as flighty Miss Humming-bird didn't care To sing for the high and mighty Gle.ndare, The close of the evening's performance fell To the fair young Nightingale, Mademoiselle. Ah! the wealth of each wonderful note That came from the depths of her tiny throat! She carolled, she trilled, and she held her breath, Till she seemed to hang at the point of death: sx.;The Singing-lesson 147 She ran the chromatics through every key, And ended triumphant on upper C; Airing the graces her mother had taught her In a manner quite worthy of Madame's daughter. But his lordship glared down the leafy aisle With never so much as a nod or smile, Till, out in the shade of a blackberry thicket, He all of a sudden spied little Miss Cricket; And, roused from his gloom, like an angry bat, He sternly demanded, "Who is that?" "Miss Cricket, my lord, may it please you so, A charity scholar— ahem ! — you know — Quite worthy, of course, but we couldn't bring" — Thundered His Mightiness, "Let her sing!" The Nightingale opened her little eyes Extremely wide in her blank surprise; But catching a ghmpse of his lordship's rage. Led little Miss Cricket upon the stage. Where she nipdestly sang, in her simple measures, Of "Home, sweet Home," and its humble pleasures. And the lord of Glendare cried out in his glee, "This httle Miss Cricket shall sing for me!" Of course, of comment there was no need; But the world said, "Really!" and "Ah, indeed!" Yet, notwithstanding, we find it true As his lordship does will the neighbors do; So this is the way, as the legends tell. In the very beginning it befell That the Crickets came, in the evening's gloom, To sing at our hearths of "Home, sweet Home." Emma Huntington Nason [1845- THE SINGING-LESSON A NIGHTINGALE made a mistake; She sang a few notes out of tune; Her heart was ready to break, And she hid away from the moon. 148 Poems of Youth and Age She wnffig her claws, p6or thing! But was far too proud to weep; Slie tucked her head under her wingc And pretended to be asleep. A lark, arm in arm with a thrush. Came sauntering up to the place: The nightingale felt herself blush, Though feathers hid her face. She knew they had heard her song, She felt them snicker and sneer; She thought that life was too long, And wished she could skip a year. "Oh, Nightingale," cooed a dove — "Oh, Nightingale, what's the use? You bird of beauty and love. Why behave like a goose? Don't skulk away from our sight, Like a common, contemptible fowl; You bird of joy and dehght, ^^^ly behave like an owl? "Only think of all you have done. Only think of all you can do; A false note is really fun From such a bird as you! Lift up your proud little crest, Open your musical beak; Other birds have to do their best— You need only to speak." The nightingale shylj^ took Her head from under her wing, And, gi\Tng the dove a look, Straightway began to sing. There was never a bird could pass; The night was divinely calm. And the people stood on the grass To hear that wonderful psalm. Chanticleer 149 The nightingale did not care; She only sang to the skies; Her song ascended there, And there she fixed her eyes. The people that stood below She knew but little about ; And this tale has a moral, I know, If you'll try to find it out. Jean Ingeloii- [1S20-1897] CHANTICLEER Of all the birds from East to West That tuneful are and dear, I love that farmyard bird the best, They call him Chanticleer. Gold plume and copper plunie, Comb vf scarlet gay; ^Tis he that scatters night and gloom, And whistles hack the day! He is the sun's brave herald That, ringing his blithe horn, , CaUs round a world dew-pearled, .- The heavenly airs of morn. O clear gold, shrill and bold I He caUs through creeping must The mountains from the night and cold To rose and amethyst. He sets the birds to singing. And calls the flowers to rise; ' The m.oming cometh. bringing Sweet sleep to hea\'y' eyes. Gold plume and silver pliwie, Cojyih of coral gay; 'Tis Jie packs of the night and gloom, And summons home the day! 150 poems of Youth and Age Black fear he sends it flying, Black care he drives afar; And creeping shadows sighing Before the morning star. The birds of all the forest Have dear and pleasant cheer, But 3'et I hold the rarest The farmyard Chanticleer. Red cock or Mack cock, Gold cock or white, The flower of all the feathered flock, He whistles hack the light! Katharine Tynan [r86i- "WHAT DOES LITTLE BIRDIE SAY?" From " Sea Dreams " # What does httle birdie say In her nest at peep of day? Let me fly, says httle birdie, Mother, let me fly away. Birdie, rest a httle longer, Till the little wings are stronger. So she rests a little longer, Then she flies away. WTiat does httle baby say. In her bed at peep of day? , bi Bab}'- says, hke httle birdie, Let me rise and fly away. Baby, sleep a little longer, Till the httle hmbs are stronger, If she sleeps a little longer, Baby too shall fly away. Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] Jack Frost 151 NURSE'S SOXG When the voices of children are heard on the green And laughing is heard on the hill. My heart is at rest ^sithin ray breast, And everything else is still. "Then come home, my children, the sun is gone down, And the dews of the night arise; Come, com.e. leave off play, and let us away Till the morning appears in the skies." "Xo, no, let us play, for it is yet day, And we cannot go to sleep; Besides in the sky the little birds fly. .And the hills are all covered with sheep."' "Well, well, go and play till the Kght fades away, And then go home to bed." The little ones leaped and shouted and laughed; And all the hills echoed. William Blake [175 7-1 82 7I JACK FROST The door v/as shut, as doors should be, Before you went to bed last night; Yet Jack Frost has got in, you see, .\nd left your "window silver white. He must have waited till you slept; And not a single word he spoke. But pencilled o'er the panes and crept Away again before you woke. And now you cannot see the hills Nor fields that stretch beyond the lane; But there are fairer things than these His fingers traced on ever>^ pane. 152 Poems of Youth and Age Rocks and castles towering high; Hills and dales, and streams and fields; And knights in armor riding by, " With nodding plumes and shining shields. .\nd here are httle boats, and there Big ships with sails spread to the breeze; lA And yonder, palm trees waging fair On islands set in silver seas. And butterflies 'v^'ith gauzy mngs; And herds of cows and flocks of sheep; And fruit and flowers and all the things You see when you are sound asleep. For creeping softly underneath The door when all the lights are out. Jack Frost takes every breath you breathe, And knows the things you think about. He paints them on the window pane In fairy hues with frozen steam; , And when you wake you see again The lovely things you saw in dream. Gabriel Setoiin [1861- OCTOBER'S PARTY October gave a party; The leaves by hundreds came — The Chestnuts, Oaks, and Maples, And leaves of every name. The Sunshine spread a carpet, ''^^ And everything was grand. Miss Weather led the dancing, Professor Wind the band. The Chestnuts came in yellow, 3"' The Oaks in crimson dressed: The lovely Misses jMaple In scarlet looked their best; Nikolina 153 All balanced to their partners, And gaily fluttered by; The sight was like a rainbow 3JTT1J New fallen from the sky. ■■'' -'-'-'^ Then, in the rustic hollow. At hide-and-seek they played, The party closed at sundown. And everybody stayed. .'-^ Professor Wind played louder; .\l. They flew along the ground; And then the party ended In joUy "hands around." George Cooper [1S40- THE SHEPHERD How sweet is the Shepherd's sweet lot! From the morn to the evening he strays; He shall follow his sheep all the day, And his tongue shall be filled with praise. For he hears the lamb's innocent caU, Amd he hears the ew^e's tender reply; He is watchful, while they are in peace. For they know when their Shepherd is nigh. William Blake [17 5 7- 182 7] NIKOLINA O TELL me, little children, have you seen her — The tiny maid from Norway, Nikohna? O, her eyes are blue as cornflowers, mid the corn, And her cheeks are rosy red as skies of morn ! Nikolina! swift she turns if any caU her, As she stands among the poppies, hardly taller, Breaking off their scarlet cups for you, With spikes of slender larkspur, burning blue. In her little garden many a flower is growing — Red, gold, and purple in the soft w^nd blowing, But the child that stands amid the blossoms gay Is sweeter, quainter, brighter e'en than they. Celia Thaxter [183 5-1 894] 154 Poems of Youth and x\ge LITTLE GUSTAVA Little Gustava sits in the sun, Safe in the porch, and the Httle drops run From the icicles under the eaves so fast, For the bright spring sun shines warm at last, And glad is Kttle Gustava. She wears a quaint httle scarlet cap, And a httle green bowl she holds in her lap. Filled with bread and milk to the brim, And a wreath of marigolds round the rim : "Hal ha I" laughs httle Gustava. Up comes her Httle gray coaxing cat With her httle pink nose, and she mews. ''■'\Miat's that?" Gustava feeds her, — she begs for more; .\nd a httle brown hen walks in at the door: '"Good day!" cries httle Gustava. She scatters crumbs for the Httle brown hen. There comes a rush and a flutter, and then Down fly her Httle white doves se sweet, With their snowy wings and crimson feet: "Welcome!" cries Kttle Gustava. So daint}' and eager they pick up the crumbs. But who is this through the doorway comes? Little Scotch terrier, Httle dog Rags, Looks in her face, and his funny tail wags: "Hal ha!" laughs Httle Gustava. "You want some breakfast too?" and down She sets her bowl on the brick floor brown; And httle dog Rags drinks up her milk, WTiile she strokes his shagg}' locks like silk: "Dear Rags!" says Httle Gustava. Waiting without stood sparrow and crow, CooHng their feet in the melting snow: "Won't you come in, good folk?" she cried. But they were too bashful, and stood outside Though "Pray come in!" cried Gustava. Prince Tatters I'y.^ So the last she threw them, and knelt on the mat With doves and biddy and dog and cat. And her mother came to the open house-door: "Dear little daughter, I bring you some more. My merry little Gustava!" -^r Kitty and terrier, biddy and doves, All things harmless Gustava loves. The shy, kind creatures 'tis joy to feed, And oh, her breakfast is sweet indeed To happy little Gustava ! Celia Thaxter [183 5- 1894] PRINCE TATTERS Little Prince Tatters has lost his cap! Over the hedge he threw it; Into the river it fell "kerslap!" Stupid old thing to do it! Now Mother may sigh and Nurse may fume For the gay little cap with its eagle plume. "One cannot be thinking all day of such matters! Trifles are trifles!" says little Prince Tatters. Little Prince Tatters has lost his coat ! Placing, he did not need it ; "Left it right there, by the nanny-goat, And nobody never seed it!" Now Mother and Nurse may search till night For the Httle new coat with its buttons bright; But — "Coat-sleeves or shirt-sleeves, how little it matters! Trifles are trifles!" says little Prince Tatters. Little Prince Tatters has LOST HIS BALL! Rolled away down the street ! Somebody '11 have to find it, that's all, Before he can sleep or eat. Now raise the neighborhood, quickly, do ! And send for the crier and constable too! "Trifles are trifles; but serious matters. They must be seen to,'^ says little Prince Tatters. Laura E. Richards [1850- h^6r Poems of Youth and Age aovob Hji// THE LITTLE BLx\GK BOY My mother bore me in the southern wild, And I am black, but oh, my soul is white ! White as an angel is the English child. But I am black, as if bereaved of light. ,.p My mother taught me underneath a tree, And, sitting down before the heat of day, She took me on her lap and kissed me, And, pointing to. the East, began to say: ''Look on the rising sun, — there God does live. And gives His light, and gives His heat away; And flowers and trees and beasts and men receive Comfort in morning, joy in the noonday, "And we are put on earth a little space. That we may learn to bear^the beams of love; And these black bodies and this sunburnt face Are but a cloud, and like a shady grove. "For, when our souls have learned the heat to bear, The cloud will vanish, we shall hear His voice. Saying: 'Come out from the grove, My love and care, And round My golden tent like lambs rejoice.'" Thus did my mother say, and kissed me ; And thus I say to little English boy. When I from black, and he from white cloud free. And round the tent of God like lambs we joy, I'll shade him from the heat, till he can bear To lean in joy upon our Father's knee; And then I'll stand and stroke his silver hair, And be like him, and he will then love me. William Blake [175 7- 1827] ^r The Witch in the Glass 157 THE BLIND BOY SAY what is that thing called Light, Which I must ne'er enjoy; What are the blessings of the sight, O tell your poor bhnd 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 \Miene'er I sleep or play; And could I ever keep awake With me 'twere always day. With heavy sighs I often hear You mourn my hapless woe; But sure with patience I can bear A loss I ne'er can know. Then let not vrhat I cannot have !My cheer of mind destroy: \Miilst thus I sing, I am a king, Although a poor bhnd boy. "\ Colley Cihher [1671-1757]' THE ^\TTCH IX THE GLASS ''My mother says I must not pass Too near that glass; She is afraid that I will see A httle witch that looks like me, With a red, red mouth, to whisper low The very thing I should not knowl" 158 Poems of 'Touth and Age Alack for all your mother's care! A bird of the air, A wistful wind, or (I suppose Sent by some hapless boy) a rose, With breath too sweet, will whisper low The very thing you should not know! Sarah M. B. Piatt [1836- MY SHADOW I HAVE a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very Hke me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow — Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an India-rubber ball. And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all. He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see; I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me! One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head. Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894I THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE When I was sick and lay a-bed, I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay To keep me happy all the day. lf-<'' The Land of Story-books 159 And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go, With different uniforms and drills, Among the bed-clothes, through the hills; And sometimes sent my ships in fleets All up and down among the sheets; Or brought my trees and houses out, And planted cities all about. I was the giant great and still That sits upon the pillow-hill. And sees before him, dale and plain, The pleasant land of counterpane. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850- 1894] THE LAND OF STORY-BOOKS At evening when the lamp is lit, Around the fire my parents sit ; They sit at home and talk and sing, And do not play at anything. Now, with my little gun, I crawl All in the dark along the wall. And follow round the forest track Away behind the sofa back. There, in the night, where none can spy, All in my hunter's camp I lie, And play at books that I have read Till it is time to go to bed. These are the hills, these are the woods, These are my starry solitudes; And there the river by whose brink The roaring lions come to drink. I see the others far away As if in firelit camp they lay, And I, like to an Indian scout, Around their party prowled about. i6o Poems of Youth and Age So, when my nurse comes in for me, Home I return across the sea, And go to bed with backward looks At my dear land of Storj^-books. Robert Louis Stevenson [i 850-1 894] THE GARDENER The gardener does not love to talk, He makes me keep the gravel walk; And when he puts his tools away, He locks the door and takes the key. Away behind the currant row Where no one else but cook may go, Far in the plots, I see him dig, Old and serious, brov\'n and big. He digs the flowers, green, red, and blue, Nor wishes to be spoken to. He digs the flowers and cuts the hay, And never seems to want to play. Silly gardener! summer goes. And winter comes with pinching toes. When in the garden bare and brown You must lay your barrow down. Well now, and while the summer stays, To profit by these garden days how much wiser you would be To play at Indian wars with me! Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] FOREIGN LANDS Up into the cherry tree Who should cHmb but little me? I held the trunk with both my hands And looked abroad on foreign lands. I saw the next door garden lie, Adorned with flowers, before my eye, And many pleasant places more That I had never seen before. The Peddler's Caravan i6i I saw the dimpling river pass And be the sky's blue looking-glass; The dusty roads go up and down . ■ i With people tramping in to town. If I could find a higher tree, Farther and farther I should see, To where the grown-up river slips Into the sea among the ships; To where the roads on either hand = ^ Lead onward into fairy land, Where all the children dine at five, And all the playthings come alive, Robert Louis Slcvenso7i [1850-1894] MY BED IS A BOAT My bed is like a little boat ; Nurse helps me in when I embark; She girds me in my sailor's coat And starts me in the dark. At night, I go on board and say Good night to all my friends on shore; I shut my eyes and sail- away And see and hear no more. And sometimes things to bed I take, As prudent sailors have to do; Perhaps a slice of wedding-cake, Perhaps a toy or two. All night across the dark we steer; But when the day returns at last, Safe in my room, beside the pier, I find my vessel fast. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-18941 THE PEDDLER'S CARAVAN I WISH I Hved in a caravan, With a horse to drive, like a peddler-man ! Where he comes from nobody knows, Or where he goes to, but on he goes! 1 62 Poems of Youth and Age His caravan has windows two, . ^ And a chimney of tin, that the smoke comes through; He has a wife, with a baby brown, And they go riding from town to town. Chairs to mend, and delf to sell! He clashes the basins like a bell; Tea-trays, baskets ranged in order. Plates, with alphabets round the border! . The roads are brown, and the sea is green, But his house is like a bathing-machine; The world is round, and he can ride. Rumble and slash, to the other side ! With the peddler-man I should like to roam, And write a book when I came home; All the people would read my book, Tust like the Travels of Captain Cook! William Brighty Rands [1823-1882] MR. COGGS A WATCH will tell the time of day, Or tell it nearly, any way, Excepting when it's overwound. Or when you drop it on the ground. If any of our watches stop, We haste to Mr. Coggs's shop; For though to scold us he pretends. He's quite among our special friends. He fits a dice-box in his eye. And takes a long and thoughtful spy, And prods the wheels, and says, "Bear, dear! More carelessness, I greatly fear." And then he lays the dice-box down And frowns a most prodigious frown; But if we ask him what's the time, He'll make his gold repeater chime. Edward Verrall Lucas [1868- - 3i3iiw IKj liliX "There Was a Jolly Miller" 163 THE BUILDING OF THE NEST They'll come again to the apple tree — Robin and all the rest — When the orchard branches are fair to see, In the snow of the blossoms dressed; And the prettiest thing in the world will be The building of the nest. Weaving it well, so round and trim. Hollowing it with care, — Nothing too far away for him. Nothing for her too fair, — Hanging it safe on the topmost limb, , Their castle m the air. ^ ; _.^^. Ah! mother bird, you'll have weary days '""' When the eggs are under your breast, And shadow may darken the dancing rays When the wee ones leave the nest; But they'll find their wings in a glad amaze, And God will see to the rest. So come to the trees with all your train When the apple blossoms blow; Through the April shimmer of sun and rain. Go flying to and fro; And sing to our hearts as we watch again Your fairy building grow. Margaret Sangster [1838-19 12] "THERE WAS A JOLLY MILLER" From " Lcve in a Village " There was a jolly miller once lived on the river Dee; He danced and sang from morn till night, no lark so blithe as he; And this the burden of his song forever used to be: — "I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for me. 164 Poems of Youth and Age *'I live by my mill, God bless her! she's kindred, child, and wife ; I would not change my station for any other in life; No lawyer, surgeon, or doctor e'er had a groat from me; I care for nobody, no not I, if nobody cares for me." When spring begins his merry career, oh, how his ' heart grows gay; No summer's drought alarms his fear, nor winter's cold decay; No foresight m-ars the miller's joy, w^ho's wont to sing and say, "Let others toil from^ year to year, I live from day to day." Thus, like the miller, bold and free, let us rejoice and sing; The days of youth are made for glee, and time is on the wing; This song shall pass from me to thee, along the jovial ring; Let heart and voice and all agree to say, ''Long hve the king." Isaac Bicker staf [ ? -18 12?] ONE AND ONE u^ Two httle girls are better than one, Two little boys can double the fun, Two little birds can build a fine nest, Two httle arms can love mother best. Two little ponies must go to a span; Two little pockets has my httle man; ,fj/^ Two little eyes to open and close, Two little ears and one little nose. Two little elbows, dimpled and sweet, Two little shoes on two little feet, Tw^o little Hps and one httle chin, Two httle cheeks with a rose shut in; Two httle shoulders, chubby and strong. Two httle legs running all day long. jaanT Two httle prayers does my darling say, - ' . ' ' T^ace does he kneel by m}- side each day, - Two little folded hands, soft and brown, . >, Two httle eyelids cast meekly down. -'-^- A Nursery Song 165 And two little angels guard him in bed, "One at the foot, and one at the head." Mary Mapes Dodge [183 8- 1905] A NURSERY SONG Oh, Peterkin Pout and Gregory Grout Are two little goblins black. Full oft from my house I've driven them out, But somehow they still come back. They clamber up to the baby's mouth, r - And pull the corners down; They perch aloft on the baby's brow, L And twist it into a frown. ^_,_-. Chorus: And one says "Must!" and t'other says "Can't!" And one says "Shall!" and t'other says "Shan't!" Oh, Peterkin Pout and Gregory Grout, I pray you now from my house keep out ! But Samuel Smile and Lemuel Laugh Are two little fairies bright; They're always ready for fun and chaff, And sunshine is their dehght. And when they creep into Baby's eyes. Why, there the sunbeams are; And when they peep through her rosy lips. Her laughter rings near and far. Chorus: And one says "Please!" and t'other says "Do!" And both together say "I love you!" So, Lemuel Laugh and Samuel Smile, Come in, my dears, and tarry awhile! Laura E. Richards [1850- 1 66 Poems of Youth and Age r.wt hrfA A MORTIFYING MISTAKE ^ I STUDIED my tables over and over, and backward and forward, too; But I couldn't remember six times nine, and I didn't know what to do, Till sister told me to play with my doll, and not to bother my head. 'Tf you call her 'Fifty-four' for a while, you'll learn it by heart," she said. So I took my favorite, ]\Iar>^ Ann (though I thought 'twas a dreadful shame To give such a perfectly lovely cliild such a perfectly horrid name) , And I called her my dear httle "Fifty-four" a hundred times, till I knew The answer of six times nine as well as the answer of two times two. Next day Elizabeth Wigglesworth, who always acts so proud, Said, "Six times nine is iifty-two," and I nearly laughed aloud I But I ^\^shed I hadn't when teacher said, ''Now, Dorothy, tell if you can." For I thought of my doU and — sakes ahve! — I answered, ''Mary Ann!'' Anna Maria Pratt [i8 - THE R.\GGEDY :\LAN' O THE Raggedy ]\Ian! He works fer Pa; .An' he's the goodest man ever you saw! He comes to our house every day, An' waters the horses, an' feeds 'em hay; An' he opens the shed — an' we all ist laugh WTien he drives out our little old wobble-ly calf; ^ The Raggedy Man 167 An' nen — ef our hired girl says he can — He milks the cow fer 'Lizabuth Ann. — Ain't he a' awful good Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! W'y, the Raggedy Man — he's ist so good He splits the kindlin' an' chops the wood; An' nen he spades in our garden, too, An' does most things 'at boys can't do. — He clumbed clean up in our big tree An' shocked a' apple down fer me — An' nother'n', too, fer 'Lizabuth Ann — An' nother'n', too, fer the Raggedy Man. — Ain't he a' awful kind Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! An' the Raggedy Man, he knows most rh^nnes An' tells 'em, ef I be good, sometimes: Knows 'bout Giunts, an' Griffuns, an' Elves, An' the Squidgicum-Squees 'at swallers therselves! An', wite by the pump in our pasture-lot. He showed me the hole 'at the Wunks is got, 'At lives 'way deep in the ground, an' can Turn into me, er 'Lizabuth Ann! Er Ma, er Pa, er the Raggedy Man! Ain't he a funny old Raggedy Man? Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! The Raggedy ISIan — one time when he Was makin' a little bow-n'-orry fer me, Says, "When youWe big like your Pa is, Air you go' to keep a fine store like his — An' be a rich merchunt — an' wear fine clothes? — Er what air you go' to be, goodness knows?" An' nen he laughed at 'Lizabuth Ann, An' I says " 'M go' to be a Raggedy Man! — I'm ist go' to be a nice Raggedy Man!" Raggedy! Raggedy! Raggedy Man! James Whitcomh Riley [i8s2-igi6] 1 68 Poems of Youth and Age THE MAX IX THE AIOON Said the Raggedy Man, on a hot afternoon, '-'My! Sakes! WTiat a lot o' mistakes Some little folks makes on The ]\Ian in the Moon i But people that 's b 'en up to see him, like me. And calls on him frequent and intimutly. Might drop a few facts that would interest you Clean! Through ! — If you wanted 'em to — Some actual facts that might interest you! "O The ]\Ian in the ]Moon has a crick in his back; ^Tiee! V^Tiimm ! Ain't 3^ou sorry for him? And a mole on his nose that is purple and black; And his eyes are so weak that they water and run If he dares to dream even he looks at the sun, — So he jes' dreams of stars, as the doctors ad\'ise — My! Eyes! But isn't he wise — To jes' dream of stars, as the doctors advise? "And The Man in the Moon has a boil on his ear.- ^\^lee! Whingl What a singular thing! I know! but these facts are authentic, my dear. — There's a boil on his ear; and a corn on his chin, — He calls it a dimple — ^but dimples stick in — Yet it might be a dimple turned over, you know! Whang! Ho! ^\^ly, certainly so ! — It might be a dimple turned over, you know! Little Orphant Annie 169 "And The Man in the Moon has a rheumatic knee^-ri;, lU-. Gee! ir t-?? '=»Y/ Whizz! What a pity that is! And his toes have worked round where his heels ought to be. So whenever he wants to go North he goes South, And comes back with porridge crumbs all round his mouth, And he brushes them off with a Japanese fan;3W yadl j'ojciO Whing! ' ■; • Whann! What a marvelous man! What a very remarkably marvelous man! "And The Man in the ]\Ioon," sighed the Raggedy Man, "Gits! So! "nA Sullonesome, you know, — '^'-^'^ Up there by hisse'f sence creation began! — ■ ' ^'-^ ■ That when I call on him and then come away. He grabs me and holds me and begs me to stay, — Till — Well! if it wasn't fer Jimmy-cum-Jim, Dadd! Limb! I'd go pardners with him — Jes' jump my job here and be pardners with himl^' James Whilcomb Riley [1S52-1916I LITTLE ORPHANT ANNIE Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay, An' wash the cups an' saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away, fdoO .odi 'aL An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep, An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board an' -keep; lyo Poems of Ifouth and Age An' all us other children, when the supper things is done, We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about, An ' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you jiiuij-- Efyou Don't Watch Out! Onc't they was a little boy wouldn't say his prayers — ■ An' when he went to bed at night, away up stairs. His Mammy heered him holler, an' his Daddy heered him bawl. An' when they turn't the kiwers down, he wasn't there at all! An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby-hole, an' press. An' seeked him up the chimbly-flue, an' ever'wheres, I guess; But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout : An' the Gobble-uns '11 git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! An' one time a httle girl 'ud alius laugh an' grin, An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin; An' onc't when they was "company," an' ole folks was there. She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care! An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide. They was two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side. An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about! An' the Gobble-uns '11 git you Ef you ■ oodt 'aL Don't 3 'nfi irifiod -rsii ffifc Watch oA&m 'a/. Out! "-■- ^- The Night Bird ^o^i 171 An ' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue, An ' the lamp-wick sputters, an ' the wind goes woo-00! An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray. An ' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away, — You better mind yer parents, an' yer teachers fond and dear, An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear, An' he'p the pore an ' needy ones 'at clusters all about, Er the Gobble-uns '11 git you Ef you Don't Watch Out! James Whitcomh Riley [1852-1916I OUR HIRED GIRL Our hired girl, she's 'Lizabuth Ann ; An' she can cook best things to eat! She ist puts dough in our pie-pan. An' pours in somepin' 'at's good an' sweet; An' nen she salts it all on top With cinnamon; an' nen she'll stop An' stoop an' slide it, ist as slow, In th' old cook-stove, so's 'twon't slop An' git all spilled; nen bakes it, so It's custard-pie, first thing you know! ' An' nen she'll say, "Clear out o' my way! They's time fer work, an' time fer play! ' \ ' Take yer dough, an' run, child, run! ' ^ Er I cain't git no cookin' done!" ^jij^.: When our hired girl 'tends like she's mad, / An' says folks got to walk the chalk ,, ^-z, , When she's around, er wisht they had! I play out on our porch an' talk ^ nrJornoL. To Th' Raggedy Man 'at mows our lawn; An' he says, "Whew! " an' nen leans on ' ' '' " His old crook-scythe, and blinks his eyesf^*^'*^ ' An' sniffs all 'round an' says, "I swawn! 172 Poems of Youth and Age Ef my old nose don't tell me lies, It 'pears like I smell custard-pies!" , An' nen he'll say, r . . . Clear out o my way! ,,,;r .,,-. '„/ They's time fer work, an' time fer play! Take yer dough, an' run, child, run! . , , J2C, Er she cain't git no cookin' done!" rfgii^^^ »„ a ,JiJu. • Wunst our hired girl, when she dj q'ari *nA Got the supper, an' we all et, ' ' ' "'* -'^ An' it wuz night, an' Ma an' me An' Pa went wher' the '' Social" met, — An' nen when we come home, an' see A light in the kitchen door, an' we Heerd a maccordeun, Pa says, "Lan'- O'-Gracious, who can her beau be?" An' I marched in, an' 'Lizabuth Ann Wuz parchin' cornier The Raggedy Man! Better say, -^d Aooy . "Clear out o' the way! They's time fer work, an' time fer play! Take the hint, an' run, child, run! Er we cain't git no courtin' done!" James Whiicomb Riley [1852-1916] ■ J L)io '£ij , i SEEIN' THINGS "^ '- I ain't afeard uv snakes, or toads, or bugs, or worms, or mice. An' things 'at girls are skeered uv I think are awful nice! I'm pretty brave, I guess; an' yet I hate to go to bed. For, when I'm tucked up warm an' snug an' when my prayers are said. Mother tells me "Happy Dreams! " an' takes away the light, An' leaves me lyin' all alone an' seein' things at night! Sometimes they're in the corner, sometimes they're by the door, Sometimes they're all a-standin' in the middle uv the floor; Sometimes they are a-sittin' down, sometimes they're walkin' round So softly and so creepyhke they never make a sound! The Duel J*"! 173 Sometimes they are as black as ink, an' other times they're white — But the color ain't no difference when you see things at night ! Once, when I licked a feller 'at had just moved on our street. An' father sent me up to bed without a bite to eat, I woke up in the dark an' saw things standin' in a row, A-lookin' at me cross-eyed an' p'intin' at me — so! Oh, my! I wuz so skeered that time I never slep' a mite — It's almost alluz when I'm bad I see things at night! Lucky thing I ain't a girl, or I'd be skeered to death! Bein' I'm a boy, I duck my head an' hold my breath; An' I am, oh, so sorry I'm a naughty boy, an' then I promise to be better an' I say my prayers again! Gran'ma tells me that's the only way to make it right When a feller has been wicked an' sees things at night! An' so, when other naughty boys would coax me into sin, I try to skwush the Tempter's voice 'at urges me within; An' when they's pie for supper, or cakes 'at's big an' nice, I want to — but I do not pass my plate f'r them things twice! No, ruther let Starvation wipe me slowly out o' sight Than I should keep a-livin' on an' seein' things at night! Eugene Field [1850-1895J THE DUEL The gingham dog and the calico cat Side by side on the table sat; 'Twas half past twelve, and (what do you think!) Nor one nor t'other had slept a wink ! The old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate Appeared to know as sure as fate There was going to be a terrible spat. (/ wasn't there: I simply state What was told to me by the Chinese plate!) The gingham dog went, "Bow-wow-wow!" And the calico cat replied, "Mee-ow!" ^ The air was littered, an hour or so. 174 Poems of Youth and Age With bits of gingham and calico, While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place c^kii.' Up with its hands before its face, For it always dreaded a family row ! (Now mind; Vm only telling you What the old Dutch clock declares is true!) The Chinese plate looked very blue, And wailed, ''Oh, dear! what shall we do!" But the gingham dog and the calico cat Wallowed this way and tumbled that. Employing every tooth and claw In the aw^fullest way you ever saw — And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew! {DonH fancy I exaggerate — / got my news from the Chinese plate!) Next morning, where the two had sat They found no trace of dog or cat: And some folks think unto this day That burglars stole that pair away! But the truth about the cat and pup Is this: they ate each other up! Now what do you really think of that! [The old Dutch clock it told me so, ■ And that is how I came to know.) Eugene Field [1850-1895! 1 fI£flT HOLY THURSDAY 'TwAS on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean. Came children walking two and two, in red, and blue, and green; Gray-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow. Till into the high dome of Paul 's they like Thames waters flow. Oh what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town ! Seated in companies they sit, with radiance all their own. A Story for a Child 175 The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of Httle boys and girls raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty wind they raise to heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of heaven among: Beneath them sit the aged men, wise guardians of the poor. Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door. William Blake [175 7-1 82 7] A STORY FOR A CHILD Little one, come to my knee! Hark, how the rain is pouring Over the roof, in the pitch-black night, And the wind in the woods a-roaring! Hush, my darling, and listen, Then pay for the story with kisses; Father was lost in the pitch-black night, In just such a storm as this is! High up on the lonely mountains, Where the wild men watched and waited; Wolves in the forest, and bears in the bush, And I on my path belated. The rain and the night together Came down, and the wind came after, Bending the props of the pine-tree roof, And snapping many a rafter. I crept along in the darkness. Stunned, and bruised, and blinded, — Crept to a fir with thick-set boughs. And a sheltering rock behind it. There, from the blowing and raining. Crouching, I sought to hide me: Something rustled, two green eyes shone. And a wolf lay down beside me. 176 Poems of Youth and Age Little one, be not frightened; .0 mud sdT I and the wolf together, Side by side, through the long, long night, Hid from the awful weather. His wet fur pressed against me; Each of us warmed the other; Each of us felt, in the stormy dark, That beast and man was brother. And when the faUing forest No longer crashed in ^varning. Each of us went from our hiding-place Forth in the wild, wet morning. Darling, kiss me payment! Hark, how the wind is roaring; Father's house is a better place When the stormy rain is pouring! Bayard Taylor [1825-187S] THE SPIDER AND THE FLY "Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly. " 'Tis the prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy; The way into my parlor is up a winding stair. And I have many curious things to show when you are there." "Oh no, no," said the Httle Fly, "to ask me is in vain; For v/ho goes up your winding stair can ne 'er come down again." "I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; Will you rest upon my Httle bed?" said the Spider to the Fly. "There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin; And if you like to rest a while, I'll snugly tuck you in!" "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it said. They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!" The Spider and the Fly 177 Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what can I do To prove the warm affection I've always felt for you? I have, within my pantry, good store of all that's nice; I 'm sure you 're very welcome — will you please to take a slice?" "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be, I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see! " "Sweet creature," said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise; How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf; If you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold your- self." "I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say. And bidding you good morning now, I'll call another day," The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den, For well he knew the silly Fly would soon be back again ; So he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly. And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly. Then he came out to his door again, and merrily did sing, — "Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with the pearl and silver wing; Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead." Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly, Hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by: With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, — Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple hue; Thinking only of her crested head — poor foolish thing! At last, Up jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. ijS Poems of Youth and Age He dragged her up ids winding stair, into his dismal den Within his httle parlor — ^but she ne'er came out again! .Ajid now, dear httle children, who may this story read, To idle, silly, flattering words, I pray you ne'er give heed; Unto an e\-il counsellor close heart, and ear, and eye, And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly. Alary Howitt [ 1 7 9 9- 1 8 8 8^ THE CAPT.\IX'S DAUGHTER We were crowded in the cabin. Not a soul would dare to sleep, — It was midnight on the waters, And a storm was on the deep. 'Tis a fearful thing in winter To be shattered by the blast. And to hear the ratthng trumpet Thunder, "Cut away the mast!" So we shuddered there in silence, — For the stoutest held his breath. While the hungr\" sea was roaring And the breakers talked with death. As thus vre sat in darkness. Each one busy vdth his prayers, "We are lost!" the captain shouted, As he staggered down the stairs. But his Httle daughter whispered. As she took his icy hand. "Isn't God upon the ocean, Just the same as on the land?" Then we kissed the httle maiden, And we spake in better cheer. And we anchored safe in harbor When the mom was shining clear. Ja?}ies Thomas Fields [1816-1881] The Nightingale and Glow-worm 179 THE NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long Had cheered the village with his song, Nor yet at eve his note suspended, Nor yet when eventide was ended. Began to feel, as well he might, The keen demands of appetite; o ^nirici" When, looking eagerly around, -v.r frr, ^O He spied far off, upon the ground, r\ r A something shining in the dark. And knew the glow-worm by his spark; So, stooping down from hawthorn top. He thought to put him in his crop. The worm, aware of his intent, Harangued him thus, right eloquent: -'• * *'Did you admire my lamp," quoth he, "^ '" "As much as I your minstrelsy, You would abhor to do me wrong. As much as I to spoil your song; For 'twas the self-same Power Divine Taught you to sing, and me to shine; That you with music, I with light, Might beautify and cheer the night." ■ ' r // The songster heard his short oration, And warbling out his approbation, ..^g ^^ ^g Released him, as my story tells, r ^^ ^^g- And found a supper somewhere else. ^^^ ^^^^ Hence jarring sectaries may learn ^.-^ Their real interest to discern; ^ l|-p That brother should not war with brother^.j|g ^^^ And worry and devour each other; But sing and shine by sweet consent, >:^niw aiH Till life's poor transient night is spent, i aiff bnA Respecting in each other's case >j;;.l t)H The gifts of nature and of grace. Those Christians best deserve the name ; ;'- Who studiously make peace their aim; , . i i8o Poems of Youth and Age Peace both the duty and the prize Of him that creeps and him that flies. Williain Cowper [i 731-1800] SIR LARK AND KING SUN: A PARABLE From " Adela Cathcart " "Good morrow, my lord!" in the sky alone, Sang the lark, as the sun ascended his throne. "Shine on m.e, my lord; I only am come, Of all your servants, to welcome you home. I have flown right up, a whole hour, I swear, To catch the first shine of your golden hair." "Must I thank you, then," said the king, "Sir Lark, For flying so high and hating the dark? You ask a full cup for half a thirst : Half was love of me, and half love to be first. There 's many a bird makes no such haste, But waits till I come: that's as much to my taste." And King Sun hid his head in a turban of cloud, And Sir Lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed: But he flew up higher, and thought, "Anon The wrath of the king will be over and gone; And his crown, shining out of its cloudy fold, Will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold." So he flevv' — with the strength of a lark he flew;;*' But, as he rose, the cloud rose too; And not one gleam of the golden hair Came through the depths of the misty air- Till, weary with fljdng, with sighing sore. The strong sun-seeker could do no m.ore. His wings had had no chrism of gold : And his feathers felt withered and worn and old; He faltered, and sank, and dropped like a stone And there on her nest, where he left her, alone ;. Sat his Httle wife on her little eggs. Keeping them warm with wings and legs. Courtship, Cock Robin and Jenny Wren i8i Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing! Full in her face was shining the king. "Welcome, Sir Lark! You look tired," said he; " Up is not always the best way to me. While you have been singing so high and away, I've been shining to your Kttle wife allday." He had set his crown all about the nest, And out of the midst shone her little brown l)reast; And so glorious was she in russet gold. That for wonder and awe Sir Lark grew cold. He popped his head under her wing, and lay As still as a stone, till King Sun was away. George Macdonald [1824-1905! THE COURTSHIP, MERRY MARRIAGE, AND PIC- NIC DINNER OF COCK ROBIN AND JENNY WREN It was a merry time When Jenny Wren was young, So neatly as she da,nced. And so sweetly as she sung, Robin Redbreast lost his heart: ; He was a gallant bird ; . -^ He doffed his hat to Jenny, ^^^- ^^ . ,. And thus to her he said: — "My dearest Jenny Wren, If you will but be mine. You shall dine on cherry pie. And drink nice currant wine. I '11 dress you like a Goldfinch, Or like a Peacock gay; So if you '11 have me, Jenny, Let us appoint the day." Jenny blushed behind her fan. And thus declared her mind: "Then let it be to-morrow, Bobj I take your offer kind — 1 82 Poems of Youth and Age Cherry pie is very good! So is currant wine! But I will wear my brown gown, And never dress too fine." Robin rose up early At the break of day; ^ He flew to Jenny Wren 's house, To sing a roundelay. He met the Cock and Hen, And bid the Cock declare, This was his wedding-day M With Jenny Wren, the fair. The Cock then blew his horn. To let the neighbors know, This was Robin 's wedding-day, And they might see the show. And first came Parson Rook, With his spectacles and band, And one of Mother Hubbard 's books He held within his hand. Then followed him the Lark, For he could sweetly sing. And he was to be clerk At Cock Robin 's wedding. He sang of Robin 's love For little Jenny Wren; And when he came unto the end. Then he began again. Then came the bride and bridegroom; Quite plainly w«.s she dressed, And blushed so much, her cheeks were As red as Robin 's breast. But Robin cheered her up; "My pretty Jen," said he, "We're going to be married And happy we shall be." Courtship, Cock Robin and Jenny Wren 183 The Goldfinch came on next, To give away the bride; The Linnet, being bride 's maid, Walked by Jenny's side; And, as she was a-walking, ' She said, "Upon my word, I think that your Cock Robin Is a very pretty bird." The Bulfinch walked by Robin, And thus to him did say, '^'Pray, mark, friend Robin Redbreast, That Goldfinch, dressed so gay; What though her gay apparel Becomes her very well, Yet Jenny 's modest dress and look Must bear away the bell." The Blackbird and the Thrush, And charming Nightingale, Whose sweet jug sweetly echoes Through every grove and dale; The Sparrow and Tom Tit, And many more, were there : All came to see the wedding Of Jenny Wren, the fair. "O then," says Parson Rook, "Who gives this maid away?" "I do," says the Goldfinch, "And her fortune I will pay: Here 's a bag of grain of many sorts, And other things beside; Now happy be the bridegroom, And happy be the bride!" "And will your have her, Robin, To be your wedded wife?" "Yes, IwUl," says Robin, "And love her all my life." 184 Poems of Youth and AgcndaliuoD "And will you have him, Jenny, Your husband now to be?" '^'i "Yes, I will," says Jenny, ' "And love him heartily." Then on her linger fair ' Cock Robin put the ring; "You're married now," says Parson Rook, While the Lark aloud did sing: "Happy be the bridegroom. And happy be the bride! And may not man, nor bird, nor beast, This happy pair di\dde." The birds were asked to dine; Not Jenny 's friends alone. But every prett}^ songster That had Cock Robin known. They had a cherry pie. Beside some currant wine, Ajid every guest brought something, That sumptuous they might dine. Now they all sat or stood To eat and to drink; And every one said what He happened to think: They each took a bumper, xAnd drank to the pair : Cock Robin, the bridegroom. And Jenny Wren, the fair. The dinner- things removed, They all began to sing; And soon they made the place . Near a mile round to ring. The concert it was fine; And every bird tried WTio best could sing for Robin And Jenny Wren, the bride. The Babes In the Wood i8^ Then in came the Cuckoo and made a great rout; He caught hold of Jenny and pulled her about. Cock Robin was angry, and so was the Sparrow, Who fetched in a hurry his bow and his arrow. His aim then he took, but he took it not right; His skill was not good, or he shot in a fright; For the Cuckoo he missed, but Cock Robin killed! — And all the birds mourned that his blood was so spilled. Unknown THE BABES IN THE WOOD Now ponder well, you parents dear, These words, which I shall write; A doleful story you shall hear, In time brought forth to light. A gentleman of good account In Norfolk dwelt of late, Who did in honor far surmount Most men of his estate. Sore sick was he, and like to die, No help his life could save; His wife by him as sick did lie, And both possessed one grave. No love between these two was lost, Each was to other kind; In love they lived, in loved they died, And left two babes behind : The one a fine and pretty boy. Not passing three years old; The other a girl more young than he, And framed in beauty's mold. The father left his Httle son, As plainly does appear, When he to perfect- age should come, Three hundred pounds a year. 1 86 Poems of Youth and Age And to bis little daughter Jane Five hundred pounds in gold, To be paid down on marriage-day, Which might not be controlled: But if the children chance to die, Ere they to age should come, Their uncle should possess their wealth; For so the will did run. "Now, brother," said the dying man, "Look to my children dear; Be good unto my boy and girl, No friends else have they here: To God and you I recommend My children dear this day; But Httle while be sure we have Within this world to stay. "You must be father and mother both, And uncle all in one; God knows what will become of them. When I am dead and gone." With that bespake their mother dear, "O brother kind," quoth she, "You are the man must bring our babes To wealth or misery. "And if you keep them carefully Then God will you reward; But if you otherwise should deal, God will your deeds regard." With lips as cold as any stone, They kissed their children small: "God bless you both, my children dear;" With that the tears did fall. These speeches then their brother spake To this sick couple there, " The keeping of your little ones, Sweet sister, do not fear; The Babes in the Wood 187 God never prosper me nor mine, Nor aught else that I have, If I do wrong your children dear, When you are laid in grave." The parents being dead and gone, The children home he takes, And brings them straight into his house, Where much of them he makes. He had not kept these pretty babes A twelvemonth and a day. But, for their wealth, he did devise To make them both away. He bargained with two ruffians strong, Which were of furious mood. That they should take these children young, And slay them in a wood. He told his wife an artful tale. He would the children send To be brought up in fair London, With one that was his friend. Away then went these pretty babes. Rejoicing at that tide. Rejoicing with a merry mind. They should on cock-horse ride. They prate and prattle pleasantly. As they rode on the way. To those that should their butchers be. And work their lives' decay: So that the pretty speech they had, Made Murder 's heart relent ; And they that undertook the deed, Full sore did nov/ repent. Yet one of them more hard of heart, Did vow to do his charge. Because the wretch that hired him, Had paid him very large. 'i;8j8 Poems of Youth and Age The other won't agree thereto, So here they fall to strife; With one another they did fight, About the children's life: And he that was of mildest mood. Did slay the other there, Within an unfrequented wood; The babes did quake for fear! He took the children by the hand, Tears standing in their eye. And bade them straightway follow him, And look they did not cry: And two long miles he led them on, While they for food complain : "Stay here," quoth he, "I'll bring you breads When I come back again." These pretty babes, with hand in hand, ; Went wandering up and down, But never more could see the man Approaching from the town; Their pretty lips with black-berries Were all besmeared and dyed, And, when they saw the darksome night, They sat them down and cried. Thus wandered these poor innocents. Till death did end their grief; In one another's arms they died,j. , ; , , ^ As wanting due relief: ■tol^^ briA No burial this pretty pair Of any man receives, Till Robin-red-breast piously Did cover them with leaves. And now the heavy wrath of God Upon their uncle fell; Yea, fearful fiends did haunt his house, ] His conscience felt an hell: ,, i , God's Judgment on a Wicked Bishop 189 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 To want and misery: He pawned and mortgaged all his land Ere seven years came about, And now at length his wicked act Did by this means come out: The fellow, that did take in hand These children for to kill, Was for a robbery judged to die, Such was God's blessed will : Who did confess the very truth As here hath been displayed: Their uncle having died in jail, Where he for debt was laid. You that executors be made, And overseers eke Of children that be fatherless, And infants mild and meek; Take you example by this thing, ^lu: And yield to each his right. Lest God with such like misery Your wicked minds requite. Unknown GOD'S JUDGMENT ON A WICKED BISHOP The summer and autumn had been so wet, That in winter the corn was growing yet : 'Twas a piteous sight to see, all around, The grain lie rotting on the ground. 190 Poems of Youth and Age Every day the starving poor Crowded around Bishop Hatto's door; For he had a plentiful last-year's store, And all the neighborhood could tell His granaries were furnished well. At last Bishop Hatto appointed a day To quiet the poor without delay; He bade them to his great barn repair, And they should have food for the winter there« Rejoiced such tidings good to hear, The poor folk flocked from far and near; The great barn was full as it could hold Of women and children, and young and old. Then, when he saw it could hold no more, Bishop Hatto he made fast the door; And, while for mercy on Christ they call. He set fire to the barn, and burnt them all. "I' faith, 'tis an excellent bonfire!" quoth he; "And the country is greatly obliged to me For ridding it, in these times forlorn. Of rats that only consume the corn." So then to his palace returned he, And he sat down to supper merrily. And he slept that night like an innocent man; But Bishop Hatto never slept again. In the morning, as he entered the hall. Where his picture hung against the wall, A sweat like death all over him came. For the rats had eaten it out of the frame. j: As he looked, there came a man from his farm,— He had a countenance white with alarm: "My Lord, I opened your granaries this morn. And the rats had eaten all your corn." God's Judgment on a Wicked Bishop 191 Another came running presently, And he was pale as pale could be. "Fly! my Lord Bishop, fly!" quoth he, "Ten thousand rats are coming this way, — The Lord forgive 3'ou for yesterday!" "I'll go to my tower in the Rhine," replied he; " 'Tis the safest place in Germany, — The walls are high, and the shores are steep. And the tide is strong, and the vrater deep." Bishop Hatto fearfully hastened away, And he crossed the Rhine without delay, And reached his tower, and barred with care All the windows, and doors, and loop-holes there. He laid him down and closed his eyes, But soon a scream made him arise; He started, and saw two eyes of flame On his pillow, from whence the screaming came. He Hstened and looked, — it was only the cat; But the Bishop he grew more fearful for that. For she sat screaming, mad wdth fear, At the army of rats that were dra\\ang near. For they have swum over the river so deep, And they have climbed the shores so steep. And now by thousands up they crawl To the holes and the windows in the wall. Down on his knees the Bishop fell, And faster and faster his beads did he tell, As louder and louder, drawing near, The saw of their teeth without he could hear. And in at the windows, and in at the door. And through the walls by thousands they pour ; And down from the ceiling and up through the floor. From the right and the left, from behind and before. From T\ithin and %^'ithout, from above and below, — And all at once to the Bishop they go. 192 Poems of Youth and Age They have whetted their teeth against the stones, And now they pick the Bishop's bones; They gnawed the flesh from every Hmb, For they were sent to do judgment on him! Robert Southey [17 74-1 843] THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN A child's story Hamelix To\^tl's in Brunswick, By famous Hanover city; The river Weser, deep and wide, Washes its wall on the southern side; A pleasanter spot you never spied; But, when begins my ditty. Almost five hundred years ago. To see the townsfolk suffer so From vermin was a pity. n Rats! They fought the dogs and killed the cats, And bit the babies in the cradles. And ate the cheeses out of the vats, And hcked the soup from the cooks' own ladles, Spht open the kegs of salted sprats, Made nests inside men's Sunday hats, And even spoiled the women's chats By drowning their speaking With shrieking and squeaking In fifty different sharps and flats. in ^' "At last the people in a body j^u To the Town HaU came flocking: —^'•'Tis clear," cried they, "our Mayor's a noddy; And as for our Corporation, — shocking The Pied Piper of Hamelin 193 To think we buy gowns lined with ermine ^ For dolts that can't or won't determine What's best to rid us of our vermin! You hope, because you're old and obese, To find in the furry civic robe ease? i- Rouse up, sirs! Give your brains a racking, ' 1- To find the remedy we're lacking, \) Or, sure as fate, we'll send you packing!" 2 At this the Mayor and Corporation ^ ^ Quaked with a mighty consternation. IV An hour they sat in council, — ^^^ ^^^ At length the Mayor broke silence : ' • ' '^^^'- "For a guilder I'd my ermine gown sell; I wish I wTre a mile hence ! ^^ It's easy to bid one rack one's brain, — - ^ I'm sure m^y poor head aches again, ' ' i^^lA- I've scratched it so, and all in vain. ''"^ Oh for a trap, a trap, a trap!" ''^ Just as he said this, what should hap -"^ ^^^ At the chamber-door but a gentle tap? '^ '^^ "Bless us," cried the Mayor, "what's that?" -) (With the Corporation as he sat, ' ^' ""- ^ Looking little though wondrous fat; *^^ ^ Nor brighter was his eye, nor moister-*^^^ ^^ hsih^ Than a too-long-opened oyster, ' '^ • ^*-' ^ Save when at noon his paunch grew mutinous For a plate of turtle green and glutinous) "Only a scraping of shoes on the mat? ' ^ Anything like the sound of a rat'^^ ^^^''• Makes my heart go pit-a-pat ! " '' ' ''' V 1 "Come in!" the Mayor cried, looking bigger: And in did come the strangest figure ! ^^ briA His queer long coat from heel to head '^b3 I il Was half of yellow and half of red, ^ov IliV/ And he himself was tall and thin, ' ' With sharp blue eyes, each like a pin, '^^ 194 Poems of Youth and Age And light loose hair, yet swarthy skin, No tuft on cheek nor beard on chin. But lips where smiles went out and in; There was no guessing his kith and kin: And nobody could enough admire The tall man and his quaint attire. Quoth one: "It's as my great-grandsire. Starting up at the Trump of Doom's tone, Had walked this way from his painted tombstone I" VI He advanced to the council- table : And, "Please your honors," said he, " I'm able, By means of a secret charm, to draw All creatures living beneath the sun. That creep or swim or fly or run. After me so as you never saw! And I chiefly use my charm ...... .-,,,- ^ On creatures that do people harm, ^^> j(q The mole and toad and newt and viper; ^jj- And people call me the Pied Piper." (And here they noticed round his neck A scarf of red and yellow stripe. To match with his coat of the self -same cheek,, j And at the scarf's end hung a pipe; And his fingers, they noticed, were ever straying As if impatient to be playing Upon this pipe, as low it dangled • ^ ^^J',l Over his vesture so old-fangled.) /InO** "Yet," said he, "poor piper as I am, In Tartary I freed the Cham, Last June, from his huge swarms of gnats; I eased in Asia the Nizam Of a monstrous brood of vampire-bats; And as for what your brain bewilders, — If I can rid your town of rats, Will you give me a thousand guilders? " "One? fifty thousand!" was the exclamation Of the astonished Mayor and Corporation. The Pied Piper of Hamelin 195 vn Into the street the Piper stepped, Smihng first a little smile, As if he knew what magic slept In his quiet pipe the while; Then, like a musical adept. To blow the pipe his lips he wrinkled, And green and blue his sharp eyes twinkled, Like a candle-flame where salt is sprinkled; And ere three shriU notes the pipe uttered, You heard as if an army muttered; And the muttering grew to a grumbling; And the grumbling grew to a mighty rumbling; And out of the houses the rats came tumbling. Great rats, small rats, lean rats, brawny rats. Brown rats, black rats, gray rats, tawny rats, Grave old plodders, gay young friskers, Fathers, mothers, uncles, cousins. Cocking tails and pricking whiskers; Families by tens and dozens. Brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, — Followed the Piper for their lives. From street to street he piped advancing, And step for step they followed dancing, Until they came to the river Weser, Wherein all plunged and perished ! — Save one who, stout as Julius Caesar, Swam across and lived to carry (As he, the manuscript he cherished) To Rat-land home his commentary. Which was: "At the first shrill notes of the pipe^ I heard a sound as of scraping tripe. And putting apples, wondrous ripe, Into a cider-press's gripe, — And a moving away of pickle-tub-boards. And a leaving ajar of conserve-cupboards, And a drawing the corks of train-oil-flasks, And a breaking the hoops of butter-casks; 196 Poems of Youth and Age And it seemed as if a voice (Sweeter far than by harp or by psaltery Is breathed) called out, 'Oh rats, rejoice! The world is grown to one vast drysaltery! So munch on, crunch on, take your nuncheon, Breakfast, supper, dinner, luncheon!' And just as a bulky sugar-puncheon, Already staved, like a great sun shone Glorious scarce an inch before me, Just as methought it said, 'Come, bore me!'-^^^'' I found the Weser rolling o'er me."; --■■'■■•■■' ^ ^^^^ ; a 33iAi 319 baA VIII You should have heard the Hamelin people Ringing the bells till they rocked the steeple;, ,, ,^ "Go," cried the Ma^^^or, "and get long poles!-tp.»,^ Poke out the nests and block up the holes! Consult with carpenters and builders, And leave in our town not even a trace Of the rats!" — when suddenly, up the face Of the Piper perked in the m.arket-place, With a "First, if you please, my thousand guilders!' IX A thousand guilders! the Mayor looked blue; So did the Corporation too. For council-dinners made rare havoc With Claret, Moselle, Vin-de-Grave, Hock; A.nd half the money would replenish Their cellar 's biggest butt with Rhenish. To pay this sum to a wandering fellow With a gypsy coat of red and yellow! "Beside," quoth the Mayor, with a knowing wink, "Our business was done at the river's brink; We saw with our eyes the vermin sink, And what's dead can't come to life, I think. So, friend, we're not the folks to shrink From the duty of giving you something to drink. And a matter of money to put in your poke; The Pied Piper of Hamelin 197 But as for the guilders, what we spoke Of them, as you very well know, was in joke. Beside, our losses have made us thrifty; A thousand guilders! Come, take fifty!" The Piper's face fell, and he cried, "No trifling! I can't wait! beside, I 've promised to visit by dinner time Bagdat, and accept the prime Of the Head Cook's pottage, all he's rich in, For having left, in the Caliph 's kitchen. Of a nest of scorpions no survivor: With him I proved no bargain-driver; With you, don't think I'll bate a stiver! And folks who put me in a passion May find mie pipe after another fashion. " XI ^= "How?" cried the Mayor, "d'ye think I brook Being worse treated than a Cook? Insulted by a lazy ribald With idle pipe and vesture piebald? You threaten us, fellow? Do your worst, Blow your pipe there till you burst!" xn Once more he stepped into the street ; . And to his lips again Laid his long pipe of smooth straight cane; And ere he blew three notes (such sweet • ;[- Soft notes as yet musician 's cunning t Never gave the enraptured air) There was a rustling that seemed like a bustling Of merry crowds justling at pitching and hustling; . j Small feet were pattering, wooden shoes clattering, Little hands clapping, and little tongues chattering; And, like fowls in a farm-yard when barley is scattering, Out came the children running: 19B Poems of Youth and Age All the little boys and girls, With rosy cheeks and flaxen curls, And sparkling eyes and teeth like pearls, ' Tripping and skipping, ran merrily after The wonderful music with shouting and laughter. XIII The Mayor was dumb, and the Council stood As if they were changed into blocks of wood, Unable to move a step, or cry ^' -^q To the children merrily skipping by, — And could only follow with the eye That joyous crowd at the Piper's back. ., .^-.jij But how the Mayor was on the rack, ;>--yy And the wretched Council's bosoms beat, .,^ ^ As the Piper turned from the High Street ., | /- To where the Weser rolled its waters Right in the way of their sons and daughters! However, he turned from south to west. And to Koppelberg Hill his steps addressed. And after him the children pressed; Great was the joy in every breast. "He never can cross that mighty top! He's forced to let the piping drop, And we shall see our children stop!" When, lo, as they reached the mountain-side, A wondrous portal opened wide. As if a cavern was suddenly hollowed; And the Piper advanced and the children followed^;. And when all were in, to the very last, ^'-J The door in the mountain-side shut fast. Did I say, all? No ! One was lame. And could not dance the whole of the way; And in after years, if you would blame His sadness, he was used to say, — "It's dull in our town since my playmates left! I can 't forget that I 'm bereft Of all the pleasant sights they see, Which the Piper also promised me; The Pied Piper of Hamelin 199 For he led us, he said, to a jo3^ous land, i,^ j^'i Joining the town and just at hand, - --orfT Where waters gushed, and fruit-trees grew, ff And flowers put forth a fairer hue. And everything was strange and new; The sparrows were brighter than peacocks here, And their dogs outran our fallow deer. And honey-bees had lost their stings. And horses were born with eagles' mngs; j. biU. And just as I became assured j^a odT My lame foot would be speedily cured, j woH The music stopped and I stood still, ■ - r^' And found myself outside the hill, Left alone against my will, To go now limping as before. And never hear of that country more!" ziodisi} ihdi oT XIV . ■ to iuO Alas, alas for Hamelin! ", orrtl There came into many a burgher's pate ,j A text which says that heaven's gate > Opes to the rich at as easy rate j As the needle's eye takes a camel in! The Mayor sent East, West, North and South, To offer the Piper, by word of mouth, Wherever it was men 's lot to find him, Silver and gold to his heart 's content, If he'd only return the way he went. And bring the children behind him. But when they saw 'twas a lost endeavor, And piper and dancers wxre gone forever, They made a decree that lawyers never Should think their records dated duly If, after the day of the month and year, These words did not as well appear, "And so long after what happened here On the Twenty-second of July, Thirteen hundred and seventy-six:" And the better in memory to fix 200 Poems of Youth and Age '111 -j'.i The place of the children's last retreat, They called it, the Pied Piper's Street— ,f{t x^arnb^ Where any one playing on pipe or tabor Was sure for the future to lose his labor. Nor suffered they hostlery or tavern To shock with mirth a street so solemn; But opposite the place of the cavern They wrote the story on a column, And on the great church-window painted The same, to make the world acquainted How their children were stolen away, And there it stands to this very day. And I must not omit to say That in Transylvania there 's a tribe Of alien people who ascribe The outlandish ways and dress On which their neighbors lay such stress, To their fathers and mothers having risen Out of some subterraneous prison Into which they were trepanned Long time ago in a mighty band ,:>iii Out of Hamehn town in Brunswick land, But how or why^ they don't understand. XV So, Willy, let me and you be wipers Of scores out with all men— especially pipers! And, whether they pipe us free from rats or from mice, If we've promised them aught, let us keep our promise! Robert Browning [ 1 8 1 2- 1 88q] THE GLAD EVANGEL A CAROL He came all so still Where His mother was, As dew in April That falleth on the grass. He came all so still Where His mother lay, As dew in April That falleth on the spray. He came all so still To His mother's bowxr, As dew in April That falleth on the flower. Mother and maiden Was never none but she ! Well might such a lady God's mother be. Unknown "GOD REST YOU, THIERRY GENTLEMEN" God rest you, merry gentlemen, Let nothing you dismay, For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, W^as born upon this day. To save us all from Satan's power When we were gone astray. O tidings of comfort and joy! For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Was born on Christmas Day. 20I 202 Poems of Youth and Age In Bethlehem, in Jewry, This blessed babe was born, And laid within a manger, Upon this blessed morn; The which His mother, Mary, Nothing did take in scorn. From God our Heavenly Father, A blessed angel- came; And unto certain shepherds Brought tidings of the same: How that in Bethlehem was born The Son of God by name. "Fear not," then said the angel, "Let nothing you affright. This day is born a Saviour Of virtue, power, and might, So frequently to vanquish all The friends of Satan quite." The shepherds at these tidings Rejoiced much in mind, And left their flocks a-feeding In tempest, storm, and wind, And went to Bethlehem straightway. This blessed babe to find. But when to Bethlehem they came. Whereat this infant lay. They found Him in a manger, Where oxen feed on hay. His mother Mary kneeHng, Unto the Lord did pray. Now to the Lord sing praises, All you within this place, And with true love and brotherhood" Each other now embrace ; This holy tide of Christmas All others doth deface. *' O Little Town of Bethlehem 203 O tidings of comfort and joy! For Jesus Christ, our Saviour, Was born in Christmas Day. Unknown ''O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM" O LITTLE town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie! Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by; Yet in thy dark streets shineth The everlasting Light ; The hopes and fears of all the years Are met in thee to-night. For Christ is born of Mary, And, gathered all above, While mortals sleep, the angels keep Their watch of wondering love. O morning stars, together Proclaim the holy birth ! And praises sing to God the King, And peace to men on earth. How silently, how silently. The wondrous gift is given! So God imparts to human hearts The blessings of His heaven. No ear may hear His coming. But in this world of sin, Where meek souls will receive Him still, The dear Christ enters in. O holy Child of Bethlehem! H. Descend to us, we pray; Cast out our sin, and enter in, Be born in us to-day. 204 Poems of Youth and Age We hear the Christmas angels The great glad tidings tell; Oh come to us, abide with us, Our Lord Emmanuel! Phillips Brooks [1835-1893I A CHRISTMAS HYMN Old Style: 1837 It was the calm and silent night ! Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was Queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing wars; Peace brooded o'er the hushed domain; Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars, Held undisturbed their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. 'Twas in the calm and silent night! The senator of haughty Rome Impatient urged his chariot's flight, From lordly revel rolling home. Triumphal arches gleaming swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; What recked the Roman what befeU A paltry province far away. In the solemn midnight Centuries ago! Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor: A streak of light before him lay, Fall'n through a half-shut stable door Across his path. He passed — for naught Told what was going on within; How keen the stars! his only thought; The air how calm and cold and thin. In the solemn midnight Centuries ago! ^' Shepherds' Watched Their Flocks " 205 O strange indifference ! — low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares: The earth was still — but knew not why; The world was hstening — unawares. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world for ever! To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was Knked, no more to sever, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. It is the calm and solemn night! A thousand bells ring out, and throw Their joyous peals abroad, and smite ' . '■ c The darkness, charmed and holy now. The night that erst no name had worn, To it a happy name is given; For in that stable lay new-born The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. Alfred Domett [1811-1887] WHILE SHEPHERDS WATCHED THEIR FLOCKS BY NIGHT" While shepherds watched their flocks by night, All seated on the ground. The angel of the Lord came down, And glory shone around. "Fear not," said he, for mighty dread Had seized their troubled mind; " Glad tidings of great joy I bring To you and all mankind. "To you, in David's town, this day Is born, of David's line, The Saviour, who is Christ the Lord, And this shall be the sign: 2o6 Poems of Youtti and* Age "The heavenly babe you there shall find To human view displayed, All meanly wrapped in swaddling bands, And in a manger laid." Thus spake the seraph; and forthwith Appeared a shining throng Of angels, praising God, who thus Addressed their joyful song: "All glory be to God on high, And to the earth be peace; Good will henceforth from Heaven to men Begin and never cease." Nahum Tate [1652-1715] CHRISTMAS CAROLS ) ill iu'-i It came upon the midnight clear,- '^f^T That glorious song of old. From angels bending near the earth '^''^ To touch their harps of gold : "Peace on the earth, good will to m_en p-. From heaven's all-gracious King" — ■ The world in solemn stillness lay To hear the angels sing. Still through the cloven skies they come With peaceful wings unfurled, ,Ji And still their heavenly music floats . / O'er all the weary world; Above its sad and lowly plains , ? They bend on hovering wing, Ji And ever o'er its Babel-sounds The blessed angels sing. But with the woes of sin and strife^ / o i • The world has suffered long; ■tod gl Beneath the angel-strain have rolled of'T Two thousand years of wrong; The Angels 207 And man, at war with man, hears not The love-song which they bring; — (lA Oh, hush the noise, ye men of strife, And hear the angels sing ! And ye, beneath life's crushing load, WTiose forms are bending low. Who toil along the climbing way With painful steps and slow, Look now! for glad and golden hours . Come swiftly on the vdng; — Oh, rest beside the weary road And hear the angels sing! For lo ! the days are hastening on .. )[ By prophet bards foretold, When v.ith the ever circHng years ,j^ Comes round the age of gold; ,;,: // Wlien Peace shall over all the earth r f ' '^ Its ancient splendors fling. And the whole world give back the song W^hich now the angels sing. Edmund Hamilton Sears [1810-1876! THE ANGELS From "Flowers of Sion" Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears. We bring the best of news; be not dismayed: A Saviour there is born more old than years. Amidst heaven's rolling heights this earth who stayed. In a poor cottage inned, a \argin maid, A weakling did him bear, who all upbears; There is he poorly swaddled, in m^anger laid. To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres: Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth. This is that night — no, day, groT\Ti great with bliss. In which the power of Satan broken is: In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth! 2o8 Poems of Youth, and Age Thus singing, through the air the angels swarm, And cope of stars re-echoed the same. William Drummoiid [15 85-1 649] THE BURNING BABE As I in hoary winter's night Stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat \Miich made my heart to glow; And hfting up a fearful eye To view what fire was near, A pretty babe all burning bright Did in the air appear; Who, scorched with excessive heat, Such floods of tears did shed, As though His floods should quench His flames, \Miich with His tears were bred : "Alas!" quoth He, "but newly born In fiery heats I fry. Yet none approach to warm their hearts Or feel mv fire but I ! [Oi "My faultless breast the furnace is; The fuel, wounding thorns; Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke; The ashes, shames and scorns; The fuel Justice layeth on. And ]Mercy blows the coals. The metal in this furnace wrought Are men's defiled souls: ^' For which, as now on fire I am -' To work them to their good, So mil I melt into a bath. To wash them in my blood." ■'^'- With this He vanished out 01 sight ' And swiftly shrunk away, --^ And straight I called imto mind -T That it was Christmas Day. Robert Southwell [i56i?-iS95l Christmas Carol 209 TRYSTE NOEL The Ox he openeth wide the Doore, And from the Snowe he calls her inne, And he hath seen her Smile therefor, Our Ladye without Sinne. Now soone from Sleep A Starre shall leap, And soone arrive both King and Hinder Amen, Amen: But 0, the Place co'd I but finde! The Ox hath hushed his voyce and bent Trewe eyes of Pitty ore the ]Mow, And on his lovehe Neck, forspent, The Blessed layes her Browe. Around her feet Full Warme and Sweete His bowerie Breath doth meeklie dwell: Amen, Amen: But sore am I with Vaine Travel! The Ox is host in Judah stall And Host of more than oneHe one. For close she gathereth -^-ithal Our Lorde her httel Sonne. Glad Hinde and King Their Qyitt may bring. But we'd to-night my Teares were there, Amen, Amen: Between her Bosom and His hayrel Louise Imogen Giiiney [1861- CHRISTMAS CAROL As Joseph was a-waukin'. He heard an angel sing, " This night shall be the birthnight Of Christ our heavenly King. 2ro Poems of Youth and Age "His birth-bed shall be neither In housen nor in hall, Nor in the place of paradise, But in the oxen's stall. '^He neither shall be rocked In silver nor in gold, But in the wooden manger That lieth in the mould. "He neither shall be washen With white wine nor wdth red, But with the fair spring water That on you shall be shed. "He neither shall be clothed In purple nor in pall, But in the fair, white hnen That usen babies all." As Joseph was a-waukin', Thus did the angel sing, And Mary's son at midnight Was born to be our King. Then be you glad, good people. At this time of the year; And light you up your candles, For His star it shineth clear. Unknown BRIGHTEST AND BEST OF THE SONS OF THE MORNING" Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid! , Star of the East, the horizon adorning. Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid! Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are shining, Low Hes His head with the beasts of the stall; Angels adore Him in slumber reclining. Maker and Monarch and Saviour of alll Christmas Bells 211 Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion, Odors of Edom and offerings divine? Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean, Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine? Vainly we offer each ample oblation; Vainly with gifts would His favor secure: Richer by far is the heart's adoration; Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning! Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid! Star of the East, the horizon adorning, Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid ! Reginald Heber [1783-^^^26] CHRISTMAS BELLS I HEARD the bells on Christmas Day Their old, faniliar carols play. And wild and sweet The words repeat Of peace on earth, good- will to men ! And thought how, as the day had come, The belfries of all Christendom Had rolled along The unbroken song Of peace on earth, good- will to men! Till, ringing, singing on its way. The world revolved from night to day, A voice, a chime, A chant subhme Of peace on earth, good-wiU to men! Then from each black, accursed mouth The cannon thundered in the South, .^^ And with the sound ,-ft ||n hn/^ The carols drowned Of peace on earth, good- will to men! *Si2 Poems of Youth and Age It was as if an earthquake rent The hearth-stones of a continent, And made forlorn o arasO ' The households born -'^ Of peace on earth, good- will to men! And in despair I bowed my head; "There is no peace on earth," I said, "For hate is strong. And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!" ,;; Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: .. "God is not dead, nor doth He sleep! The Wrong shall fail. The Right prevail. With peace on earth, good-will to men!" Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807- 1882] A CHRISTMAS CAROL The Christ-child lay on Mary's lap, His hair was like a light. (O weary, weary were the world, But here is all aright.) The Christ-child lay on Mary's breast, His hair was like a star. (O stern and cunning are the kings. But here the true hearts are.) The Christ-child lay on Mary's heart. His hair was like a fire. (O weary, weary is the world, But here the world's desire.) The Christ-child stood at Mary's knee, His hair was like a crown. And all the flowers looked up at Him, And all the stars looked down. Gilbert Keith Chesterton [i8;'4- The House of Christmas 213 THE HOUSE OF CHRISTMAS There fared a mother driven forth Out of an inn to roam; In the place where she was homeless All men are at home. The crazy stable close at hand, With shaking timber and shifting sand. Grew a stronger thing to abide and stand Than the square stones of Rome. For men are homesick in their homes, .\nd strangers under the sun, And they lay their heads in a foreign land WTienever the day is done. Here we have battle and blazing eyes, And chance and honor and high surprise. But our homes are under miraculous skies \Miere the ^-ule tale was begun. A Child in a foul stable, \Miere the beasts feed and foam, Only where He was homeless Are you and I at home; We have hands that fashion and heads that know, But our hearts we lost — ^how long ago! In a place no chart nor ship can show Under the sky's dome. This world is -^ild as an old wives' tale. And strange the plain things are. The earth is enough and the air is enough For our wonder and our war; But our rest is as far as the fire-drake swings .And our peace is put in impossible things '■ ^Miere clashed and thundered unthinkable wings Round an incredible star. To an open house in the evening Home shall men come, 214 Poems of Youth and Age To an older place than Eden And a taller town than Rome. ' 1 IT To the end of the way of the wandering star, To the things that cannot be and that are, To the place where God was homeless ^ j^*-^ And all men are at home. "" ■\L Gilbert Keith Chesterton [1874- ' . jriT 12 rfjiW THE FEAST OF THE SNOW /J ^^]^ There is heard a hymn when the panes are dim, And never before or again, When the nights are strong with a darkness long, And the dark is alive with rain. ^^ ^nA Never we know but in sleet and snow .1 1 The place where the great fires are. That the midst of earth is a raging mirth, And the heart of the earth a star. And at night we win to the ancient inn. Where the Child in the frost is furled, // We follow the feet where all souls meet, At the inn at the end of the world. The gods lie dead where the leaves he red, M For the flame of the sun is flown; :q a nl The gods he cold where the leaves are gold,---.h:-.'T And a Child comes forth alone. Gilbert Keith Chesterton [1874- • T MARY'S BABY 'I ■;r Joseph, mild and noble, bent above the str^jw;^^ A pale girl, a frail girl, suffering he saw; --grfv/- "O my Love, my Mary, my bride, I pity thee!"^ "Nay, Dear," said Mary, "all is well with me!" "Baby, my baby, my babe," she sang. ; f Suddenly the golden night all with music rang. -*r Gates and Doors 2 1 5 Angels leading shepherds, shepherds leading sheep: The silence of worship broke the mother's sleep. All the meek and lowly of all the world were there; Smiling, she showed them that her Child was fair, "Baby, my hahy,''^ kissing Him she said. Suddenly a flaming star through the heavens sped. Three old men and weary knelt them side by side. The world's wealth forswearing, majesty and pride; Worldly might and wisdom before the Babe bent low: Weeping, maid Mary said, "I love Him so!" "Baby, my baby" and the Baby slept. Suddenly on Calvary all the olives wept. Shaemas OS heel [1886- GATES AND DOORS A BALLAD OF CHRISTMAS EVE There was a gentle hostler (And blessed be his name!) He opened up the stable The night Our Lady came. Our Lady and St. Joseph, He gave them food and bed, And Jesus Christ has given him A glory round his head. So let the gate swing open However poor the yard, Lest weary people visit you And find their passage barred. Unlatch the door at midnight And let your lantern's glow Shine out to guide the traveler's feet To you across the snow. There was a courteous hostler (He is in Heaven to-night) He held Our Lady's bridle And helped her to alight. ml ■Ml/. 2i6 Poems of Youth and Age He spread clean straw before her Whereon she might He down, And Jesus Christ has given him An everlasting crown. Unlock the door this evening And let your gate swing wide, Let all who ask for shelter Come speedily inside. What if your yard he narrow? What if your house he small? There is a Guest is coming Will glorify it all. There was a joyous hostler Who knelt on Christmas morn Beside the radiant manger Wherein his Lord was born. His heart was full of laughter, His soul was full of bliss When Jesus, on His Mother's lap, Gave him His hand to kiss. Unbar your heart this evening And keep no stranger out, Take from your soiiVs great portal The harrier of doubt. To humble folk and weary Give hearty welcoming, Your breast shall he to-morro%v The cradle of a King. Joyce Kilmer [ THE THREE KINGS Three Kings came riding from far away, Melchior and Caspar and Baltasar; Three Wise j\Ien out of the East were they, And they travelled by night and they slept by day, For their guide w^as a beautiful, wonderful star. The Three Kings 217- The star was so beautiful, large and clear, -' o:f 1 briA That all the other stars of the sky T Became a white mist in the atmosphere; And by this they knew that the coming was near Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy. /-. Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows, Three caskets of gold with golden keys; Their robes were of crimson silk, with rows Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows, ' Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees. And so the Three Kings rode into the West, Through the dusk of night, over hill and dell, And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast, And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest. With the people they met at some wayside well. "Of the child that is born," said Baltasar, " Good people, I pray you, tell us the news, For we in the East have seen his star, And have ridden fast, and have ridden far. To find and worship the King of the Jews." 3di bnA And the people answered, "You ask in vain; -^- We know of no king but Herod the Great! " They thought the Wise Men were men insane. As they spurred their horses across the plain Like riders in haste, and who cannot wait. And when they came to Jerusalem, Herod the Great, w^ho had heard this thing, Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them ; And said, "Go down unto Bethlehem, And bring me tidings of this new king." So they rode away, and the star stood still, The only one in the gray of morn ; Yes, it stopped, — it stood still of its own free will, Right over Bethlehem on the hill, The city of David, where Christ was born. l^T 21 8 Poems of Youth and Age And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard, Through the silent street, till their horses turned And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard; But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred, And only a light in the stable burned, ^rjj^q gjfi \q And cradled there in the scented hay, In the air made sweet by the breath of kine, ,, The Httle child in the manger lay. The Child that would be King one day Of a kingdom not human, but divine. His mother, Mary of Nazareth, Sat watching beside his place of rest. Watching the even flow of his breath. For the joy of Hfe and the terror of death Were mingled together in her breast. ■ lorlT p.lhd'iO They laid their offerings at his feet: The gold was their tribute to a King; The frankincense, with its odor sweet, booO " Was for the Priest, the Paraclete; ' -viol The myrrh for the body's burying. hriA f And the mother wondered and bowed her head. And sat as still as a statue of stone; ^^^ |^^^^ Her heart was troubled yet comforted, >ai ^^fj ■ Remembering what the Angel had said ^^^^ varfT Of an endless reign and of David's throne. Then the Kings rode out of the city gate, ' With a clatter of hoofs in proud array; But they went not back to Herod the Great, |'' For they knew his malice and feared his hate. And returned to their homes by another way. Henry Wadswortk Longfellow [1807-18 LULLABY IN BETHLEHEM , ^ There hath come an host to see Thee, Baby dear, Bearded men with eyes of flame And lips of fear, A Child's Song of Christmas 219 For the heavens, they say, have broken '' > Into bhnding gulfs of glory, And the Lord, they say, hath spoken In a little wondrous story, Baby dear. There have come three kings to greet Thee, Baby dear. Crowned with gold, and clad in purple, They draw near. They have brought rare silks to bind Thee, At Thy feet, behold, they spread them. From their thrones they sprang to find Thee, And a blazing star hath led them, Baby dear. • -dioM I have neither jade nor jasper, ■ • - Baby dear. Thou art all my hope and glory, And my fear, Yet for all the gems that strew Thee, And the costly gowns that fold Thee, Yea, though all the world should woo Thee, Thou art mine — and fast I hold Thee, . ^^^g Baby dear. Henry Howarth Bashford [1880- \^A CHILD'S SONG OF CHRISTMAS My counterpane is soft as silk, :iod §noJ' My blankets white as creamy milk. ;• - -* ■ ' ? The hay was soft to Him, I know, Our httle Lord of long ago. Above the roofs the pigeons fly In silver wheels across the sky. The stable-doves they cooed to them, Mary and Christ in Bethlehem. Bright shines the sun across the drifts, And bright upon my Christmas gifts. nijig jufl They brought Him incense, myrrh, and gold. Our Httle Lord who lived of old. 2 20 Poems of Youth and Age Oh, soft and clear our mother sings Of Christmas joys and Christmas things. God's holy angels sang to them, Mary and Christ in Bethlehem. Our hearts they hold all Christmas dear, And earth seems sweet and heaven seems near. Oh, heaven was in His sight, I know. That little Child of long ago. Marjorie L. C. Pickthall [1883 JEST 'FORE CHRISTMAS .1 r. bnA Father calls me William, sister calls me Will, . -, Mother calls me WiUie, but the fellers call me Bill! Mighty glad I ain't a girl — ruther be a boy. Without them sashes, curls, an' things that's worn by Fauntleroyl Love to chawnk green apples an' go swimmin' in the lake- Hate to take the castor-ile they give for belly-ache! 'Most all the time, the whole year round, there ain't no flies on me, But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be! Got a yeller dog named Sport, sick him on the cat; First thing she knows she doesn't know where she is at! Got a clipper sled, an' when us kids goes out to slide, 'Long comes the grocery cart, an' we all hook a ride! But sometimes when the grocery man is worrited an' cross, He reaches at us with his whip, an' larrups up his hoss, An' then I laff an' holler, "Oh, ye never teched me!^' But jest 'fore Christmas I'm as good as I kin be! Gran'ma says she hopes that when I git to be a man, I'll be a missionarer like her oldest brother, Dan, As was et up by the cannibuls that lives in Ceylon's Isle, Where every prospeck pleases, an' only man is vile! But gran'ma she has never been to see a "Wild West show. Nor read the Life of Daniel Bo'^ne, or else I guess she'd know A Visit from St. Nicholas 221 That Buff'lo Bill and cow-boys is good enough for me! Except jest 'fore Christmas, when I'm good as I kin be! And then old Sport he hangs around, so solemn-like an' still, His eyes they keep a-sayin': "What's the matter, little Bill?" The old cat sneaks down off her perch an' wonders what's become Of them two enemies of hern that used to make things hum! But I am so perlite an' 'tend so earnestly to biz, That mother says to father: "How improved our Willie is!" But father, havin' been a boy hisself, suspicions me .^ When jest 'fore Christmas, I'm as good as I kin be! For Christmas, with its lots an' lots of candies, cakes an' toys, Was made, they say, for proper kids an' not for naughty boys; So wash yer face an' bresh yer hair, an' mind yer p's an' q's, An' don't bust out yer pantaloons, an' don't wear out yer shoes; Say " Yessum" to the ladies, an' "Yessur" to the men. An' when they's company, don't pass yer plate for pie again; But, thinking of the things yer'd like to see upon that tree, Jest 'fore Christmas be as good as yer kin be! Eugene Field [1850-1895] A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS 'TwAS the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds. While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter. 222 Poems of Youth and Age Away to the window I flew like a flash, '^ orf^jfa i&di Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash. ryf.'^ The moon on the breast of the new-faUen snow Gave the lustre of mid-day to objects below, '^ ^^"-^ ^_ When, what to my wondering eyes should appea^^^ ^'^ 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 I now, Prancer and Vixen! On, Comet ! on Cupid J on, Doiider and Blitze^i! '^\^^^ ^^[^ To the top of the porch! to the top of the waU! ^^^i "^^^^ Now dash away! dash away! dash away aU!" p^j^ ,^-3- As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, ^^^^^ When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, .^^r. So up to the house-top the coursers they flew, r ^ With the sleigh fuU of toys, and St. Nicholas too. Aj.r..^j ^o And then, in a twinkhng, I heard on the roof - • The prancing and parsing of each little hoof. As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot. And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and sootj^^^^ A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, ^ j^.^-r And he looked Hke a peddler just opening his pack. His eyes — ^how they twinkled! his dimples how merry! His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry! His droll Httle mou-th was drawn up like a bow, And the beard of his chin wsls as white as the snow; The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth. And the smoke it encircled his head Hke a wreatfi; He had a broad face and a little round belly, " , \ That shook, w^hen he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly. He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf, And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself; A \\ank of his eye and a t-«ast 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 the stockings; then turned with a jerk, On the Morning of Christ^s Nativity 223 (i ^nU \T 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.'' Clement Clarke Moore [17 79-1 863] CEREMONIES FOR CHRISTMAS Come, bring with a noise, My merry, merry boys. The Christmas log to the firing; ^j While my good dame, she Bids ye aU be free; af,v^rf 9f{j ^I; And drink to your hearts' desiring, r , , . j. With the last year 's brand Light the new block, and For good success in his spending. On your psaltries play, That sweet luck may Come while the log is a-tending. llP.lB 3ffT H Drink now the strong beer. Cut the white loaf here. The while the meat is a-shredding; For the rare mince-pie And the plums stand by To fill the paste that 's a-kneading. Robert Herrick [1591-1674] ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY^ This is the month, and this the happy morn WTierein the Son of Heaven 's Eternal King, Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; 2 24 Poems of Youth and Age O For so the holy sages once did sing That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious Form, that Light unsufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of Majesty Wherewith he wont at Heaven 's high council-ta To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside; and, here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day. And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain To welcome him to this his new abode, . Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, Hath took no print of the approaching light. And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright? See how from far, upon the eastern road. The star-led wizards haste with odors sweet! run, prevent them with thy humble ode And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; Have thou the honor first thy Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel choir From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire. THE HYMN It was the winter wild While the heaven-born Child All meanly wrapped in the rude manger lies; Nature in awe to Him Had doifed her gaudy trim. With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour- Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air On the Morning of Christ's Nativity 225 To hide her guilty front with innocent snow; And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; Confounded, that her Maker 's eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But he, her fears to cease. Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ; She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding DowTi through the turning sphere. His ready harbinger, With turtle wing and amorous clouds dividing; And waving -^ide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle 's sound Was heard the world around: The idle spear and shield were high uphung; The hooked chariot stood Unstained mth. hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; And kings sat still -^ith a^^^ful eye, As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by= But peaceful was the night WTierein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kissed, \Miispering new joys to the mild ocean — \\Tio now hath quite forgot to rave. WTiile birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. The stars, vdth. deep amaze, Stand fixed in steadfast gaze. Bending one way their precious influence; And will not take their flight For all the morning Hght, Or Lucifer that often warned them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. 226 Poems of Youth and Age q And though the shady gloom Had given day her room. ^.^ The smi himself withheld his wonted speed, .,fj And hid his head for shame, ^^ As his inferior flame The new-enlightened world no more should need; He saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne, or burning axletree, could bear. The shepherds on the lawn .^ Or ere the point of da-v4Ti . ,(j Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; .3^ ^m Full httle thought they then Ar-rr That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to hve wdth them below; jj^ c^^^ Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep. Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortal finger strook — j ~ Di\dnely-vrarbled voice -fX Answering the stringed noise, / As all their souls in bhssful rapture took : The air, such pleasure loth to lose. With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Nature, that heard such sound . jH Beneath the hollow round ^X Of Cynthia's seat the airy region thrilHng, -p^ Now was almost won // To think her part was done, //' And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; // She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light That with long beams the shamefaced night arrayed; ; The helmed Cherubim And sworded Seraphim ,11 jjjQ Are seen in ghttering ranks with -^dngs displayed, ir^rr'T On the Morning of Christ's Nativity 227 Harping in loud and solemn choir With unexpressive notes, to Heaven 's new-born Heir. Such music (as 'tis said) Before was never made : 3Y But when of old the sons of morning sung, ^1 While the Creator great His constellations set And the Vv^ell-balanced world on hinges hung; '^'^ And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! Once bless our human ears. If ye have power to touch our senses so; // And let your silver chime ' Move in melodious time; And let the bass of Heaven's deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony -^ ^ Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. '^ For if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back, and fetch the age of gold; And speckled vanity ^asoiwci Will sicken soon and die. And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould; ^^^ \ And Hell itself Avill pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day, oiioqA Yea, Truth and Justice then *^' 'i^'"^ Will down return to men, Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, '^ Mercy will sit between -"^il Throned in celestial sheen, , _ With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; And Heaven, as at some festival. Will open wide the gates of her high palace hall. But "wisest Fate says No; t:>iiiq : ..1.1 This must not yet be so; " ^^^ ^i^i''"^ ^i ^ '^T 22 8 Poems of Youth and Age The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy ii That on the bitter cross JJ Must redeem our loss ; So both himself and us to glorify: Yet first, to those ychained in sleep The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep; With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake: The aged Earth aghast With terror of that blast Shall from the surface to the centre shake. When, at the world's last session, V;_ The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread His throne. And then at last our bhss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day The old Dragon imder ground. In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway; And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, Smnges the scaly horror of his folded tail. The oracles are dumb; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine. With holloa* shriek the steep of Delphos leaving: No nightly trance or breathed spell Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o 'er And the resounding shore A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament; From haunted spring and dale Edged ^ith poplar pale sO; The parting Genius is with sighing sent; On the Morning of Christ's Nativity 229 With flower-inwoven tresses torn -' ' ^^ ■'v'l'j jTI Ir - . '^rri The Nymphs in tmlight shade of tangled thickets mourn. -^ ...I In consecrated earth >'; And on the holy hearth The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns, and altars round A drear and dying sound Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, WTiile each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-battered god of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth Heaven's queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn: In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. And sullen Moloch, fled, % Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol aU of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals ' ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove, or green, Trampling the unshowered grass with lo wings loud: Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Naught but profoundest HeU can be his shroud; In vain with timbrefled anthems dark The sable stoled sorcerers bear his worshiped ark. He feels from Juda 's land The dreaded Infant's hand; 230 Poems of Youth and Age ,rQ The rays of Bethlehem bhiid his dusky eyen; ,-;•,- , ■,■,■,?; (UV/J' Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky t^ine: h'^JFiogpfTOO nl Our Babe, to show his Godhead true. Can in His swaddling bands control the damned. crew* _ ..... in baa ,amo al So, v/hen the sun in bed Curtained with cloudy red Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fettered ghost shps to his several grave: ' ■ And the yellow-skirted fays ■ Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved mazeo But see! the Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest; Time is, our tedious song should here have ending: Heaven 's youngest teemed star Hath fixed her pohshed car, Her sleeping Lord ^ith hand-maid lamp attending: And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable. John Milton [1608-1674] FAIRYLAND THE FAIRY BOOK "In summer, when the grass is thick, if mother has the time, She shows me with her pencil how a poet makes a rhyn^e, And often she is sweet enough to choose a leafy nook, Where I cuddle up so closely when she reads the Fairy- book. In winter, when the corn's asleep, and birds are not in song. And crocuses and violets have been away too long, Dear mother puts her thimble by in answer to my look. And I cuddle up so closely when she reads the Fairy- book. And mother tells the servants that of course they must contrive To manage all the household things from four till half- past five, For we really cannot suffer interruption from the cook, When we cuddle close together with the happy Fairy- book. Norman Gale [1862- FAIRY SONGS I ■ • *I From "A Midsummer-Night's Dream" Over hill, over dale, Through bush, through brier, Over park, over pale, Through flood, through fire, 231 232 Poems of Youth and Age I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moone's sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green: The cowsHps tall her pensioners be; In their gold coats spots you see; Those 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= n From "A Midsummer-Night's Dream" You spotted snakes with double tongue,, Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; Newts and bhnd- worms; do no wrong; Gome not near our fairy queen. Philomel, with melody. Sing in our sweet luUaby; LuUa, luUa, luUaby; luUa, luUa, lullaby! Never harm. Nor spell nor charm. Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby. Weaving spiders, come not here; Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence! Beetles black, approach not near; Worm nor snail, do no offence. Philomel, with melody. Sing in our sweet lullaby; LuUa, lulla, lullaby; luUa, lulla, lullaby! Never harm. Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good-night, with lullaby. Queen Mab 2;^^ rn From "The Tempest" Come unto these yellow sands, And then take hands : Court 'sied when you have, and kissed, — The wild waves whist, — Foot it featly here and there; And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. Hark, hark! Bow, wow. The watch-dogs bark: Bow, wow. ^j Hark, hark! I hear ^ The strain of strutting chanticleer r Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow ! IV From "The Tempest" Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip 's bfell I He ; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat 's back I do fly After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily, shall I hve now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. William Shakespeare [ 1 5 64- 1 6 1 6] QUEEN MAB From "The Satyr" Tms is Mab, the Mistress-Fairy, That doth nightly rob the dair>^ And can hurt or help the churning, As she please without discerning. She that pinches country wenches If they rub not clean their bencheS; 234 Poems of Youth and Age And vdth sharper nails remembers V\Tien they rake not up their embers : But if so they chance to. feast her, In a shoe she drops a tester. This is she that empties cradles, Takes out children, puts in ladles: Trains forth old wives in their slumber With a sieve the holes to number; And then leads them from her burrows, Home through ponds and water-furrows. She can start our Franklins' daughter?, In their sleep, with shrieks and laughters: And on sweet Saint Anna's night Feed them with a promised sight, ■ Some of husbands, some of lovers, ^Miich an empt}^ dream discovers. Ben Jonson [i5 73?-i637l THE ELF AND THE DORJMOUSE UxDER a toadstool crept a wee Elf, Out of the rain, to shelter himself. Under the toadstool sound asleep, Sat a big Dormouse all in a heap. Trembled the wee Elf, frightened, and yet . Fearing to fly away lest he get wet. To the next shelter — maybe a mile! Sudden the wee Elf smiled a wee smile. Tugged till the toadstool toppled in two. Holding it over him, gayly he flew* gin T Soon he was safe home, dry as could be. Soon woke the Dormouse — "Good gracious me! "Where is my toadstool?" loud he lamented. — And that's how umbrellas first were invented. Oliver Herford [1863- Fairy Song 'f 235 "OH! WHERE DO FAIRIES HIDE THEIR HEADS?" Oh! where do fairies hide their heads, Wlien snow hes on the hills, When frost has spoiled their mossy beds, And crystallized their rills? Beneath the moon they cannot trip In circles o'er the plain; And draughts of dew they cannot sip, Till green leaves come again. Perhaps, in smaU, blue diving-bells i They plunge beneath the waves, Inhabiting the wreathed sheUs That lie in coral caves. Perhaps, in red Vesuvius Carousals they maintain; And cheer their little spirits thus, TiU green leaves come again. When they return, there wiU be mirth And music in the air. And fairy wings upon the earth, And mischief everywhere. ■""' '^'X! ' The maids, to keep the elves aloof, Will bar the doors in vain ; No key-hole will be fairy-proof, When green leaves come again. Thomas Haynes Bayly [i 797-1839] . FAIRY SONG From "Amyntas" _ We the Fairies, bhthe and antic,-- Of dimensions not gigantic. Though the moonshine mostly keep us. Oft in orchards frisk and peep us. 236 Poems of Youth and Age Stolen sweets are always sweeter, Stolen kisses much completer, Stolen looks are nice in chapels, Stolen, stolen be your apples. \Mien to bed the world is bobbing, Then's the time for orchard-robbing; Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling Were it not for steaHng, stealing. Translated by Leigh Hunt from the Latin of Thomas Randolph [1605-1635] DREAM SONG I COME from woods enchaunted, StarUt and pixey-haunted. Where 'twixt the bracken and the trees The goblins lie and take their ease By winter moods undaunted. There down the golden gravel The laughing rivers travel; Elves wake at nights and whisper low Between the bracken and the snow Their dreamings to unravel. Twisted and lank and hairy, W'ith wanton eyes and wary. They stretch and chuckle in the wind, For one has found a mermaid kind, And one has kissed a fairy. They know no melancholy, But fashion crowns of holly, And gather sleep within the brake To deck a kingdom when they wake, And bless the dreamer's folly. Ah! would that I might follow The servants of Apollo ! But it is sweet to heap the hours With quiet dreams and poppy-flowers, Dowm in the pixies' hollow. ■-- , - : ' - - Richard Middleton [1SS2-1911] Queen Mab 237 FAIRY SONG I ha Shed no tear! O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more! 0, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root 's white core. Dry your eyes! O, dry your eyes! ,,-j/. For I was taught in Paradise , . -^ To ease my breast of melodies, — Shed no tear. Overhead! look overhead! 'Mong the blossoms white and red,—' ' - Look up, look up! I flutter now On this flush pomegranate bough. See me! 'tis this silvery bill '• ^' Ever cures the good man 's ill, — Shed no tear! O, shed no tear! '■ ' . The flower will bloom another year. Adieu, adieu — I fly — adieu! I vanish in the heaven 's blue, — Adieu, adieu! John Keats [1795-1821] QUEEN MAB A LITTLE fairy comes at night. Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown, With silver spots upon her wings. And from the moon she flutters down. She has a little silver wand, And when a good child goes to bed She waves her hand from right to left. And makes a circle round its head. And then it dreams of pleasant things, Of fountains filled with fairy fish, And trees that bear delicious fruit. And bow their branches at a wish: 238 Poems of Youth and Age Of arbors filled with dainty scents From lovely flowers that never fade; Bright flies that glitter in the sun, And glow-w^orms shining in the shade: on orfi And talking birds with gifted tongues, '^ For singing songs and telling tales. And pretty dwarfs to show the way -.'■''- Through fairy hills and fairy dales. '- ^ soibofgr But when a bad child goes to bed. From left to right she weaves her rings, And then it dreams all through the night Of only ugly horrid things! .j Then hons come mth glaring eyes, And tigers growl, a dreadful noise, And ogres draw their cruel knives, :'^ To shed the blood of girls and boys* ' Then stormy waves rush on to drown, I Or raging flames come scorching round. Fierce dragons hover in the air, And serpents crawl along the ground. Then wicked children wake and weep. And wish the long black gloom away; But good ones love the dark, and find The night as pleasant as the day. Thomas Hood [i 799-1845] THE FAIRIES OF THE CALDON-LOW A MIDSUMMER LEGEND "And where have you been, my Mary, And where have you been from me? " "I've been to the top of the Caldon-Low, The midsummer night to see!" The Fairies of the Caldon-Low 239 "And what did you see, my Mary, . ,:; ; All up on the Caidon-Low?" • riV/ ''I saw the glad sunshine come down, [ odT And I saw the merry winds blow.'*^''" "And what did you hear, my Maryj .; ,, wj. All up on the Caldon-Hill?" -op tnrfT "I heard the drops of the water made. And the ears of the green corn fill." "Oh, tell me all, my Mary — All — all that ever you know; For you m.ust have seen the fairies Last night on the Caldon-Low!" "Then take me on your knee, mother, And listen, mother of mine: • A hundred fairies danced last night, And the harpers they were nine. "And their harp-strings rang so merrity To their dancing feet so small; But, oh! the words of their talking Were merrier far than all!" "And what were the words, my Mary, That you did hear them say?" "I'll tell you all, my mother. But let me have my way. "Some of them played with the water, And rolled it down the hill; 'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn The poor old miller's mill. "'For there has been no water >> Ever since the first of May; And a busy man vdW the miller be At the dawning of the day! 240 Poems of Youth and Age'T " 'Oh! the miller, how he vdR laugh, When he sees the mill-dam rise! The jolly old miller, how he -^iU laugh, Till the tears fill both his e\'es!' "And some they seized the Httle winds. That sounded over the hill. And each put a horn into his mouth. And blew both loud and shrill : " 'And there,' said they, 'the merr\^ winds go Away from every horn; And they shall clear the mildew dank From the blind old widow's corn : " 'Oh, the poor blind widow — Though she has been bhnd so long. She'll be mern,^ enough when the mildew's gonC; And the corn stands tall and strong I' "And some they brought the brovN-n hnseed And flung it down the Low: 'And this,' said they, ' by the sunrise In the weaver's croft shall grow! " 'Oh, the poor lame weaver! How will he laugh outright WTien he sees his dwindling flax-field All full of flowers by night ! ' "And then outspoke a bro-^Tiie, With a long beard on his chin : 'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 'And I want some more to spin. " 'I've spun a piece of hempen cloth And I want to spin another — A Httle sheet for Mary's bed, And an apron for her mother!' The Fairies 241 " With that I could not help but laugh/ And I laughed out loud and free; And then on the top of the Caldon-Low There was no one left but me. "And all on the 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, coming 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, was seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn All standing stout and green. "And down the Vv'eaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were sprung; And I met the weaver at his gate With the good news on his tongue! "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 Howiit [17 99-1 1 THE FAIRIES Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen. We daren't go a-hunting For fear of Httle men; Wee folk, good folk. Trooping aU together; Green jacket, red cap. And white owl's feather! 242 Poems of Youth and Age Down along the rocky shore Some make their home^.y^^f i \j^/ They hve on crispy pancakes ■ ,;i/.^ Of yellow 'tide-foam ; > Some in the reeds Of the black mountain lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake. High on the hill-top The old King sits; He is now so old and gray He's nigh lost his wits. With a bridge of white mist Columbkill he crosses, On his stately journeys From Slieveleague to Rosses; Or going up with music On cold starry nights To sup with the Queen Of the gay Northern Lights„ .;II They stole little Bridget For seven years long; When she came down again Her friends were all gone. They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow, ■^^l- They thought that she was fast asleep, But she was dead with sorrow. They have kept her ever since Deep within the lake, On a bed of flag-leaves. Watching till she wake. Ey the craggy hill-side, Through the mosses bare. They have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there. 3 The Fairy ThraUrisoH 243 If any man so daring ' 40 ■•';! !§flil^ As dig them up in spite, ;jg -jiyrfx He shall find their sharpest thorii§ jy^ In his bed at night. ..i-iiVf/ Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen. We daren't go a-hunting , For fear of Httle men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap. And white owl's feather! 829lon,:fe: William AlHngham [i824-iS&g] THE FAIRY THRALL On gossamer nights when the moon is low, T And stars in the mist are hiding, Over the hill where the foxgloves grow You may see the fairies riding. Kling! Klang! Kling! Their stirrups and their bridles ring. And their horns are loud and their bugles blow. When the moon is low. jvoI lo'I They sweep through the night like a whistling wind. They pass and have left no traces.;:3iji: ij,o / But one of them lingers far behind .v/i 'dlii'd o2 The flight of the fairy faces. ,ffT She makes no moan, , r/f She sorrows in the dark alone. She wails for the love of human kind. Like a whistling wind. "Ah! why did I roam where the elfins ride, ; ,/ . Their gHmmering steps to follow? n ) They bore me far from my loved one's side. To wander o'er hill and hollow. 244 Poems of Youth and Age Kling! Klang! Kling! a dnm van 11 Their stirrups and their bridles ring, But my heart is cold in the cold night-tide, Where the elfins ride." Mary C. G. Byron [1861- FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES Farewell, rewards and fairies! Good housewives now may say, For now foul sluts in dairies Do fare as well as they. And though they sweep their hearths no less Than maids were wont to do, Yet who of late, for cleanliness, Finds sixpence in her shoe? Lament, lament, old abbeys. The fairies' lost command! They did but change priests' babies. But some have changed your land; And all your children sprung from thence, Are now grown Puritanes ; Who live as changelings ever since. For love of your demains. At morning and at evening both You merry were and glad; So little care of sleep or sloth These pretty ladies had; When Tom came home from labor,, nr nc: Or Ciss to milking rose, o» °>d?. Then merrily merrily went their tabor •;' ' And nimbly went their toes. ' Witness those rings and roundelays. <.ii.v ;xIA" Of theirs, which yet remain, iil§ iiadT Were footed in Queen Mary's daysi siod \^dT On many a grassy plain; ' ' - -"*" The Fairy Folk 245 But since of late, Elizabeth, And later, James came in. They never danced on any heath .j i As when the time hath been. ' . By which we note the fairies Were of the old profession; Their songs were Ave-Maries, Their dances were procession. But now, alas! they all are dead, , -. ■ Or gone beyond the seas; Or farther for religion fled; Or else they take their ease. A tell-tale in their company '''■'^■ They never could endure; And whoso kept not secretly Their mirth, was punished sure; It was a just and Christian deed ,^f To pinch such black and blue: Oh, how the Commonwealth doth need Such justices as you! Richard Corbet [1582-1635] THE FAIRY FOLK Come cuddle close in daddy's coat Beside the fire so bright, And hear about the fairy folk That wander in the night. For when the stars are shining clear And all the world is still, They float across the silver moon From hill to cloudy hill. Their caps of red, their cloaks of green. Are hung with silver bells. And when they're shaken with the wind Their merry ringing swells. And riding on the crimson moth, With black spots on her wings, They guide them down the purple sky With golden bridle rings. 246 Poems of Youth and Age They love to visit girls and boys To see how sweet they sleep, To stand beside their cosy cots And at their faces peep. For in the whole of fairy-land They have no finer sight Than little children sleeping sound With faces rosy bright. , On tip-toe crowding round their heads, When bright the moonhght beams, They whisper Httle tender words That fill their minds with dreams; And when they see a sunny smile, ^ With lightest finger tips f^^rj^ They lay a hundred kisses sweet ^^ Upon the ruddy Hps. And then the httle spotted moths Spread out their crimson wings, And bear away the fairy crowd With shaking bridle rings. Come, bairnies, hide in daddy's coat, Beside the fire so bright — Perhaps the little fairy folk Will visit you to-night. Robert Bird [1867- THE FAIRY BOOK When Mother takes the Fairy Book And we curl up to hear, soil ypd'i 'Tis "All aboard for Fairylandr*"^ . . WTiich seems to be so near. For soon we reach the pleasant place Of Once Upon a Time, W^here birdies sing the hour of day, And flowers talk in rhyme; Where Bobby is a velvet Prince, And where I am a Queens qjI'// [Ic The Visitor 247 Where one can talk with animals, And walk about unseen; Where Little People live in nuts, And ride on butterflies, And wonders kindly come to pass Before your very eyes; Where candy grows on every bush, And playthings on the trees. And visitors pick basketfuls As often as they please. It is the nicest time of day — Though Bedtime is so near, — When Mother takes the Fairy Book And we curl up to hear. Abbie Farwell Brown [18 THE VISITOR The white goat AmaryUis, She wandered at her will At time of daffodiUies Afar and up the hill: We hunted and we hoUoa'd And back she came at dawn. But what d'you think had followed? — A Httle, pagan Faun! His face was like a berry. His ears were high and pricked: Tip-tap — his hoofs came merry As up the path he clicked; A junket for his winning We set in dairy delf ; He eat it — peart and grinning As Christian as yourself! He stayed about the steading A fortnight, say, or more; A blanket for his bedding We spread beside the door; 248 Poems of Youth and Age And when the cocks crowed clearly Before the dawn was ripe, He'd call the milkmaids cheerly Upon a reedy pipe! That fortnight of his staying The work went smooth as silk: The hens were all in laying, The cows were all in milk; And then — and then one morning The maids woke up at day Without his oaten warning, — And found he'd gone away. He left no trace behind him; \ But still the milkmaids deem That they, perhaps, may find him With butter and with cream: Beside the door they set them In bowl and golden pat. But no one comes to get them — Unless, maybe, the cat. The white goat Amaryllis, She wanders at her will At time of daffodillies, >.. Away up Woolcombe hill; She stays until the morrow, Then back she comes at dawn; But never — ^to our sorrow — The little, pagan Faun. Patrick R. Chalmers [xi THE LITTLE ELF I MET a little Elf -man, once, Down where the lilies blow. I asked him why he was so small, And why he didn't grow. The Satyrs and the Moon 249 He slightly frowned, and with his eye He looked me through and through. "I'm quite as big for me," said he, "As you are big for you." John Kendrick Bangs [1862- THE SATYRS AND THE MOON Within the wood behind the hill The moon got tangled in the trees. Her splendor made the branches thrill And thrilled the breeze. The satyrs in the grotto bent Their heads to see the wondrous sight. "It is a god in banishment That stirs the night." The httle satyr looked and guessed : "It is an apple that one sees, Brought from that garden of the West — Hesperides." "It is a Cyclops' glaring eye." "A temple dome from Babylon." "A Titan's cup of ivory." "A little sun." The tiny :iatyr jumped for joy, And kicked his hoofs in utmost glee. "It is a wondrous silver toy — Bring it to me!" A great wind whistled through the blue And caught the moon and tossed it high; A bubble of pale fire it flew Across the sky. The satyrs gasped and looked and smiled, And wagged their heads from side to side. Except their shaggy little child, Who cried and cried. Herbert S. Gorman [18 f'Ul iUlff- \'>n.r. 1:'^; -sd8i] ? THE CHILDREN THE CHILDREN When the lessons and tasks are all ended, And the school for the day is dismissed, The little ones gather around me, To bid me good night and be kissed; ,. Oh, the little white arms that encircle My neck in their tender embrace! Oh, the smiles that are halos of heaven, Shedding sunshine of love on my face! And when they are gone, I sit dreaming ' Of my childhood too lovely to last, — i'l Of joy that my heart will remember. While it wakes to the pulse of the past. Ere the world and its wickedness made me A partner of sorrow and sin. When the glory of God was about me. And the glory of gladness within. All my heart grows as weak as a woman's, And the fountain of feeling will flow. When I think of the paths steep and stony. Where the feet of the dear ones must go,- Of the mountains of sin hanging o'er them. Of the tempest of fate blowing wild; — Oh, there's nothing on earth half so holy As the innocent heart of a child ! They are idols of hearts and of households; They are angels of God in disguise ; His sunlight still sleeps in their tresses, His glory still shines in their eyes; 250 The Children -^^oM 251 Those truants from home and from heaven, — They have made me more manly and mild ; And I know now how Jesus could liken The kingdom of God to a child. !j ut)ji /'/. I ask not a hfe for the dear ones, ' ' - irn.- - All radiant, as others have done. But that life may have just enough shadow To temper the glare of the sun; I would pray God to guard them from evil. But my prayer would bound back to myself; — ' Ah! a seraph may pray for a sinner, But a sinner must pray for himself. The twig is so easily bended, I have banished the rule and the rod I have taught them the goodness of knowledge, They have taught me the goodness of God : My heart is the dungeon of darkness Where I shut them for breaking a rule; My frown is sufficient correction ; My love is the law of the school. I shall leave the old house in the autumn, To traverse its threshold no more; Ah, how I shall sigh for the dear ones That meet me each morn at the door! I shall miss the "good nights" and the kisses. And the gush of their innocent glee. The group on the green, and the flowers That are brought every morning for me. I shall miss them at morn and at even. Their song in the school and the street: I shall miss the low hum of their voices, And the tread of their delicate feet. When the lessons of life are all ended. And death says: "The school is dismissed!" May the little ones gather around me. To bid me good night and be kissed! Charles Monroe Dickinson [1842- 252 Poems of Youth and Age THE CHILDREN'S HOURx^riX Between the dark and the dayhght, When the night is beginning to lower, Comes a pause in the day's occupations, That is known as the Children's Hour„ I hear in the chamber above me " n^ The patter of httle feet. The sound of a door that is opened, And voices soft and sweet. From my study I see in the lamplight, Descending the broad hall stair. Grave AHce, and laughing AUegra, And Edith with golden hair. A whisper, and then a silence: Yet I know by their merry eyes They are plotting and planning togetheif' To take me by surprise. x.*'' A sudden rush from the stairway, A sudden raid from the hall ! By three doors left unguarded They enter my castle wall! They chmb up into my turret O'er the arms and back of my chair; If I try to escape, they surround me; They seem to be everywhere. They almost devour me with kisses, Their arms about me entwine, Till I think of the Bishop of Bingen In his Mouse-Tower on the Rhine! , , , •rfi noffV/ Do you think, O blue-eyed banditti. Because you have scaled the wall, Such an old mustache as I am Is not a mg,tph,for you all! ^S3 r' The Desire H I have you fast in my fortress, And will not let you depart, But put you down into the dungeon In the round-tower of my heart. And there will I keep you forever. Yes, forever and a day. Till the walls shall crumble to ruin, And moulder in dust away. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807- 1882] LAUS INFANTIUM In praise of little children I will say God first made man, then found a better way For woman, but his third way was the best. Of all created things, the loveliest And most divine are children. Nothing here Can be to us more gracious or more dear. And though, when God saw all his works were good, There was no rosy flower of babyhood, 'Twas said of children in a later day That none could enter Heaven save such as they. The earth, which feels the flowering of a thorn, Was glad, O little child, when you were born; The earth, v/hich thrills when skylarks scale the blue, Soared up itself to God's own Heaven in you; And Heaven, which loves to lean down and to glass Its beauty in each dewdrop on the grass, — Heaven laughed. to find your face so pure and fair. And left, O Httle child, its reflex there. William Canton [1845- THE DESIRE Give me no mansions ivory white Nor palaces of pearl and gold; Give me a child for all delight. Just four years old. 254 Poems of Youth and Age Give me no wings of rosy shine ; 1 Xor snow}^ raiment, fold on fold, Give me a little bo}^ all mine, . , :■. Just four years old. ] Give me no gold and starr\^ crown Nor harps, nor palm branches unrolled; Give me a nesthng head of bro-^Ti, Just four years old. Give me a cheek that's hke the peach, Two arms to clasp me from the cold; And all my heaven's within my reach, Just four years old. j Dear God, You give me from Your skies A Httle paradise to hold, As Mar>' once her Paradise, ^^ ^^j^ Just four years old. - , ; ^ Katherine Tynan [1861-- rr 3i^ilT A CHILD'S LAUGHTER T -inr All the beils of heaven may ring, All the birds of heaven may sing. All the wells on earth may spring, x ^-y^ All the winds on earth may bring ^^f All sweet sounds together; ,,p^ Sweeter far then all things heard, ^ ^^ Hand of harper, tone of bird, ^^^^ ^j Soimd of woods at sunda^\-n stirred,^^,^g^j^ WeUing water's v^insome word, ^^ Wind in warm, wan weather. One thing yet there is, that nonCj Hearing ere its chime be done, Knovrs not well the sweetest one Heard of man beneath the sun, Hoped in heaven hereafter; Soft and strong and loud and Hght, ^55 Seven Years Old Very sound of very light, Heard from morning's rosiest height, When the soul of all dehght, Fills a child's clear laughter. Golden bells of welcome rolled Never forth such note, nor told Hours so blithe in tones so bold, As the radiant mouth of gold Here that rings forth heaven. If the golden-crested wren Were a nightingale — why, then Something seen and heard of men Might be half as sweet as when Laughs a child of seven. Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1909] SEVEN YEARS OLD Seven white roses on one tree. Seven white loaves of blameless leaven, Seven white sails on one soft sea, Seven white swans on one lake's lea. Seven white flowerlike stars in Heaven, All are types unmeet to be For a birthday's crown of seven. Not the radiance of the roses. Not the blessing of the bread, Not the breeze that ere day grows is Fresh for sails and swans, and closes Wings above the sun's grave spread When the starshine on the snows is Sweet as sleep on sorrow shed. Nothing sweeter, nothing best, Holds so good and sweet a treasure As the love wherewith once blest Joy grows holy, grief takes rest. Life, half tired with hours to measure, Fills his eyes and lips and breast With most light and breath of pleasure; 2r6 Poems of Youth and Age As the rapture unpolluted, As the passion undefiled, By whose force aU pains heart-rooted Are transfigured and transmuted, Recompensed and reconciled, Through the imperial, undisputed, Present godhead of a child. Brown bright eyes and fair bright head^ Worth a worthier crown than this is, Worth a worthier song instead, Sweet grave wise round mouth, full fed With the jo}' of love, whose bliss is More than mortal wine and bread. Lips whose words are sweet as kisses. Little hands so glad of gi\ing, Little heart so glad of love, Little soul so glad of hving, Wliile the strong sv^ift hours are wea\ing Light with darkness woven above. Time for mirth and time for grie\dng, Plume of raven and plume of dove. I can give you but a word Warm with love therein for leaven, But a song that falls unheard Yet on ears of sense imstirred Yet by song so far from Heaven, Whence you came the brightest bird, Seven years since, of seven times seven. Algernon Charles Sivinhiirne [183 7-1909] CREEP AFORE Y^ GAXG Creep avra', my bairnie, creep afore ye gang. Cock ye baith your lugs to your auld Grannie's sang: Gin ye gang as far ye will think the road lang. Creep awa'. my baimie. creep afore ye gang. '^f Castles in the Air 257 Creep awa', my bairnie, ye 're ower young to learn To tot up and down yet, my bonnie wee bairn; '; - Better creepin' cannie, than fa 'in' wi' a bang, Duntin' a' your wee brow, — creep afore ye gang. Ye'll creep, an' ye'll hotch, an' ye'U nod to your mither, Watchin' ilka step o' your wee dousy brither; Rest ye on the floor till your wee limbs grow Strang, An' ye'll be a braw chiel yet, — creep afore ye gang. The wee birdie fa's when it tries ower soon to flee, Folks are sure to tumble, when they climb ower hie ; They wha canna walk right are sure to come to wrang, Creep awa', my bairnie, creep afore ye gang. James Ballantine [1808-1877] CASTLES IN THE AIR .^ The bonnie, bonnie bairn who sits poking in the ase, Glowering in the fire wi' his wee round face, Laughing at the fufiin' lowe — what sees he there? Ha ! the young dreamer's bigging castles in the air. ' His wee chubby face and his touzie curly pow Are laughing and nodding to the dancing lowe ; He'll brown his rosy cheeks, and singe his sunny hair, Glowering at the imps wi' their castles in the air. He sees muckle castles towering to the moon; He sees little sodgers pu'ing them a' doun; Warlds whommHn' up and doun, bleezing wi' a flare, — See how he loups as they glimmer in the air I For a' sae sage he looks, what can the laddie ken? He's thinking upon naething, hke mony mighty men: A WTe thing mak's us think, a sma' thing mak's us stare, There are mair folk than him bigging castles in the air. Sic a night in winter may weel mak' him cauld: His chin upon his buffy hand mU soon mak' him auld; His brow is brent sae braid — O pray that daddy Care Wad let the wean alane wi' his castles in the air! 258 Poems of Youth and Age He'll glower at the fire, and he'll keek at the hght; .'.' But mony sparkhng stars are swallowed up by Night : I LAY upon the summer grass. /H A gold-haired, sunny child came by, '■;'' And looked at me, as loath to pass, ' With questions in her Ungering eye. // To a Little Girl 267 She stopped and wavered, then drew near, (Ah! the pale gold around her head!) And o'er my shoulder stopped to peer. "Why do you read?" she said. "I read a poet of old time, Who sang through all his hving hours — Beauty of earth — the streams, the flowers — • And stars, more lovely than his rhyme. "And now I read him, since men go, Forgetful of these sweetest things;qoJc jfj,; Since he and I love brooks that flow;^ ,;,,:'r And dawns, and bees, and flash of wings!" She stared at me with laughing look, Then clasped her hands upon my knees: "How strange to read it in a book! I could have told you all of these!" Arthur Davison Ficke [1883- TO A LITTLE GIRL You taught me ways of gracefulness and fashions of address, The mode of plucking pansies and the art of sowing cress. And how to handle puppies, with propitiatory pats . For mother dogs, and little acts of courtesy to cats, O connoisseur of pebbles, colored leaves and trickling rills, Whom seasons fit as do the sheaths that wrap the daffodils, Whose eyes' divine expectancy foretells some starry goal, You taught me here docihty — and hov/ to save my soul. Helen Parry Eden [18 V0!ir,;[ ijf:,, , d uodT ^ , / i TO A LITTLE GIRL ., ^ ,,. tj Her eyes are like forget-me-nots. So loving, kind and true; -^-'i^-ioaj.j Her lips are like a pink sea-sheU Just as the sun shines through; 268 Poems of Youth and Age Her hair is like the waving grain In summer's golden light; And, best of all, her little soul Is, Hke a lily, white. Gusiav Kohhe [1857- A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS Thou happy, happy elf! (But stop, — first let me kiss away that tear!) Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) Thou merry, laughing sprite. With spirits feather-light. Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin, — (My dear, the child is swallowing a pin !) Thou little tricksy Puck ! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air, — (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire! (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy! In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents, — (Drat the boy! There goes my ink !) Thou cherub, — but of earth; Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale, ^ In harmless sport and mirth, (That dog will bite him, if he pulls its tail !) Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows. Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny. — (Another tumble! That's his precious nose!) Thy father's pride and hope! (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) A New Poet 269 With pure heart newly stamped from nature's mint, (Where did he learn that squint?) Thou young domestic dove! (He'll have that jug off with another shove!) Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest ! (Are these torn clothes his best?) Little epitome of man ! (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan!) ' ^ Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life, — (He's got a knife!) Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, Play on, play on. My elfin John! Toss the Hght ball, bestride the stick, — (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) With fancies, buoyant as the thistle-down. Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk. With many a lamb-Hke frisk! (He's got the scissors, snipping at j^our gown!) Thou pretty opening rose! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose !) Balmy and breathing music like the South, — (He really brings my heart into my mouth !) Fresh as the morn, and brilliant as its star, — (I wish that window had an iron bar!) Bold as the hawk, yet gentle as the dove; — (I'll tell you what, my love, I cannot write unless he's sent above.) Thomas Hood [i 799-1 845] A NEW POET I WRITE. He sits beside my chair. And scribbles, too, in hushed dehght. He dips his pen in charmed air: What is it he pretends to write? 270 Poems of Yodth and Age He toils and toils; the paper gives Xo clue to aught he thinks. \Miat then? His little heart is glad; he Hves The poems that he cannot pen. (I Strange fancies throng that baby brain. WTiat grave, sweet looks! \Miat earnest eyes! He stops — reflects — and now again .■•., His unrecording pen he plies. It seems a satire on myself, — These dreamy nothings scrawled in air, This thought, this work! Oh tricksy elf, Wouldst drive thy father to despair? Despair! Ah, no; the heart, the mind Persists in hoping, — schemes and strives That there may hnger with our kind Some memory of our httle Hves. Beneath his rock in the earh^ world Smiling the naked hunter lay, And sketched on horn the spear he hurled, The urus which he made his prey. Like him I strive in hope my rh}Tnes May keep my name a Httle while, — O child, who knows how man}' times We two have made the angels smile ! William Canton [1S45- TO LAURA W , TWO YEARS OLD Bright be the skies that cover thee, Child of the sunny brow. — Bright as the dream flung over thee By all that meets thee now, — Thy heart is beating joyously, Thy voice is like a bird's, And sweetly breaks the melody Of thv imperfect words. To Laura W , Two Years Old 271 I know no fount that gushes out As gladly as thy tiny shout. I would that thou might'st ever be As beautiful as now, That time might ever leave as free Thy yet unwritten brow. I would Hfe were all poetry To gentle measure set, That naught but chastened melody Might stain thine eye of jet, Nor one discordant note be spoken. Till God the cunning harp hath broken, I would — but deeper things than these With woman's lot are wove: Wrought of intensest sympathies, And nerved by purest love ; By the strong spirit's discipHne, By the fierce wrong forgiven. By all that wrings the heart of sin, Is woman won to heaven. "Her lot is on thee,'' lovely child — God keep thy spirit undefiled! I fear thy gentle loveliness, Thy -^-itching tone and air, Thine eye 's beseeching earnestness IMay be to thee a snare. The silver stars may purely shine. The waters taintless flow: But they who kneel at woman 's shrine Breathe on it as they bow. Peace may fling back the gift again, But the crushed flower will leave a stain. What shall preserve thee, beautiful child? Keep thee as thou art now? Bring thee, a spirit undefiled, At God's pure throne to bow? 272 Poems of Youth and Age The world is but a broken reed, And life grows early dim — WTio shall be near thee in thy need, To lead thee up to Him? He who himself was "undefiled?" With Him we trust thee, beautiful child! Nathaniel Parker Willis [i 806-1 867J TO ROSE Rose, when I remember you. Little lady, scarcely two, I am sudderJy aware Of the angels in the air. All your softly gracious ways Make an island in my days Where my thoughts fly back to be Sheltered from too strong a sea. All your luminous delight Shines before me in the night When I grope for sleep and find Only shadows in my mind. Rose, when I remember you. White and glowing, pink and new, With so swift a sense of fun Although life has just begun; With so sure a pride of place In your very infant face, I should like to make a prayer To the angels in the air: "If an angel ever brings ]\Ie a baby in her wings, Please be certain that it grows Very, very much like Rose." Sara Teasdale [1884- The Picture of Little T. C. 273 TO CHARLOTTE PULTENEY Timely blossom, Infant fair, Fondling of a happy pair, Every morn and every night Their solicitous delight,' Sleeping, waking, still at ease, Pleasing, without skill to please; Little gossip, blithe and hale. Tattling many a broken tale, Singing many a tuneless song, Lavish of a heedless tongue; Simple maiden, void of art, Babbling out the very heart, Yet abandoned to thy will, . Yet imagining no ill. Yet too innocent to blush; Like the linnet in the bush To the mother-linnet 's note Moduling her slender throat; Chirping forth thy pretty joys. Wanton in the change of toys, Like the linnet green, in May Flitting to each bloomy spray; Wearied then and glad of rest. Like the linnet in the nest: — This thy present happy lot. This, in time will be forgot: Other pleasures, other cares. Ever-busy Time prepares; And thou shalt in thy daughter see. This picture, once, resembled thee. Ambrose Philips [1675?-! 749I THE PICTURE OF LITTLE T. C. IN A PROSPECT OF FLOWERS See with what simplicity This nymph begins her golden days ! In the green grass she loves to lie, And there with her fair aspect tames 2 74 Poems of Youth and Age The wilder flowers, and gives them names; But only with the roses plays, And them does tell What color best becomes them, and what smell. Who can foretell for what high cause This darling of the gods was born? Yet this is she w^hose chaster laws The wanton Love shall one day fear, And, under her command severe. See his bow broke, and ensigns torn. Happy who can Appease this virtuous enemy of man! O then let me in time compound And parley with those conquering eyes, Ere they have tried their force to wound. Ere vnih their glancing wheels they drive In triumph over hearts that strive, And them that jdeld but more despise: Let me be laid Where I may see the glories from some shade. Meantime, whilst every verdant thing Itself does at thy beauty charm, Reform the errors of the Spring; Make that the tulips may have share Of sweetness, seeing they are fair. And roses of their thorns disarm; But most procure That violets may a longer age endure. But young beauty of the woods, Whom Nature courts with fruits and flowers, Gather the flowers, but spare the buds; ry Lest Flora, angry at thy crime To kill her infants in their prime. Do quickly make the example yours; And, ere we see, Nip, in the blossom, all our hopes and thee. Andrew Marvell [1621-1678] To Hartley Coleridge 275 TO HARTLEY COLERIDGE SIX YEARS OLD thou! whose fancies from afar are brought: Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel, And fittest to unutterable thought The breeze-like motion and the self -born carol; Thou fairy voyager! that dost float In such clear water, that thy boat IMay rather seem To brood on air than on an earthly stream ; Suspended in a stream as clear as sky, \Miere earth and heaven do make one imagery: blessed vision! happy child! Thou art so exquisitely wild, 1 think of thee TNith many fears For what may be thy lot in future years. I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, Lord of thy house and hospitaHty; And Grief, uneasy lover! never rest But when she sate \sdthin the touch of thee. O too industrious foU}^! O vain and causeless melancholy! Nature will either end thee quite; Or, lengthening out thy season of dehght. Preserve for thee, by indi\ddual right, A young lamb's heart among the full-grown flocks. What hast thou to do with sorrow. Or the injuries of to-morrow? Thou art a dew-drop, which the morn brings forth, lU-fitted to sustain unkindly shocks. Or to be trailed along the soiling earth; A gem that ghtters while it Hves, xAnd no forewarning gives; But, at the touch of ^vrong, v.dthout a strife, SHps in a moment out of life. Willia m Wordsworth [ 1 7 7 o- 1 8 5 o] 276 Poems of Youth and Age TO A CHILD OF QUALITY FIVE YEARS OLD, 1704, THE AUTHOR THEN FORTY Lords, knights, and squires, the numerous band That wear the fair Miss IMary 's fetters. Were summoned by her high command To show their passions by their letters. j. My pen amongst the rest I took. Lest those bright eyes, that cannot read, Should dart their kindling fires, and look The power they have to be obeyed; Nor quality, nor reputation, Forbids me yet my flame to tell; Dear Five-years-old befriends my passion, And I may write tiU she can spell. For, while she makes her silkworms' beds With all the tender things I swear; Whilst all the house my passion reads, In papers round her baby's hair; She may receive and own my flame; For, though the strictest prudes should know it, She'll pass for a most virtuous dame, And I for an unhappy poet. Then too, alas! when she shall tear The rhymes some }'ounger rival sends, She 'U give me leave to write, I fear. And we shall still continue friends. For, as our different ages move, 'Tis so ordained (would Fate but mend it!), That I shall be past making love When she begins to comprehend it. i^cc Matthew Prior [1664-1721] Ex Ore Infantium 277 EX ORE INFANTIUM Little Jesus, wast Thou shy Once, and just so small as I? And what did it feel hke to be Out of Heaven, and just like me? Didst Thou sometimes think of there, And ask where all the angels were? I should think that I would cry For my house all made of sky; I would look about the air, And wonder where my angels were; And at waking 'twould distress me — Not an angel there to dress me! Hadst Thou ever any toys. Like us little girls and boys? And didst Thou play in Heaven with all The angels, that were not too tall, With stars for marbles? Did the things Play Can you see m^? through their wings? Didst Thou kneel at night to pray, And didst Thou join Thy hands, this way? And did they tire sometimes, being yoimg, And make the prayer seem very long? And dost Thou like it best, that we Should join our hands to pray to Thee? I used to think, before I knew. The prayer not said unless we do. And did Thy jNIother at the night Kiss Thee, and fold the clothes in right? And didst Thou feel quite good in bed. Kissed, and sweet, and Thy prayers said? Thou canst not have forgotten all That it feels like to be small: And Thou know'st I cannot pray To Thee in my father's way — When Thou wast so little, say, Could 'st Thou talk Thy Father's way?— So, a little Child, come down And hear a child's tongue like Thy own; 278 Poems of Youth and Age Take me by the hand and walk, And Hsten to my baby-talk. To Thy Father show my prayer (He will look, Thou art so fair), And say: "O Father, I, Thy Son, Bring the prayer of a little one." And He will smile, that children's tongue Has not changed since Thou wast young! Francis Thompson [1859-1907! OBITUARY Finding Francesca full of tears, I said, "TeU me thy trouble." "Oh, my dog is dead! Murdered by poison! — no one knows for what!-^- Was ever dog born capable of that?" "Child," — ^I began to say, but checked my thought, — "A better dog can easily be bought." For no — what animal could him replace? Those loving eyes! That fond, confiding face! Those dear, dumb touches! Therefore I was dumb. From word of mine could any comfort come? A bitter sorrow 'tis to lose a brute Friend, dog or horse, for grief must then be mute, — So many smile to see the rivers shed Of tears for one poor, speechless creature dead. \\Tien parents die there's many a word to say — Kind words, consoling — one can always pray; When children die 'tis natural to tell Their mother, "Certainly, with them 'tis well!" But for a dog, 'twas all the Hfe he had, Since death is end of dogs, or good or bad. This was his world; he was contented here; Imagined nothing better, naught mi ore dear, Than his j^oung mistress; sought no brighter sphere; Having no sin, asked not to be forgiven; Ne'er guessed at God nor ever dreamed of heaven. Now he has passed away, so much of love Goes from our life, without one hope above! When a dog dies there's nothing to be said But — kiss me, darling! — dear old Smiler's dead. Thomas William Parsons [1819-1892J The Child's Heritage 279 THE CHILD'S HERITAGE Oh, there are those, a sordid clan, With pride in gaud and faith in gold, Who prize the sacred soul of man For what his hands have sold. 'i*^^ And these shall deem thee humbly bred: They shall not hear, they shall not see The kings among the lordly dead Who walk and talk with thee! A tattered cloak may be thy dole. And thine the roof that Jesus had: The broidered garment of the soul Shall keep thee purple-clad! The blood of men hath dyed its brede, And it was wrought by holy seers With sombre dream and golden deed, And pearled with women's tears. With Eld thy chain of days is one: The seas are still Homeric seas; Thy skies shall glow with Pindar's sun, The stars of Socrates! Unaged the ancient tide shall surge. The old Spring burn along the bough: For thee, the new and old converge • In one eternal Now! I give thy feet the hopeful sod, Thy mouth, the priceless boon of breath; The glory of the search for God Be thine in life and death! Unto thy flesh, the soothing dust; Thy soul, the gift of being free: The torch my fathers gave in trust. Thy father gives to thee! John G. Neikardt [1S81- 28o Poems of Youth and Age A GIRL OF POMPEII A PUBLIC haunt they found her in: She lay. asleep, a lovely child; The only thing left undefiled Where all things else bore taint of sin. Her supple outhnes fixed in clay The universal law suspend. And turn Time 's chariot back, and blend A thousand years ^dth yesterday. A sinless touch, austere yet warm, Around her girhsh figure pressed, Caught the sweet imprint of her breast. And held her, surely clasped, from harm. Truer than work of sculptor 's art Comes this dear maid of long ago. Sheltered from woeful chance, to show A spirit's lovely counterpart. And bid mistrustful men be sure That form shall fate of flesh escape, And, quit of earth 's corruptions, shape Itself, imperishably pure. Edward Sand ford Martin [1856- ON THE PICTURE OF A "CHILD TIRED OF PLAY" Tired of play! Tired of play! What hast thou done this hve-long day! The bird is silent and so is the bee, The shadow is creeping up steeple and tree; The doves have flown to the sheltering eaves. And the nests are dark vdth the drooping leaves; T^^Hight gathers, and day is done, — How hast thou spent it, restless one? Pla\-ingl And what hast thou done beside To tell thy mother at eventide? li The Reverie of Poor Susan 281 What promise of morn is left unbroken? What kind word to thy playmate spoken? Whom hast thou pitied, and whom forgiven? How with thy faults has duty striven? What hast thou learned by field and hill, By greenwood path and by singing rill? There will com^ an eve to a longer day That will find thee tired, — but not with play! And thou wilt learn, as thou learnest now, With wearied limbs and aching brow. And \^dsh the shadows would faster creep And long to go to thy quiet sleep. Well will it be for thee then if thou Art as free from sin and shame as now! Well for thee if thy tongue can tell A tale like this, of a day spent well! If thine open hand hath relieved distress, And thy pity hath sprung to wretchedness — If thou hast forgiven the sore offence And humbled thy heart with penitence; If Nature 's voices have spoken to thee With her holy meanings, eloquently — If every creature hath won thy love, From the creeping worm to the brooding dove — If never a sad, low-spoken word Hath plead wdth thy human heart unheard — Then, when the night steals on, as now It will bring relief to thine aching brow, And, with joy and peace at the thought of rest, Thou wilt sink to sleep on thy mother's breast. Nathaniel Parker Willis [i 806-1 867I THE REVERIE OF POOR SUSAN At the corner of Wood Street, when dayhght appears. Hangs 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 m.orning the song of the Bird. 282 Poems of Youth and Age 'Tis a note of enchantment; what ails her? She sees A mountain. ascending, a vision of trees; Bright volumes 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, Do^^^l which she so often has tripped with her pail; And a single small cottage, a nest like a dove's, The one only dwelling on earth tEiat 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! William Wordsivortk [1770-1850] CHILDREN'S SONG Sometimes wind and sometimes rain, Then the sun comes back again; Sometimes rain and sometimes snow, Goodness, how we'd like to know Why the weather alters so. \Vhen the weather's really good We go nutting in the wood; When it rains we stay at home. And then sometimes other some Of the neighbors' children come. Sometimes we have jam and meat. All the things we like to eat; Sometimes we make do with bread And potatoes boiled instead. Once when we were put to bed We had nowt and mother cried. But that was after father died. So, sometimes wind and sometimes rain, Then the sun comes back again; Sometimes rain and sometimes snow. Goodness, how we'd like to know If things will always alter so. Ford Madox Huefer [1873- The Cry of the Children 283 THE MITHERLESS BAIRN When a ' other bairnies are hushed to their hame By aunty, or cousin, or frecky grand-dame, Wlia stands last and lanely, an' naebody carin'? 'Tis the puir doited loonie, — the mitherless bairn! The mitherless bairn gangs to his lane bed; Nane covers his cauld back, or haps his bare head; His wee hac'kit heehes are hard as the airn, An' Htheless the lair o' the mitherless bairn. Aneath his cauld brow siccan dreams hover there, O' hands that wont kindly to kame his dark hair; But mornin ' brings clutches, a ' reckless an ' stern, r That lo'e na the locks o' the mitherless bairn! Yon sister that sang o 'er his saf tly rocked bed Now rests in the mools where her mammie is laid; The father toils sair their wee bannock to earn, An' kens na the wrangs o' his mitherless bairn. Her spirit, that passed in yon hour o' his birth. Still watches his wearisome wanderings on earth; Recording in heaven the blessings they earn ^^^la couthlHe deal wi' the mitherless bairn! O, speak him na harshly, — ^he trembles the while, He bends to your bidding, and blesses your smile; In their dark hour o ' anguish the heartless shall learn That God deals the blow, for the mitherless bairn ! William Thorn [1798?- 184 8] THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN Do ye hear the children weeping, my brothers. Ere the sorrow comes with years? They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And thai cannot stop their tears. '284 Poems of Youth and Age The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, • The young birds are chirping in the nest. The young fawns are pla\'ing ^ith the shadows, The young flowers are blowing toward the west — But the young, young children, my brothers, They are weeping bitterly I They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In the country'' of the free. Do 3^ou question the young children in the sorrow, Why their tears are falhng so? The old man may weep for his to-morrow \Miich is lost in Long Ago; The old tree is leafless in the forest, The old \'ear is ending in the frost, The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest. The old hope is hardest to be lost: But the young, young children, O my brothers, Do you ask them why they stand "Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers, In our happy Fatherland? They look up with their pale and sunken faces. And their looks are sad to see, For the man 's hoary anguish draws and presses Down the cheeks of infancy; '"'Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary; Our young feet," they say, "are ver^^ weak; Few paces have we taken, yet are weary— Our grave-rest is very far to seek: Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children For the outside earth is cold, And we 3'oung ones stand -^-ithout, in our bewildering, And the graves are for the old. "True," say the children, "it may happen That we die before our time : Little Alice died last year — her grave is shapen Like a snowball, in the rime. We looked into the pit prepared to take her: Was no room for any work in the close clay! The Cry of the Children 285 From the sleep wherein she Heth none wall wake her, Crying, 'Get up, httle Alice! it is day.' If you Usten by that grave, in sun and shower, With your ear down, Httle Alice never cries; Could we see her face, be sure we should not know her^ For the smile has time for growing in her eyes : And merry go her moments, lulled and stilled in The shroud by the kirk-chime. It is good when it happens, " say the children, "That we die before our time." Alas, alas, the children! they are seeking Death in life, as best to have! They are binding up their hearts away from breaking, With a cerement from the grave. Go out, children, from the mine and from the city, Sing out, children, as the Httle thrushes do; Pluck your handfuls of the meadow cowslips pretty; Laugh aloud, to feel your fingers let them through 1 But they answer, "Are j^our cowslips of the meadows Like our weeds anear the mine? Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows, From your pleasures fair and fine 1 "For oh," say the children, "we are weary, And we cannot run or leap; If we cared for any meadows, it were merely To drop down in them and sleep. Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping. We fall upon our faces, tr>dng to go ; And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping. The reddest flower would look as pale as snow. For, all day, we drag our burden tiring, Through the coal-dark, underground; Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron In the factories, round and round. "For, aU day, the wheels are droning, turning; Their wind comes in our faces. Till our hearts turn, our heads, with pulses burning^ And the walls turn in their places : 2 86 Poems of Youth and Age Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling, Turns the long Hght that drops adown the wall, Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceihng: All are turning, all the day, and we with all. And aU day, the iron wheels are droning; And sometimes we could pray, 'O ye wheels, (breaking out in a mad moaning) 'Stop! be silent for to-day I' " Ay, be silent I Let them hear each other breathing For a moment, mouth to mouth! Let them touch each other's hands, in a fresh wreathing Of their tender human youth! Let them feel that this cold metaUic motion Is not all the life God fashions or reveals: Let them prove their Hving souls against the notion That they live in j^ou, or under you, O wheels ! Still, all day. the iron wheels go onward, Grinding hfe down from its mark; And the children 's souls, which God is calling sunward, Spin on blindl)^ in the dark. Now tell the poor 3'Oung children, my brothers, To look up to Him and pray; So the blessed One. who blesseth all the others, Will bless them another day. They answer, " Who is God that He should hear us, WTiile the rushing of the iron wheels is stirred? AATien we sob aloud, the human creatures near us Pass b}^, hearing not, or answer not a word ! And ive hear not (for the vrheels in their resounding) Strangers speaking at the door: Is it likety God, with angels singing roimd Him, Hears our weeping any more? "Two words, indeed, of pra>ing we remember. And at midnight 's hour of harm, 'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, We say softh^ for a charm. We know no other words except 'Our Father.' And we think that, in some pause of angels' song. The Cry of the Children 287 God may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, And hold both within his right hand which is strong. 'Our Father!' If He heard us, He would surely (For they call Him good and mild) Answer, smiHng down the steep world very purely, 'Come and rest with me, my child.' "But no!" say the children, weeping faster, "He is speechless as a stone; And they tell us, of His image is the master Who commands us to work on. Go to!" say the children, — "Up in Heaven, r Dark, wheel-hke, turning clouds are all we find. Do not mock us ; grief has made us unbelieving : We look up for God, but tears have made us blind." Do you hear the children weeping and disproving, O my brothers, what ye preach? For God 's possible is taught by His world 's loving, And the children doubt of each. And well may the children weep before you! They are weary ere they run; They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory Which is brighter than the sun. They know the grief of man, without its wisdom ; They sink in man's despair, without its calm; Are slaves, without the liberty in Christdom, Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm: Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly The harvest of its memories cannot reap, — Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly. Let them weep ! let them weep ! They look up, with their pale and sunken faces, And their look is dread to see. For they mind you of their angels in high places. With eyes turned on Deity. "How long," they say, "how long, O cruel nation. Will you stand, to move the world, on a child's heart,— Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation. And tread onward to your throne amid the mart? 288 Poems of Youth and Age Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper, And 3^our purple shows your path; But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper Than the strong man in his wrath! " Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861] THE SHLADOW-CHILD Why do the wheels go whirring round, Mother, mother? Oh, mother, are they giants hound, And will they growl forever? Yes, fiery giants underground, Daughter, little daughter, Forever turn the vrheels around, .•\nd rumble-grumble ever. Why do I pick the threads all day, Mother, mother? While sunshine children are at play? And must I work forever? Yes, shadow-child; the live-long day, Daughter, httle daughter, Your hands must pick the threads away, And feel the sunshine never. 117/ \' do the birds sing m the sun, Mother, mother? If all day long I run and run. Run with the wheels forever? The birds may sing till day is done, Daughter, little daughter, But with the wheels yo\ir feet must run — Run with the wheels forever. Why do I feel so tired each night, Mother, mother? The wheels are always buzzing bright; Do they grow sleepy n^oer? Oh, baby thing, so soft and w^hite, Daughter, little daughter. The big wheels grind us in their might. And they will grind forever. Mother Wept 289 And is the white thread never spun, Mother, mother? And is the white cloth never done. For you and me done never? Oh, yes, our thread will all be spun, Daughter, little daughter, When we lie down out in the sun. And work no more forever. And when will come that happy day. Mother, mother? Oh, shall we laugh and sing and play Out in the sun forever? Nay, shadow-child, we'll rest all day. Daughter, little daughter, Where green grass grows and roses gay. There in the sun forever, Harriet Monroe [1860- MOTHER WEPT Mother wept, and father sighed; With delight aglow Cried the lad, "To-morrow," cried, "To the pit I go." Up and down the place he sped, — Greeted old and young; Far and wide the tidings spread ; Clapt his hands and sung. Came his cronies; some to gaze Wrapped in wonder; some Free with counsel; some with praise: Some with envy dumb. "May he," many a gossip cried, "Be from peril kept." Father hid his face and sighed. Mother turned and wept. Joseph Skipsey [1832-1903] 290 Poems of Youth and Age DUTY So nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, . When Duty whispers low, "Thou must," The youth repHes, "I can." Ralph Waldo Emerson I1803-1882] LUCY GRAY OR SOLITUDE Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray: i\iid, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see, at break of day, The sohtary child. No mate, no comrade Lucy knew; She dwelt on a wide moor, The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door! You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen. ''To-night will be a stormy night, — You to the town must go; And take a lantern, Child, to light Your mother through the snow." "That, Father, will I gladly 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-brand. He phed his work; — and Lucy took The lantern in her hand. Lucy Gray 291 Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up hke smoke. The storm came on before its time: She wandered up and down: And many a hill did Lucy climb: But never reached the town. The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. At daybreak on the hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door. They wept, — and, turning homeward, cried, "In heaven we all shall meet; " When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet. Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small: And through the broken hawthorn-hedge, And by the low stone-wall ; And then an open field they crossed — The marks were still the same — They tracked them on, nor ever lost; And to the bridge they came. They followed from the snowy bank Those footmarks, one by one, Into the middle of the plank; And further there were none! 292 Poems of Youth and Age — Yet some maintain that to this day She is a Hving child; That you may see sweet Lucy Gray Upon the lonesome wild. O 'er rough and smooth she trips along, And never looks behind; And sings a solitary song That whistles in the wind. William Wordsworth [1770-1850J ' IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL EMMIE Our doctor had called in another, I never had seen him before, But he sent a chill to my heart when I saw him come in at the door, Fresh from the surgery-schools of France and of other lands — Harsh red hair, big voice, big chest, big merciless hands! Wonderful cures he had done, yes, but they said too of him He was happier using the knife than in trying to save the limb. And that I can well believe, for he looked so coarse and so red, I could think he was one of those who would break their jests on the dead. And mangle the living dog that had loved him and fawned at his knee — Drenched with the hellish oorali — that ever such things should be! Here was a boy — I am sure that some of our children would die But for the voice of love, and the smile, and the comforting eye — Here was a boy in the ward, every bone seemed out of its place — Caught in a mill and crushed — it was all but a hopeless case: In the Children's Hospital 293 And he handled him gently enough; but his voice and his face were not kind, And it was but a hopeless case, he had seen it and made up his mind, And he said to me roughly "The lad will need httle more of your care." ''All the more need/' I told him, "to seek the Lord Jesus in prayer; They are all His children here, and I pray for them all as my own:" But he turned to me, "Ay, good woman, can prayer set a broken bone?" Then he muttered half to himself, but I know that I heard him say, "All very well — but the good Lord Jesus has had his day." Had? has it come? It has only dawned. It wiU come by and by. O, how could I serve in the wards if the hope of the world were a lie? How could I bear with the sights and the loathsome smells of disease But that He said "Ye do it to me, when ye do it to these"? So he went. And we passed to this ward where the younger children are laid: Here is the cot of our orphan, our darhng, our meek httle maid; Empty you see just now! We have lost her who loved her so much — Patient of pain though as quick as a sensitive plant to the touch; Hers was the prettiest prattle, it often moved me to tears, Hers was the gratefullest heart I have found in a child of her years — Nay you remember our Emmie; you used to send her the flow^ers; How she would smile at 'em, play with 'em, talk to 'em hours after hours ! 294 Poems of Youth and Age They that can wander at will where the works of the Lord are revealed Little guess what joy can be got from a cow^sHp out of the field; Flowers to these "spirits in prison" are all they can know of the spring, They freshen and sweeten the wards like the waft of an angel's wing; And she lay with a flower in one hand and her thin hands crossed on her breast — Wan, but as pretty as heart can desire, and we thought her at rest, Quietly sleeping — so quiet, our doctor said, "Poor little dear, Nurse, I must do it to-morrow: she'll never live through it, I fear." I walked with our kindly old doctor as far as the head of the stair, Then I returned to the ward; the child didn't see I was there. Never since I was nurse, had I been so grieved and so vexed! Emmie had heard him. Softly she called from her cot to the next, "He says I shall never Hve through it; O Annie, what shall I do?" Annie considered. "If I," said the wise Httle Annie, "was you, I should cry to the dear Lord Jesus to help me, for, Emmie, you see, It's all in the picture there: ^Little children should come to Me.' "— (Meaning the print that you gave us, I find that it always can please Our children, the dear Lord Jesus with children about His knees.) "Yes, and I will," said Emmie, "but then if I call to the Lord, How should He know that it's me? such a lot of beds in the ward?" In the Children's Hospital 295 That was a puzzle for .Innie. Again she considered and said: "Emmie, you put out your arms, and you leave 'em outside on the bed — The Lord has so much to see to! but, Emmie, you tell it Him plain, It's the little girl with her arms lying out on the counter- pane." I had sat three nights by the child — I could not watch her for four — My brain had begun to reel — I felt I could do it no more. That was my sleeping-night, but I thought that it never w^ould pass. There was a thunderclap once, and a clatter of hail on the glass, And there was a phantom cry that I heard as I tossed about. The motherless bleat of a lam.b in the storm and the dark- ness without; My sleep was broken besides with dreams of the dreadful knife And fears for our delicate Emmie who scarce would escape with her Hfe; Then in the gray of the morning ii seemed she stood by me and smiled, And the doctor came at his hour, and we went to see the child. He had brought his ghastly tools: we believed her asleep again — Her dear, long, lean, httle arms l>^ng out on the counter- pane; — Say that His day is done! Ah, why should we care what they say? The Lord of the children had heard her, and Emmie had passed away. Alfred Ten/iyson [1809-1892] 29'6 Poems of Youth and Age "IF I WERE DEAD" "If I were dead, you'd sometimes say, Poor Child! " The dear Kps quivered as they spake. And the tears brake From eyes which, not to grieve me, brightly smiled. Poor Child, poor Child! I seem to hear your laugh, your talk, your song. It is not true that Love will do no wrong. Poor Child! And did you think, when you so cried and smiled, How I, in lonely nights, should lie awake, And of those words your full avengers make? Poor Child, poor ChHd! And now, unless it be That sweet amends thrice told are come to thee, God, have Thou no mercy upon me ! Poor Child! Coventry Patmore [i 823-1 896] THE TOYS My little Son, who looked from thoughtful eyes And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise, Having my law the seventh time disobeyed, I struck him, and dismissed With hard words and unkissed, — His Mother, who was patient, being dead. Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, I visited his bed, But found him slumbering deep. With darkened eyelids, and their lashes yet From his late sobbing wet. And I, with moan. Kissing away his tears, left others of my own; For, on a table drawn beside his head, He had put, within his reach, A box of counters and a red-veined stone, A piece of glass abraded by the beach. A Song of Twilight 297 And six or seven shells, A bottle \\dth bluebells, And two French copper coins, ranged there vdih careful art, To comfort his sad heart. So when that night I pra3Td To God, I wept, and said: Ah, when at last we he ■v\-ith tranced breath, Not vexing Thee in death. And Thou rememberest of what toys We made our joys, How weakly understood Thy great commanded good. Then, fatherly not less Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay, Thou'lt leave Thy wrath, and say, "I will be sorrs^ for their childishness." Coventry Patmore [1823-1896I A SOXG OF TWILIGHT Oh, to come home once more, when the dusk is falhng. To see the nursery hghted and the children's table spread; "Mother, mother, mother!" the eager voices caUing, "The baby was so sleepy that he had to go to bedl" Oh. to come home once more, and see the smiling faces. Dark head, bright head, clustered at the pane; Much the years have taken, when the heart its path retraces, But until time is not for me. the image will remain. Men and women now the\" are, standing straight and steady, Grave heart, gay heart, fit for hfe's emprise; Shoulder set to shoulder, how should they be but ready 1 The future shines before them \\ith the hght of their own eyes. Still each answers to my call; no good has been denied me, ]My burdens have been fitted to the httle strength that's mine. Beauty, pride and peace have walked by day beside me, The evening closes gently in, and how can I repine? 298 Poems of Youth and Age But oh, to see once more, when the early dusk is falling, The nursery windows glowing and the children's table spread', ^^ Mother, mother, mother! '^ the high child-voices calling, ^^He couldn't stay awake for you, he had to go to bed!" Unknown LITTLE BOY BLUE The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and stanch he stands; And the Httle toy soldier is red with rust, And his musket moulds in his hands. Time w^as when the httle toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair; And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue Kissed them and put them there. "Now, don't you go till I come," he said, "And don't you make any noise!" So, toddhng off to his trundle-bed, He dreamt of the pretty toys; And, as he w^as dreaming, an angel song Awakened our Little Boy Blue — Oh! the 3^ears are many, the years are long. But the little to)^ friends are true! Ay, faithful to Little Boy Blue they stand. Each in the same old place. Awaiting the touch of a little hand. The smile of a httle face; And they wonder, as waiting the long years through In the dust of that httle chair, What has become of our Little Boy Blue, Since he kissed them and put them there. Eugene Field [1850-1895] THE DISCOVERER I HAVE a little kinsman Whose earthly summers are but three, And yet a ^^oyager is he Greater then Drake or Frobisher, The Discoverer Than all their peers together! He is a brave discoverer, And, far beyond the tether Of them who seek the frozen Pole, Has sailed where the noiseless surges rolL Ay, he has travelled whither A winged pilot steered his bark Through the portals of the dark, Past hoary Mimir's well and tree, • ■ Across the unknown sea. ' '' Suddenly, in his fair young hour, Came one who bore a flower. And laid it in his dimpled hand With this command: "Henceforth thou art a rover! Thou must make a voyage far," Sail beneath the evening star, And a wondrous land discover." — With his sweet smile innocent Our little kinsman went. Since that time no word From the absent has been heard. Who can tell How he fares, or answer well What the little one has found Since he left us, outward bound? Would that he might return ! Then should we learn From the pricking of his chart How the skyey roadways part. Hush! does not the baby this way bring; To lay beside this severed curl, Some starry offering Of chrysolite or pearl? Ah, no! not so! We may follow on his track, But he comes not back. 299 300 Poems of Youth and Age And yet I dare aver He is a brave discoverer Of dimes his elders do not know. He has more learning than appears On the scroll of twice three thousand years. More than in the groves is taught, Or from furthest Indies brought; He knows, perchance, how spirits fare, — What shapes the angels wear, What is their guise and speech In those lands beyond our reach, — And his eyes behold Things that shall never, never be to mortal hearers told. Edmund Clarence Stedman [i 833-1 908] A CHRYSALIS My little Madchen found one day A curious something in her play. That was not fruit, nor flower, nor seed; It was not anything that grew, Or crept, or climbed, or swam, or flew; Had neither legs nor wings, indeed; And yet she was not sure, she said, Whether it was alive or dead. She brought in her tiny hand To see if I would understand, And wondered when I made reply, "You've found a baby butterfly." "A butterfly is not like this," With doubtful look she answered me. So then I told her what would be Some day within the chrysalis; How, slowly, in the dull brown thing Now stiU as death, a spotted wing, And then another, would unfold. Tin from the empty shell would fly A pretty creature, by and by. All radiant in blue and gold. [d88] ^i Mater Dolorosa "' 301 "And will it, truly?" questioned she — Her laughing Hps and eager eyes All in a sparkle of surprise — "And shall your Httle Madchen see?" " She shall ! " I said. How could I teU That ere the worm within its shell Its gauzy, splendid wdngs had spread, My Httle Madchen would be dead? To-day the butterfly has flown, — She was not here to see it fly, — And sorrowing I wonder why The empty shell is mine alone. Perhaps the secret lies in this : I too had found a chrysalis. And Death that robbed me of delight Was but the radiant creature's flight ! Mary Emily Bradley [1835-1898] MATER DOLOROSA I'd a dream to-night As I fell asleep, O! the touching sight Makes me still to weep; Of my Uttle lad. Gone to leave me sad. Ay, the child I had, But was not to keep. 5H^ As in heaven high, - I my child did seek, '* There in train came by. ' ''' Children fair and meek. ^ Each in lily white, With a lamp alight; Each was clear to sight, But they did not speak. IJ-. 302 Poems of Youth and Age — ^irj Then, a little sad, -. <, \y^rj f^nA** Came my child in turn, ' But the lamp he had, it did not burn! [{'J- He, to clear my doubt. Said, half- turned about, ''Your tears put it out; Mother, never mourn." William Barnes [i 801-1886] THE LITTLE GHOST The stars began to peep Gone was the bitter day. She heard the milky ewes Bleat to their lambs astray. Her heart cried for her lamb bcrf ooj I ■ rB3a bnA Jud z^lJ Lapped cold in the churchyard sod, She could not think on the happy children At play v/ith the Lamb of God. She heard the calling ewes And the lambs' answer, alas! She heard her heart's blood drip in the night As the ewes' milk on the grass. Her tears that burnt like fire So bitter and slow ran down She could not think on the new-washed children Playing by Mary's gown. Oh who is this comes in Over her threshold stone? And why is the old dog wild with joy Who all day long made moan? This fair httle radiant ghost, Her one little son of seven, New 'scaped from the band of merry children In the nurseries of Heaven. )-) Motherhood 303 He was all clad in white Without a speck or stain; ^ u- bH His curls had a ring of light That rose and fell again. ''Now come with me, my own mother, And you shall have great ease, For you shall see the lost children Gathered to Mary's knees." Oh, lightly sprang she up Nor waked her sleeping man, And hand in hand with the little ghost Through the dark night she ran. She is gone swift as a fawn, As a bird homes to its nest, She has seen them he, the sleepy children Twixt Mary's arm and breast. : 1 At morning she came back; Her eyes were strange to see. She will not fear the long journey. However long it be. ' As she goes in and out '^; She sings unto hersel' ; '^ ~ For she has seen the mothers' children ^ ^ And knows that it is well. Katharine Tynan [1861- MOTHERHOOD The night throbs on; O, let me pray, dear lad! Crush off his name a moment from my mouth. To Thee my eyes would turn, but they go back. Back to my arm beside me, where he lay- So Httle, Lord, so Httle and so warm ! I cannot think that Thou hadst need of him! . He was so little. Lord, he cannot sing, .^ ' He cannot praise Thee; all his life had learned^. Was to hold fast my kisses in the night. p 304 Poems of Youth and Age Give him to me — he is not happy there! '^ He had not felt this Hfe; his lovely eyes '^ Just knew me for his mother, and he diedi.^^ Hast Thou an angel there to mother him? I say he loves me best — if he forgets, If Thou allow it that my child forgets And runs not out to meet me when I come— What are my curses to Thee? Thou hast heard The curse of Abel's mother, and since then We have not ceased to threaten at Thy throne, To threat and pray Thee that Thou hold them still In memory of us. " nod hiici See Thou tend him well, Thou God of all the mothers. If he lack One of his kisses — ^ah, my heart, my heart, Do angels kiss in heaven? Give him back! Forgive me, Lord, but I am sick with grief, And tired of tears, and cold to comforting. - Thou art wise, I know, and tender, aye, and good, Thou hast my child, and he is safe in Thee, And I believe — Ah, God, my child shall go Orphaned among the angels! All alone. So little and alone! He knovvs not Thee, He only knows his mother — give him back. p Josephine Daskam Bacon [i876'>. bli/ow 3579 vm 39riT oT ■n ot iojsa THE MOTHER'S PRAYER '' ^ ' ^'^ "^^ The good Lord gave, the Lord has taken from me, Blessed be His name. His holy will be done. The mourners all have gone, all save I, his mother, The little grave hes lonely in the sun. " _J .The Mother's Prayer -c 305 Nay! I would not follow, though they did beseech me, For the angels come now waiting for my dead. Heaven's door is open, so my whispers soar there. While the gentle angels lift him from his bed. Oh Lord, when Thou gavest he was weak and helpless, Could not rise nor wander from my shielding arm; Lovely is he now and strong with four sweet summers, Laughing, running, tumbling, hard to keep from harm. If some tender mother, whose babe on earth is living, Takes his little hand to guide his stranger feet 'Mid the countless hosts that cross the floor of heaven, Thou wilt not reprove her for Thy pity sweet. If upon her breast she holds his baby beauty. All his golden hair will fall about her hand. Laughing let her fingers pull it into ringlets — Long and lovely ringlets. She will understand. Wilful are his ways and full of merry mischief; If he prove unruly, lay the blame on me. Never did I chide him for his noise or riot. Smiled upon his folly, glad his joy to see. Each eve shall I come beside his bed so lowly; "Hush-a-by, my baby," softly shall I sing, So, if he be frightened, full of sleep and anger. The song he loved shall reach him and sure comfort bring. Lord, if in my praying. Thou shouldst hear me weeping. Ever was I wayward, always full of tears, Take no heed of this grief. Sweet the gift Thou gavest AH the cherished treasure of those golden years. Do not, therefore, hold me to Thy will ungrateful: Soon I shall stand upright, smiling, strong, and brave, With a son in heaven the sad earth forgetting. But 'tis lonely yet. Lord, by the little grave. Oh, 'tis lonely, lonely, by the little grave! Dora Sigerson Shorter [i8 - 3o6 Poems of Yo'utH'^nd Age DA LEETLA BOY . ■ i. i] 101 Da spreeng ees com'; but oh, da joy ,ob g'navBaH Eet ees too late! ^- ilirlY^ He was so cold, my leetla boy, .5^: He no could wait. w/ JnoJ iIO I no can count how manny week, ^^ ' bluoD How manny day, dat he ees seeck; - Y^^voJ How manny night I seet an' hold i:.ui:.J Da leetla hand dat was so cold. He was so patience, oh, so sweet! jmoa il Eet hurts my throat for theenk of eet; ' ^ - An' aU he evra ask ees w'en ' ^ Ees gona com' da spreeng agen. '-^^^^ ^ Wan day, wan brighta sunny day, He see, across da alleyway, ' "^^"^ "^^^ ^^ Da leetla girl dat's livin' dere " '^^ ^^ Ees raise her window for da air, ' ^"S^'^^ An' put outside a leetla pot '4^od Of — ^w'at-you-call?— forgat-me-not. , .,. So smalla flower, so leetla theeng ! But steell eet mak' hees hearta seeng: "Oh, now, at las', ees com' da spreeng! Da leetla plant ees glad for know Da sun ees com' for mak' eet grow. So, too, I am grow warm and strong." So lika dat he seeng hees song. -ni But, ah! da night com' down an' den Da weenter ees sneak back agen. An' een da alley all da night . Ees fall da snow, so cold, so white, An' cover up da leetla pot Of — w'at-you-call? — forgat-me-not. All night da leetla hand I hold Ees grow so cold, so cold, so cold! '3fiJ ,ion oG Da spreeng ees com'; but, oh, da joy " '""^'' Eet ees too late! He was so cold, my leetla boy. He no could v/ait. Thomas Aiigu^tin Daly [1871- T Epitaph of Dionysia 307 ON THE MOOR I MET a child upon the moor A-wading down the heather; She put her hand into my own, We crossed the fields together. I led her to her father's door — A cottage midst the clover. I left her — and the world grew poor To me, a childless rover. // R) n I met a maid upon the moor, The morrow was her wedding Love lit her eyes with lovelier hues Than the eve-star was shedding. She looked a sweet good-bye to me, And o'er the stile went singing. Do^vn all the lonely night I heard But bridal bells a-ringing. ni I met a mother on the moor. By a new grave a-praying. The happy swallows in the blue Upon the Vvdnds were playing. "Would I were in his grave," I said, "And he beside her standing!" '^'' There was no heart to break if death For me had made demanding. Cale Young Rice [1872- EPITAPH OF DIONYSIA Here doth Dionysia lie : She whose httle wanton foot, Tripping (ah, too carelessly!) 'if Touched this tomb, and fell into 't. // joS Poems of Youth and Age Trip no more shall she, nor fall. And her trippings were so few! Summers only eight in all Had the sweet child wandered through. But, already, life's few suns Love's strong seeds had ripened warm. All her ways were winning ones; All her cunning was to charm, .-^^i j And the fancy, in the flower, While the flesh was in the bud. Childhood's dawning sex did dower With warm gusts of womanhood. Oh what joys by hope begun. Oh what kisses kissed by thought, What love-deeds by fancy done. Death to endless dust hath wrought! Had the fates been kind as thou. Who, till now, was never cold. Once Love's aptest scholar, now Thou hadst been his teacher bold; But, if buried seeds upthrow Fruits and flow ers ; if flower and fruit By their nature fitly show What the seeds are, whence they shoot, Dionysia, o'er this tomb, Where thy buried beauties be. From their dust shall spring and bloom Loves and graces like to thee. " Unknown FOR CHARLIE'S SAKE The night is late, the house is still; The angels of the hour fulfil Their tender ministries, and move From couch to couch in cares of love. For Charlie's Sake 309 They drop into thy dreams, sweet wife, The happiest smile of Charhe's hfe, And lay on baby's Hps a kiss, Fresh from his angel-brother's bliss ; And, as they pass, they seem to make A strange, dim hymn, "For Charhe's sake." My hstening heart takes up the strain, And gives it to the night again, Fitted with words of lowly praise. And patience learned of mournful days, And memories of the dead child's ways. His win be done. His will be done! Who gave and took away my son, In "the far land" to shine and sing Before the Beautiful, the King, Who every day doth Christmas make. All starred and belled for Charlie's sake. For Charlie's sake I will arise; I will anoint me where he hes. And change my raiment, and go in To the Lord's house, and leave my sin Without, and seat me at his board. Eat, and be glad, and praise the Lord. For wherefore should I fast and weep, And sullen moods of mourning keep? I cannot bring him back, nor he, ,, For any caUing, come to me. The bond the angel Death did sign, God sealed — for Charhe's sake, and mine. I'm very poor — this slender stone Marks all the narrow field I own; Yet, patient husbandman, I till With faith and prayers, that precious hill. Sow it with penitential pains. And, hopeful, wait the latter rains; «A Content if, after aU, the spot ■o'^ Yield barely one forget-me-not — oT Whether or figs or thistles make 'f/- My crop, content for Charlie's sake. 3IO Poems of Youth and Age I have no houses, builded well — Only that little lonesome cell, WTiere never romping playmates come, Nor bashful sweethearts, cunning-dumb — An April burst of girls and boys. Their rainbowed cloud of glooms and joys Born with their songs, gone mth their toys; Nor ever is its stillness stirred By purr of cat, or chirp of bird. Or mother's twilight legend, told Of Horner's pie, or Tiddler's gold. Or fairy hobbling to the door. Red-cloaked and weird, banned and poor, To bless the good child's gracious eyes. The good child's wistful charities. And crippled changehng's hunch to make Dance on his crutch, for good child's sake. How is it with the child? 'Tis well; Nor would I any miracle IMight stir my sleeper's tranquil trance, Or plague his painless countenance : I would not any seer might place His staff on my immortal's face. Or Hp to Hp, and eye to eye, Charm back his pale mortality. No, Shunamite ! I would not break God's stillness. Let them weep who wake. For Charhe's sake my lot is blest: No comfort like his mother's breast, No praise like hers; no charm expressed In fairest forms hath half her zest. For Charhe's sake this bird's caressed That death left lonely in the nest; For Charhe's sake my heart is dressed, As for its birthday, in its best; For Charhe's sake we leave the rest To Him who gave, and who did take. And saved us twice, for Charlie's sake. John Williamson Palmer [182 5- 1906] Are the Children at Home ? "ARE THE CHILDREN AT HOME?" Each day, when the glow of sunset Fades in the western sky, And the wee ones, tired of playing, ■ Go tripping Hghtly by, I steal away from my husband, Asleep in his easy-chair. And watch from the open doorway Their faces fresh and fair. Alone in the dear old homestead That once was full of life, Ringing with girlish laughter, Echoing boyish strife, We two are waiting together; And oft, as the shadows come, With tremulous voice he calls me, "It is night! are the children home?" "Yes, love I" I answer him gently, "They're all home long ago;" — And I sing, in my quivering treble, A song so soft and low. Till the old man drops to slumber, With his head upon his hand, And I tell to myself the number At home in the better land. At home, where never a sorrow Shall dim their eyes with tears! Where the smUe of God is on them Through all the summer years ! I know, — ^yet my arms are empty. That fondly folded seven. And the mother-heart within me Is almost starved for heaven. ■ Sometimes, in the dusk of evening, I only shut my eyes. And the children are all about me, , A vision from the skies: JII 312 Poems of Youth and Age The babes whose dimpled fingers Lost the way to my breast, And the beautiful ones, the angels, Passed to the world of the blest. With never a cloud upon them, I see their radiant brows; My boys that I gave to freedom, — The red sword sealed their vows! In a tangled Southern forest. Twin brothers bold and brave. They fell; and the flag they died for. Thank God! floats over their grave, A breath, and the vision is hfted Away on wings of Hght, And again we two are together, All alone in the night. They tell me his mind is failing, But I smile at idle fears; He is only back with the children. In the dear and peaceful years. And still, as the summer sunset Fades away in the west. And the wee ones, tired of playing. Go trooping home to rest, My husband calls from his corner, "Say, love, have the children come? " And I answer, with eyes uplifted, "Yes, dear! they are all at home." Margaret Sangster [1838- THE MORNING-GLORY We wreathed about our darling 's head The morning-glory bright; Her little face looked out beneath. So full of life and light. The Morning-Glory 313 So Kt aa with a simrise, That we could only say, "She is the morning-glory true, And her poor t3^es are they." So always from that happy time We called her by their name, And very fitting did it seem — For, sure as morning came, Behind her cradle bars she smiled To catch the first faint ray. As from the trelhs smiles the flower And opens to the day. But not so beautiful they rear Their airy cups of blue, As turned her sweet eyes to the fight, Brimmed T^ith sleep 's tender dew; And not so close their tendrils fine Round their supports are thrown, x\s those dear arms whose outstretched plea Clasped all hearts to her own. We used to think how she had come. Even as comes the flower, The last and perfect added gift To crown Love 's morning hour; And how in her was imaged forth The love we could not sa};. As on the httle dewdrops round Shines back the heart of day. We never could have thought. God, That she must wither up. Almost before a day was flown, Like the moming-glor>''s cup; We never thought to see her droop Her fair and noble head. Till she lay stretched before our eyes, Wilted, and cold, and dead! 314 Poems of Youth and Age The morning-glory's blossoming Will soon be coming round — We see the rows of heart-shaped leaves Upspringing from the groimd; The tender things the winter killed Renew again their birth, But the glory of our morning Has passed away from earth. O Earth! in vain our aching eyes Stretch over thy green plain! Too harsh thy dews, too gross thine air Her spirit to sustain; But up in groves of Paradise Full surely we shall see Our morning-glory beautiful Twdne round our dear Lord's knee. Maria White Lowell [1821-1855] SHE CAME AND WENT As a twig trembles, which a bird Lights on to sing, then leaves imbent, So is my memory thrilled and stirred ; — I only know she came and went. ^As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven, The blue dome's measureless content, So my soul held that moment's heaven; — I only know she came and went. As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps The orchards full of bloom and scent, So clove her May my wintry sleeps; — I only know she came and went. An angel stood and met my gaze, Through the low doorway of my tent; The tent is struck, the vision stays; — I only know she came and went. The First Snow-fall ' 315 Oh, wh6n the room grows slowly dim, And life's last oil is nearly spent, One gush of light these eyes will brim, Only to think she came and went. James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] THE FIRST SNOW-FALL The snow had begun in the gloaming, And busily all the night T Had been heaping field and highway With a silence deep and white. Every pine and fir and hemlock Wore ermine too dear for an earl, And the poorest twig on the elm-tree Was ridged inch deep with pearl. From sheds new-roofed with Carrara Came Chanticleer's muffled crow, The stiff rails softened to swan's-down, And still fluttered down the snow. I stood and watched by the window The noiseless work of the sky. And the sudden flurries of snow-birds, Like brown leaves whirhng by. I thought of a mound in sweet Auburn Where a little headstone stood; How the flakes were folding it gently, As did robins the babes in the wood. Up spoke our own little Mabel, Saying, ''Father, who makes it snow?" And I told of the good All-father Who cares for us here below. Again I looked at the snow-fall, And thought of the leaden sky That arched o 'er our first great sorrow. When that mound was heaped so high. 3 1 6 Poems of Youth and Age I remembered the gradual patience That fell from that cloud like snow, Flake by flake, healing and hiding The scar that renewed our woe. '.^Qi And again to the child I whispered, "The snow that husheth all, Darling, the merciful Father Alone can make it fall!" Then, with eyes that saw not, I kissed her; And she, kissing back, -could not know That my kiss was given to her sister. Folded close under deepening snow. James Russell Lowell [1819- "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 httle 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. "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; We Are Seven" 317 ''Two of us in the church-yard he, My sister and my brother; And, in the church-yard 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 Httle Maid reply, "Seven boys and girls are we; Two of us in the church-yard lie Beneath the church-yard tree." "You run about, my little Maid; Your limbs they are alive ; If two are in the church-yard laid. Then ye are only five," "Their graves are green, they may be seen," The Httle IMaid rephed : "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door, .And they are side by side. "My stockings there I often knit. My kerchief there I hem; And there upon the ground I sit, And sing a song to them. "And often after sunset, Sir, When it is Hght and fair, I take my httle porringer. And eat m.y supper there. "The first that died was sister Jane; In bed she moaning lay, Till God released her of her pain; And then she went away. 3i8 Poems of Youth and Age ^'So in the church-yard she was laid; ^ '''' ' And, when the grass was dry, ' -^ "^ - Together round her 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?" Quick was the little Maid 's reply, "O Master! we are seven." "But they are dead; those two are dead! '( ' Their spirits are in heaven!" 'Twas throwing words away; for still The little Maid would have her will. And said, "Nay, we are seven!" William Wordsworth [1770-185 o] MY CHILD I CANNOT make him dead! His fair sunshiny head Is ever bounding round my study chair; Yet when my eyes, now dim ^ With tears, I turn to him, The vision vanishes, — he is not there ! I walk my parlor floor. And, through the open door, I hear a footfall on the chamber stair; I 'm stepping toward the hall To give my boy a call; And then bethink me that — he is not therel I thread the crowded street; - ' A satchelled lad I meet, ■ "-'^-'* '''^^- My Child 319 With the same beaming eyes and colored hair; And, as he 's running by, Follow him with my eye, Scarcely beliei-ing that — he is not there! I know his face is hid Under the coffin-hd; Closed are his eyes; cold is his forehead fair; My hand that marble felt; 'er it in prayer I knelt ; Yet my heart whispers that — he is not there! 1 cannot make him dead I When passing by the bed, So long watched over with parental care, My spirit and my eye, Seek him inquiringly, . \l Before the thought comes that — he is not there! ]l When, at the cool gray break Of day, from sleep I wake, With my first breathing of the morning air My soul goes up, with joy, To Him who gave my boy; Then comes the sad thought that — he is not there! • When at the day's calm close. Before we seek repose, I'm with his mother, offering up our prayer; Whate 'er I may be saying, I am, in spirit, praying For our boy's spirit, though — ^he is not there! Not therel — ^Where, then, is he? The form I used to see Was but the raiment that he used to wear. The grave, that now doth press Upon that cast-off dress. Is but his wardrobe locked ;-^e is not there! 320 Poems of Youth and Age He lives I — In all the past He lives; nor, to the last, Of seeing him again will I despair; In dreams I see him now; .\nd on his angel brovr. I see it ^Titten, '"'Thou shalt see me 'here!'' Yes, we aU live to God! Father, thy chastening rod So help us, thine afflicted ones, to bear, ■-- That, in the spirit-land, ' ■ Meeting at thy right hand, 'TwiU be our heaven to find that — he is there! John Pierpont [i 785-1866] THE CHILD'S ^ATSH GRANTED Do you remember, my sweet, absent son, How in the soft June days forever done You loved the heavens so warm and clear and high; -\nd when I Hfted you, soft came your cry, — "Put me 'way up — 'way, 'way up in blue sky"? I laughed and said I could not ; — set you down, Your gray eyes wonder-fiUed beneath that crown Of bright hair gladdening me as you raced by. Another Father now, more strong than I, Has borne you voiceless to your dear blue sky. Gearge Parsons Lathrop [1851-1898] CHALLENGE This httle child, so white, so calm, Decked for her grave. Encountered death without a qualm. Are you as brave? So small, and armed with naught beside Her mother's kiss. Alone she stepped, unterrified, -3 Into the abyss. Tired Mothers 321 "Ah," you explain, "she did not know — This babe of four — Just what it signifies to go." Do you know more? Kenton Foster Murray [i8 - TIRED MOTHERS A LITTLE elbow leans upon your knee, Your tired knee that has so much to bear; A child 's dear eyes are looking lovingly From underneath a thatch of tangled hair. Perhaps you do not heed the velvet touch Of warm, moist fingers, folding yours so tight; You do not prize this blessing overmuch, — You almost are too tired to pray to-night. But it is blessedness! A year ago I did not see it as I do to-day, — We are so dull and thankless; and too slow To catch the sunshine till it slips away. And now it seems surpassing strange to me That, while I wore the badge of motherhood, I did not kiss more oft and tenderly The little child that brought me only good. And if some night when you sit down to rest. You miss this elbow from your tired knee, — This restless, curling head from off your breast,^ This lisping tongue that chatters constantly; If from your own the dimpled hands had sHpped, And ne'er would nestle in your palm again; If the white feet into their grave had tripped, I could not blame you for your heartache then! I wonder so that m.others ever fret At little children clinging to their gown; Or that the footprints, when the da^'s are 7\Tt, Are ever black enough to make them frown. J 22 Poems of Youth and Age If I could find a little muddy boot, Or cap, or jacket, on my chamber-floor, — If I could kiss a rosy, restless foot. And hear its patter in my house once more,- If I could mend a broken cart to-day, To-morrow make a kite to reach the sky, There is no woman in God 's world could say She was more bhssfully content than I. But ah! the dainty pillow next my own Is never rumpled by a shining head; My singing birdhng from its nest has flown, The Httle boy I used to kiss is dead. May Riley Smith [1842- MY DAUGHTER LOUISE In the light of the moon, by the side of the water, My seat on the sand and her seat on my knees, We watch the bright biUows, do I and my daughter, My sweet little daughter Louise. We wonder what city the pathway of glory. That broadens away to the limitless west, Leads up to — she minds her of some pretty story And says: "To the city that mortals love best." Then I say: "It must lead to the far away city, The beautiful City of Rest." In the hght of the moon, by the side of the water. Stand two in the shadow of whispering trees, And one loves my daughter, my beautiful daughter, My womanly daughter Louise. She steps to the boat with a touch of his fingers, And out on the diamonded pathway they move; The shaUop is lost in the distance, it lingers, It waits, but I know that its coming will prove That it went to the walls of the wonderful city, The magical City of Love. Sonnets 323 In the light of the moon, by the side of the water, I wait for her coming from over the seas ; I wait but to welcome the dust of my daughter, To weep for my daughter Louise. The path, as of old, reaching out in its splendor. Gleams bright, like a way that an angel has trod; I kiss the cold burden its billows surrender, Sr^-eet clay to he under the pitiful sod: But she rests, at the end of the path, in the city \Miose ''builder and maker is God." Homer Greene [1853- ''T XM LONELY" From "The Spanish G>-psy" The world is great : the birds all fly from me, The stars are golden fruit upon a tree All out of reach : my httle sister went, '' '^ And I am lonely. The world is great : I tried to mount the hill Above the pines, where the light lies so still, But it rose higher: Httle Lisa went And I am lonely. The world is great : the wind comes rushing by. I wonder where it comes from; sea birds cry And hurt my heart : my little sister went. And I am lonely. The world is great: the people laugh and talk, And make loud hohday: how fast they walk! I'm lame, they push me: little Lisa went, And I am lonely. George Eliot [1819-1880] SONNETS Trom " Mimma Bella " I Ha\\e dark Eg}-ptians stolen Thee away, Oh Baby, Baby, in whose cot we peer As down some empty gulf that opens sheer And fathomless, illumined by no ray? 324 Poems of Youth and Age And wilt thou come, on some far distant day, With unknown face, and say, "Behold! I'm here, The child you lost;" while we in sudden fear. Dumb with great doubt, shall find no word to say? One darker than dark gipsy holds thee fast; One whose strong fingers none has forced apart Since first they closed on things that were too fair; Nor shall we see thee other than thou wast. But such as thou art printed in the heart, In changeless baby loveliness still there. II Two springs she saw — two radiant Tuscan springs, What time the wild red tulips are aflame In the new wheat, and wreaths of young vine frame The daffodils that every light breeze swings; And the anemones that April brings Make purple pools, as if Adonis came Just there to die; and Florence scrolls her name In every blossom Primavera flings. Now, when the scented iris, straight and tall. Shall hedge the garden gravel once again With pale blue flags, at May's exulting call. And when the amber roses, wet with rain. Shall tapestry the old gray villa wall. We, left alone, shall seek one bud in vain. IV Oh, rosy as the lining of a shell '^ ' Were the wee hands that now are white as snows,' And like pink coral, with their elfin toes. The feet that on life's brambles never fell. And with its tiny smile, adorable The mouth that never knew life's bitter sloes; And like the incurved petal of a rose The little ear, now deaf in Death's strong spell. Now, while the seasons in their order roll, And sun and rain pour down from God's great dome. And deathless stars shine nightly overhead, Near other children, with her Httle doll. Sonnets 325 She waits the wizard that will never come To wake the sleep-struck playground of the dead. So maidenly, '.' So womanly ha\J lO Her demeaning ^...-1 ,< > In every thing. Far, far passing That I can indite, Or suffice to write to'J Of merry Margaret 1 As midsummer flower, ., aA Gentle as falcon, -^ri TJirfgiid A Or hawk of the toweij •■^-'-•^ f -«n As patient and still And as full of good will i i As fair Isaphill, lA ^^o Poems of Youth and Age i ^ aiJ2 - Coliander, '.^rl auehol^ arIT Sweet pomander, jcigM ^arfor Good Cassander; Steadfast of thought, Well made, well wrought, Far may be sought, rv Ere that ye can find So courteous, so kind. As merry Margaret, This midsummer flower, ,';! Li Gentle as falcon. Or hawk of the tow^r. John Skelton [1460?-! 5 29] {^r^6i ON HER COMING TO LONDON What's she, so late from Penshurst come, More gorgeous than the mid-day sun. That all the world amazes? Sure 'tis some angel from above. Or 'tis the Cyprian Queen of Love Attended by the Graces. Or is't not Juno, Heaven's great dame, Or Pallas armed, as on she came>g To assist the Greeks in fight, : • Or Cynthia, that huntress bold, Or from old Tithon's bed so cold, , Aurora chasing night? No, none of those, yet one that shall Compare, perhaps exceed them all. For beauty, wit, and birth; As good as great, as chaste as fair, A brighter nymph none breathes the air. Or treads upon the earth. 'Tis Dorothee, a maid high-born, And lovely as the blushing morn. " O, Saw Ye Bonny Lesley" 33 1 Of noble Sidney's race; jr ;;of{T Oh! could you see into her mind, r The beauties there locked-up outshinejT The beauties of her face. Fair Dorothea, sent from heaven To add more wonders to the seven, And glad each eye and ear, Crown of her sex, the Muse's port, The glory of our English court. The brightness of our sphere. ■ rlT To welcome her the Spring breathes forth Elysian sweets, March strews the earth With violets and posies, The sun renews his darting fires, ., April puts on her best attires, rr And May her cro-v^m of roses. Go, happy maid, increase the store Of graces born with you, and more Add to their number still; So neither all-consuming age. Nor envy's blast, nor fortune's rage l 'in-* jq/^. Shall ever work you ill. ^hb In^iW?, Edmund Waller [i 606-1 68 ;] ^O, SAW YE BONNY LESLEY" ^ , ^ , i)ofnoaod-3iu4 O SAW ye bonny Lesley ,,,_,, 4 ; ,, / As she gaed owre the Border? She's gane, hke Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. To see her is to love her, . .^p And love but her for ever; For nature made her what she is, And ne'er made sic anither! 23^ Poems of Youth and Age Thou art a queen, fair Lesley, Thy subjects we, before thee;' tjoo iriO Thou art divine, fair Lesley, j^^cf 3fiT The hearts o' men adore theei'J s^T The deil he couldna scaith thee, ;^.tj; Or aught that wad belang theef^j^p^ ^^q- He'd look into thy bonny face, . i^^p,^ And say, "I canna wrang theejJJ.^Q^^) The powers aboon will tent thee;* ^.^ Misfortune sha' na steer thee; .Thou'rt hke themselves sae lovely u j i« ' ' .That ill they'll ne'er let near thee. Return again, fair Lesley, Return to Caledonie! ' '- That we may brag we hae a lass ' •' There's nane again sae bonny. Robert Burns [1759-1796] TO A YOUNG LADY ^^"^8^^ . [■ :, I Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid! — . ,,- -o/l Silent and chaste she steals along, [[zAZ Far from the world's gay busy throng: With gentle yet prevailing force. Intent upon her destined course ; Graceful and useful all she does. Blessing and blest where'er she goes; Pure-bosomed as that watery glass. And Heaven reflected in her face ! William Cow per [i 731-1800] RUTH She stood breast high among the corn, Clasped by the golden light of morn. Like the sweetheart of the sun, Who many a glowing kiss had won. ' The Solitary Reaper 333 On her cheek an autumn flush, Deeply ripened; — such a blushfBflial In the midst of brown was born, Like red poppies grown with corn. Round her eyes her tresses fell, Which were blackest none could teii. But long lashes veiled a hght, That had else been all too bright. And her hat, with shady brim. Made her tressy forehead dim; Thus she stood amid the stooks. Praising God with sweetest looks : Sure, I said, Heaven did not mean, Where I reap thou shouldst but glean; Lay thy sheaf adown and come. Share my har^^est and my home. Thomas Hood [1799-1845] THE SOLITARY REAPER Behold her, single in the field. Yon sohtary Highland Lass ! Reaping and singing b}' herself; Stop here, or gently pass! Alone she cuts and binds the grain, And sings a melancholy strain; O listen! for the Vale profound Is overflowing ^ith the sound. | No Nightingale did ever chaunt .-^} ^,^9 More welcome notes to weary bands Of Travellers in some shady haunt. Among Arabian sands : A voice so thrilhng ne'er was heard In spring-time from the Cuckoo-bird, :' Breaking the silence of the seas Among the farthest Hebrides. 334 Poems of Youth and Age Will no one tell me what she sings? Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago : ^ii J Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? ; rH Some natural sorro\\^ loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again! Whate'er the theme, the Maiden sang As if her song could have no ending; I saw her singing at her work, And o'er the sickle bending;-— I listened, motionless and still; And, as I mounted up the hill, The music in my heart I bore. Long after it was heard no more. William Wordsworth [1770-1850} THE THREE COTTAGE GIRLS How blest the Maid whose heart — yet free From Love's uneasy sovereignty — Beats with a fancy running high, Her simple cares to magnify; Whom Labor, never urged to toil, ' ' Hath cherished on a healthful soil; ' Who knows not pomp, who heeds not pelf; Whose heaviest sin it is to look Askance upon her pretty Self Reflected in some crystal brook; Whom grief hath spared — who sheds no tear But in sweet pity; and can hear Another's praise from envy clear! •■^'^^^^''^ ■n-rT>0 II Such (but O lavish Nature! why That dark unfathomable eye, Where lurks a Spirit that replies i^B^iH. To stillest mood of softest skies/ >'''""^ A The Three Cottage Girls 335 Yet hints at peace to be o'erthrown, Another's first, and then her own?) Such haply, yon Italian Maid, Our Lady's laggard Votaress, Halting beneath the chestnut shade To accomplish there her loveliness : ''/' Nice aid maternal fingers lend; ' ' '^ A Sister serves with slacker hand; Then, glittering like a star, she joins the festal band. in nfl How blest (if truth may entertain id'N Coy fancy with a bolder strain) ,iio§ -^flT The Helvetian Girl — who daily braves, — •; '-^ ' In her light skiff, the tossing waves. And quits the bosom of the deep Only to climb the rugged steep! — Say whence that modulated shout! * " From Wood-nymph of Diana's throng? Or does the greeting to a rout Of giddy Bacchanals belong? Jubilant outcry! rock and glade Resounded — but the voice obeyed The breath of an Helvetian Maid. dWf tal ihH. IV Her beauty dazzles the thick wood; Her courage animates the flood; Her steps the elastic greensward meets Returning unreluctant sweets; The mountains (as ye heard) rejoice Aloud, saluted by her voice! Blithe Paragon of Alpine grace. Be as thou art — for through thy veins The blood of Heroes runs its race ! And nobly wilt thou brook the chains That, for the virtuous, Life prepares; The fetter which the Matron wears; The patriot Mother's weight of anxious cares! .riT ^;^6 Poems of Youth and Age "Sweet Highland Girl! a very shower Of beauty was thy earthly dower," .^ WTien thou didst flit before mine eyes^ ,j Gay Vision under sullen skies, p ^^^lile Hope and Love around thee played, Near the rough falls of Inversneyd! Have they, who nursed the blossom, seen No breach of promise iq the fruit? Was joy, in following joy, as keen As grief can be in grief's pursuit? \\Tien youth had flo\\Ti did hope still bless -^ Thy goings — or the cheerfulness Of innocence survive to mitigate distress? M. But from our course why turn — to tread A way vdth shadows overspread; j Where what we gladhest would believe .^ Is feared as what may most deceive? Bright Spirit, not with amaranth crowned But heath-bells from thy native ground. Time cannot thin thy flowing hair, Nor take one ray of hght from Thee; For in my Fancy thou dost share The gift of immortahty; And there shall bloom, with Thee allied, ^ The Votaress by Lugano's side; And that intrepid N\Tnph. on L'ri's steep descried! William Wordsworth [1770-1S50J black:mwore :nl\idens The primrwose in the sheade do blow, The cowshp in the zun. The thyme upon the down do grow, The clote where streams do run; i\ Blackmwore Maideus 337 An' where do pretty maidens grow An' blow, but where the tower Do rise among the bricken tuns, In Blackmwore by the Stour. If you could zee their comely gait, An' pretty feaces' smiles, A-trippen on so light o' waight, , An' steppen off the stiles; . . A-gwain to church, as bells do swing An' ring within the tower. You'd own the pretty maidens' pleace Is Blackmwore by the Stour. If you vrom Wimborne took your road, To Stower or Paladore, An' all the farmers' housen showed Their daughters at the door; You'd cry to bachelors at hwome — "Here, come: 'ithin an hourbnjs sonl. You'll vind ten maidens to your mind, In Blackmwore by the Stour." An' if you looked 'ithin their door. To zee em in their pleace, A-doen housework up avore Their smilen mother's feace; You'd cry — "Why, if a man would wive An' thrive, 'ithout a dower, Then let en look en out a wife^ "^"^'* In Blackmwore by the Stour." As I upon my road did pass A school-house back in May, There out upon the beaten grass Wer maidens at their play; An' as the pretty souls did tweil An' smile, I cried, "The flower O' beauty, then, is still in bud In Blackmv/ore by the Stour." :; . : ,; , . ■ i ^ , -; - ;, ; William Barnes [i 801-1 8861 338 Poems of Youth and Age A PORTRAIT " One name is Elizabeth " Ben Jonson I WILL paint her as I see her. Ten times have the lilies blown Since she looked upon the sun. And her face is lily-clear, Lily-shaped, and dropped in duty To the law of its own beauty. Oval cheeks encolored faintly, Which a trail of golden hair Keeps from fading off to air: And a forehead fair and saintly, Which two blue eyes undershine, Like meek prayers before a shrine. Face and figure of a child, — Though too calm, you think, and tender, For the childhood you would lend her. Yet child-simple, undefiled, Frank, obedient, waiting still On the turnings of your will. Moving light, as all young things, As young birds, or early wheat When the wind blows over it. Only, free from flutterings Of loud mirth that scorneth measure — - Taking love for her chief pleasure. Choosing pleasures, for the rest. Which come softly — ^just as she. When she nestles at your knee. Quiet talk she hketh best. In a bower of gentle looks, — Watering flowers, or reading books. .'^A bfbA Portrait ■ ; ^;^^ And her voice, it murmurs lowly, As a silver stream may run, Which yet feels (you feel) the sun. And her smile it seems half holy. As if drawn from thoughts more far Than our common jestings are. And if any poet knew her, He would sing of her with falls Used in lovely madrigals. And if any painter drew her, He would paint her unaware With a halo round her hair. And if reader read the poem, He would whisper — "You have done a Consecrated Httle Una!" And a dreamer (did you show him That same picture) Vv^ould exclaim, "'Tis my angel, with a name!" And a stranger, — when he sees her In the street even — smileth stilly. Just as you would at a lily. And all voices that address her, Soften, sleeken every word. As if speaking to a bird. And all fancies yearn to cover The hard earth, whereon she passes. With the thymy-scented grasses. And all hearts do pray, "God love her!" Ay and always, in good sooth, We may all be sure He doth. Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861J J4.^ Poems of Youth and Age TO A CHILD OF FANCY The nests are in the hedgerows,' ■ The lambs are on the grass; With laughter sweet as music The hours lightfooted pass, My darling child of fancy, My winsome prattling lass. Blue eyes, with long brown lashes, Thickets of golden curl. Red little lips disclosing Twin rows of fairy pearl, Cheeks like the apple blossom, Voice lightsome as the merle. A whole Spring's fickle changes, In every short-lived day, A passing cloud of April, A flowery smile of May, A thousand quick mutations From graver moods to gay. Far off, I see the season When thy childhood's course is run, And thy girlhood opens wider Beneath the growing sun. And the rose begins to redden,' ' But the violets are done. And further still the summer, .-: When thy fair tree, fully grown-,/ Shall bourgeon, and grow splendid With blossoms of its own. And the fruit begins to gather, But the buttercups are mown. If I should see thy autumn, 'Twill not be close at hand. But with a spirit vision, From some far-distant land. Daisy 341 Or, perhaps, I hence may see thee Amongst the angels stand. I know not what of fortune The future holds for thee, Nor if skies fair or clouded Wait thee in days to be, But neither joy nor sorrow Shall sever thee from me. Dear child, whatever changes Across our Uves may pass, I shall see thee still for ever, Clearly as in a glass. The same sweet child of fancy, The same dear winsome lass. Lewis Morris [1833- 1907] DAISY Where the thistle Hfts a purple crown Six foot out of the turf. And the harebell shakes on the windy hill — the breath of the distant surf! — The hills look over on the South, And southw^ard dreams the sea; And, -^ith the sea-breeze hand in hand, Came innocence and she. Where 'mid the gorse the raspberry •Red for the gatherer springs, Two children did we stray and talk Wise, idle, childish things. She listened with big-Hpped surprise, Breast-deep 'mid flower and spine: Her skin was like a grape, whose veins '■ ^ Run snow instead of wine. 34^. Poems of Youth and Age She knew not those sweet words she spake, Nor knew her own sweet way; But there's never a bird, so sweet a song Thronged in whose throat that day! Oh, there were flowers in Storrington ' On the turf and on the spray; But the sweetest flower on Sussex hills Was the Daisy-flower that day! , Her beauty smoothed earth's furrowed face! She gave me tokens three: — A look, a word of her ^\'insome mouth, And a wild raspberry. A berry red, a guileless look, A still word, — strings of sand! And yet they made m.y ^^ild, wdld heart Fly down to her little hand. For standing artless as the air, And candid as the skies, She took the berries with her hand. And the love mth her sweet eyes. ^' The fairest things have fleetest end: Their scent survives their close, But the rose's scent is bitterness To him that loved the rose! She looked a little wistfully, Then went her sunshine way: — The sea's eye had a mist on it, And the leaves fell from the day. She went her unremembering way, She went and left in me The pang of all the partings gone, ; And partings yet to be. r To Petronilla 343 She left me marveling why my soul Was sad that she was glad; At all the sadness in the sweet, The sweetness in the sad. Still, still I seemed to see her, still Look up with soft rephes, And take the berries mth her hand, And the love with her lovely eyes. Nothing begins, and nothing ends. That is not paid with moan; For we are born in others' pain. And perish in our own. Francis Thompson [iSsgP-igo;! TO PETRONILLA WHO HAS PUT UP HER HAIR Yesterday it blew alw^ay, Yesterday is dead. Now forever must it stay Coiled about your head, Tell me Whence the great Command Hitherward has sped. "Silly boy, as if I knew,", Petronilla said. Nay, but I am very sure, » Since you left my side. Something has befallen you, You are fain to hide, Homage has been done to you, r/ Innocents have died. "Silly boy, and what of that?" Petronilla cried. Petronilla, much I fear Scarcely have you wept All those merry yesterdays. Slaughtered whilst you slept, Slain to bind that pretty crown Closer round your head. "Silly boy, as if I cared," Petronilla said. Hmry Howarth Bashford [1880- f3t4^4 Poems of Youth and Age THE GYPSY GIRL Passing I saw her as she stood beside A lonely stream between two barren wolds: Her loose vest hung in rudely gathered folds On her swart bosom, which in maiden pride Pillowed a string of pearls ; among her hair Twined the light bluebell and the stone-crop gay; And not far thence the small encampment lay, Curling its wreathed smoke into the air. She seemed a child of some sun-favored clime; So still, so habited to warmth and rest; And in my wayward musings on past time, , , When my thought fills with treasured memories, (y^ That image nearest borders on the blest Creations of pure art that never dies. Henry Alford [1810-1871] FANNY A SOUTHERN BLOSSOM Come and see her as she stands, Crimson roses in her hands; And her eyes Are as dark as Southern night, Yet than Southern dawn more bright^ And a soft, alluring light In them lies. None deny if she beseech With that pretty, liquid speech Of the South. All her consonants are slurred, And the vowels are preferred; There's a poem in each word From that mouth. Even Cupid is her slave; Of her arrows, half he gave Somebody's Child 345 Her one day In a merry, playful hour. Dowered with these and beauty's dower, Strong indeed her magic power, So they say. Venus, not to be outdone By her generous little son, Shaped the mouth Very like to Cupid's bow. Lack-a-day! Our North can show No such lovely flowers as grow In the South! Anne Reeve Aldrich [1866-1892I SOMEBODY'S CHILD Just a picture of Somebody's child, — Sweet face set in golden hair, Violet eyes, and cheeks of rose. Rounded chin, with a dimple there, Tender eyes where the shadows sleep, Lit from within by a secret ray, — Tender eyes that will shine like stars When love and womanhood come this wayi Scarlet lips with a story to tell, — Blessed be he who shall find it out, Who shall learn the eyes' deep secret well. And read the heart with never a doubt. Then you will tremble, scarlet lips. Then you will crimson, loveliest cheeks: Eyes will brighten and blushes will burn When the one true lover bends and speaks. But she's only a child now, as you see. Only a child in her careless grace: When Love and Womanhood come this way Will anything sadden the flower-like face? Louise Chandler Moulton [1835-1908] 346 Poems of Youth and Age EMILIA Halfway up the Hemlock valley turnpike, In the bend of Silver Water's arm, Where the deer come trooping down at even, Drink the cowsHp pool, and fear no harm, DweUs Emiha, Flower of the fields of Camlet Farm. Sitting sewing by the western window As the too brief mountain sunshine flies. Hast thou seen a slender-shouldered figure With a chestnut braid, Minerva-wise, Round her temples. Shadowing her gray, enchanted eyes? When the freshets flood the Silver Water, When the swallow flying northward braves Sleeting rains that sweep the birchen foothills Where the windflowers' pale plantation waves — (Fairy gardens Springing from the dead leaves in their graves) ,- Falls forgotten, then, Emilia's needle; Ancient ballads, fleeting through her brain, Sing the cuckoo and the English primrose. Outdoors calling with a quaint refrain; And a rainbow Seems to brighten through the gusty rain. Forth she goes, in some old dress and faded. Fearless of the showery shifting wind; Kilted are her skirts to clear the mosses, And her bright braids in a 'kerchief pinnedyi' " Younger sister * ' Of the damsel-errant Rosalind. While she helps to serve the harvest supper In the lantern-hghted village haU, Moonlight rises on the burning woodland, Echoes dwindle from the distant Fall. Hark, Emilia! [2c In her ear the airy voices call. ^ ' To a Greek Girl o4 347 Hidden papers in the dusty garret, Where her few and secret poems he, — Thither flies her heart to join her treasure, While she serves, with absent-musing eye, Mighty tankards Foaming cider in the glasses high. ■ ' / "Would she mingle with her young companions!" Vainly do her aunts and uncles say; Ever, from the village sports and dances, -H Early missed, Emilia slips away. '^ Whither vanished? -^^ With what unimagined mates to play? '^ Did they seek her, wandering by the water. They should find her comrades shy and strange: Queens and princesses, and saints and fairies, Dimly moving in a cloud of change : — Desdemona; Mariana of the Moated Grange. Up this valley to the fair and market When young farmers from the southward ride, Oft they Hnger at a sound of chanting In the meadows by the turnpike side; Long they listen, Deep in fancies of a fairy bride. Sarah N. Cleghorn [1876- TO A GREEK GIRL With breath of thyme and bees that hum, Across the years you seem to come, — Across the years with nymph-like head, And wind-blown brows unfilleted; A girhsh shape that slips the bud In lines of unspoiled symmetry; A girlish shape that stirs the blood With pulse of Spring, Autonoe! 34^ Poems of Youth and Age Where'er you pass, — ^where'er you go, t I hear the pebbly rillet flow; Where'er you go, — where'er you pass, There comes a gladness on the grass; You bring blithe airs where'er you tread, — Blithe airs that blow from down and sea; You wake in me a Pan not dead, — Not wholly dead! — ^Autonoe! How sweet with you on some green sod To wreathe the rustic garden-god; How sweet beneath the chestnut's shade With you to weave a basket-braid; To watch across the stricken chords Your rosy- twinkling fingers flee; To woo you in soft woodland words, With woodland pipe, Autonoe! In vain, — in vain! The years divide: Where Thamis rolls a murky tide, I sit and fill my painful reams, And see you only in my dreams; — A vision, like Alcestis, brought From under-lands of Memory, — A dream of Form in days of Thought, — A dream, — a dream, Autonoe! Austin Dohson [1840- " CHAMBER SCENE" AN EXQUISITE PICTURE IN THE STUDIO OF A YOUNG ARTIST AT ROME She rose from her untroubled sleep, And put away her soft brown hair. And, in a tone as low and deep As love's first whisper, breathed a prayer — Her snow-white hands together pressed. Her blue eyes sheltered in the lid, The folded linen on her breast, Just sweUing with the charms it hid; 3%jA A Life-Lesson 349 And from her long and flowing dress Escaped a bare and slender foot, Whose shape upon the earth did press Like a new snow-flake, white and "mute"; And there, from slumber pure and warm, Like a young spirit fresh from heaven. She bowed her slight and graceful form, And humbly prayed to be forgiven, i/. Oh God! if souls unsoiled as these Need daily mercy from Thy throne; If she upon her bended knees, , Our loveliest and our purest one, — She, with a face so clear and bright. We deem her some stray child of light;— If she, with those soft eyes in tears. Day after day in her first years, Must kneel and pray for grace from Thee, What far, far deeper need have we! How hardly, if she win not heaven, Will our wild errors be forgiven! Nathaniel Parker Willis [i 806-1 867] "AH, BE NOT FALSE" Ah, be not false, sweet Splendor! Be true, be good; Be wise as thou art tender; Be all that Beauty should. Not lightly be thy citadel subdued; Not ignobly, not untimely. Take praise in solemn mood; Take love sublimely. Richard Watson Gilder [i 844-1 909J A LIFE-LESSON There! little girl, don't cry! They have broken your doll, I know; And your tea-set blue. And your play-house, too. Are things of the long ago; 350 Poems of Youth and Age But childish troubles will soon pass by. — There! little girl, don't cry! There! little girl, don't cry! They have broken your slate, I know; And the glad, wild ways Of your school-girl days Are things of the long ago; But Hfe and love will soon come by. — There! little girl, don't cry There! little girl, don't cry! They have broken your heart, I know; And the rainbow gleams Of your youthful dreams Are things of the long ago; But Heaven holds all for which you sigh. — There! little girl, don't cry! James Whitcomb Riley [1852-1916] \^Q- 5^3/ THE MAN THE BREAKING THE LORD GOD SPEAKS TO A YOUTH Bend now thy body to the common weight: (But oh, that vine-clad head, those Hmbs of morn! Those proud young shoulders, I myself made straight ! How shall ye wear the yoke that must be worn?) Look thou, my son, what wisdom comes to thee: (But oh, that singing mouth, those radiant eyes! Those dancing feet — that I myself made free! How shall I sadden them to make them wise?) Nay, then, thou shalt! Resist not — have a care! (Yea, I must work my plans who sovereign sit; Yet do not tremble so i I cannot bear — Though I am God — to see thee so submit !) Margaret Steele Anderson [i8 - THE FLIGHT OF YOUTH There are gains for all our losses. There are balms for all our pain : But when youth, the dream, departs, It takes something from our hearts, And it never comes again. We are stronger, and are better, Under manhood's sterner reign : Still we feel that something sweet Followed youth, with flying feet, And will never come again. 351 2^2 Poems of Youth and Age Something beautiful is vanished, And we sigh for it in vain: We behold it everywhere, On the earth, and in the air, But it never comes again. Richard Henry Stoddard [1825-1903] ''DAYS OF MY YOUTH" Days of my youth, Ye have glided away; Hairs of my youth, Ye are frosted and gray; Eyes of my youth. Your keen sight is no more; Cheeks of my youth, Ye are furrowed all o'er; Strength of my youth, All your vigor is gone; Thoughts of my youth, Your gay visions are flown. Days of my youth, I wish not your recall; Hairs of my youth, I'm content ye should fall; Eyes of my youth. You much e\il have seen; Cheeks of my youth, Bathed in tears have you been; Thoughts of my youth, You have led me astray; Strength of my youth, Why lament your decay? Days of my age. Ye will shortly be past; Pains of my age, Yet awhile ye can last; - Ave Atque Vale jo4 ^^^ Joys of my age, In true wisdom delight; Eyes of my age, Be religion your light; Thoughts of my age, Dread ye not the cold sod; Hopes of my age, Be ye fixed on your God. St. George Tucker [175 2-1 828] AVE ATQUE VALE Farewell, my Youth! for now we needs must part, For here the paths divide; Here hand from hand must sever, heart from heart, — Divergence deep and wide. You'll wear no withered roses for my sake. Though I go mourning for you all day long, Finding no magic more in bower or brake, No melody in song. Gray Eld must travel in my company To seal this severance more fast and sure. A joyless fellowship, i' faith, 'twill be, Yet must we fare together, I and he. Till 1 shall tread the footpath way no more. But when a blackbird pipes among the boughs. On some dim, iridescent day in spring, Then I may dream you are remembering Our ancient vows. Or when some joy foregone, some fate forsworn, Looks through the dark eyes of the violet, I may re-cross the set, forbidden bourne, I may forget Our long, long parting for a little while. Dream of the golden splendors of your smile, Dream you remember yet. Rosamutid Marriott Watson [i 863-191 1] 354 Poems of Youth and Age TO YOUTH Where art thou gone, light-ankled Youth? With wing at either shoulder, And smile that never left thy mouth Until the Hours grew colder: Then somewhat seemed to whisper near That thou and I must part; I doubted it; I felt no fear, No weight upon the heart. If aught befell it. Love was by ^ And roUed it off again; r So, if there ever was a sigh, 'Twas not a sigh of pain. I may not call thee back; but thou Retumest when the hand Of gentle Sleep waves o'er my brow His poppy-crested wand; Then smiling eyes bend over mine. Then hps once pressed invite; But sleep hath given a silent sign, And both, alasl take flight. Walter Savage Landor [i 775-1864] STANZAS WRITTEN OX THE RO.AD BETWEEN FLORENCE AND PISA Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story; The days of our youth are the days of our glory; And the myrtle and i\y of sweet two-and- twenty ~l Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty. ^ WTiat are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled? 'Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkled: Then away with all such from the head that is hoary! WTiat care I for the wreaths that can 07ily give glory? Stanzas for Music ^^^ Oh Fame! — if I e'er took delight in thy praises/^"^ T Huoi rfO 'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases, Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover, She thought that I was not unworthy to love her. There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee; Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee; When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story, I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory. George Gordon Byron [i 788-1 824] STANZAS FOR MUSIC There's not a joy the world can give like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines in feeling's dull de- cay; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, ere youth itself be past. Then the few whose spirits float above the wreck of happiness Are driven o'er the shoals of guilt or ocean of excess: The magnet of their course is gone, or only points in vain The shore to which their shivered sail shall never stretch again. Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears. Though wit may flash from fluent lips, and mirth distract the breast, Through midnight hours that yield no more their former hope of rest; 'Tis but as ivy-leaves around the ruined turret wreathe, All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray be- neath. 2S6 Poems of Youth and Age Oh could I feel as I have felt, — or be what I have been, : pO Or weep as I could once have wept o'er many a vanished' scene; As springs in deserts found seem sweet, all brackish though they be. So, midst the withered waste of li1[e, those tears would flow tome, ^''• George Gordon Byron [1788-1824]- -' ■d I "WHEN AS A LAD" When, as a lad, at break of day I watched the fishers sail away, My thoughts, like flocking birds, would follow Across the curving sky's blue hollow. And on and on — Into the very heart of dawn! For long I searched the world! Ah me! I searched the sky, I searched the sea. With much of useless grief and rueing, Those winged thoughts of mine pursuing — So dear were they. So lovely and so far away! I seek them still and always will Until my laggard heart is still. And I am free to follow, follow, Across the curving sky's blue hollow. Those thoughts too fleet For any save the soul's swift feet! Isabel Ecclestone Mackay [18 - AROUND THE CHILD" erft Around the child bend afl the three Sweet Graces — Faith, Hope, Charity. -i"- Around the man bend other faces — " ^^^ siT' Pride, Envy, Malice, are his Graces. Walter Savage Landor [1775-1864] il :j^ bfiThe Quest 357 ALADDIN When I was a beggarly boy, And lived in a cellar damp, I had not a friend nor a toy, But I had Aladdin's lamp; When I could not sleep for the cold, I had fire enough in my brain. And builded, with roofs of gold. My beautiful castles in Spain ! Since then I have toiled day and night, I have money and power good store, But I'd give all my lamps of silver bright For the one that is mine no more. Take, Fortune, whatever you choose; You gave, and may snatch again; I have nothing 'twould pain me to lose, t j.j,,For I own no more castles in Spain! , James Russell Lowell [1S19-1SQ1] THE QUEST It was a heavenly time of life When first I went to Spain, The lovely land of silver mists, The land of golden grain. My little ship through unknown seas Sailed many a changing day; Sometimes the chilling winds came up And blew across her way; Sometimes the rain came down and hid The shining shores of Spain, The beauty of the silver mists And of the golden grain. SS^ Poems of Youth and Age But through the rains and through the winds, Upon the untried sea, My fairy ship sailed on and on, With all my dreams and me. -7 And now, no more a child, I long For that sweet time again. When on the far horizon bar Rose up the shores of Spain. ^ lovely land of silver mists, 'riA O land of golden grain, 1 look for you with smiles, with tears, But look for you in vain! Ellen Mackey Hutchinson Cortissoz [i8 - J loi MY BIRTH-DAY r .j.t "My birth-day" — what a different sound That word had in my youthful ears! And how, each time the day comes round. Less and less white its mark appears! When first our scanty years are told. It seems like pastime to grow old; And, as Youth counts the shining links That Time around him binds so fast, Pleased with the task, he little thinks How hard that chain will press at last. Vain was the man, and false as vain. Who said; — " were he ordained to run His long career of hfe again, He would do all that he had done. " Ah, 'tis not thus the voice, that dwells In sober birth-days, speaks to me; Far otherwise — of time it tells Lavished unwisely, carelessly; Of counsel mocked; of talents, made finj^iy for high and pure designs, Bnt oft, like Israel's incense, laid Vpon unholy, earthly shrines; i| ^-^^ Sonnet 359 TT.-j.,, Pf nursing many a wrong desire; Of wandering after Love too far, ^T >10 And taking every meteor-fire That crossed my pathway, for a star. All this it tells, and, could I trace The imperfect picture o 'er again. With power to add, retouch, efface The lights and shades, the joy and pain, How little of the past would stay! How quickly all should melt away — All — but that Freedom of the Mind, Which hath been more than wealth to me; Those friendships, in my boyhood twined, And kept till now unchangingly; And that dear home, that saving-ark, Where Love 's true light at last I Ve found. Cheering within, when all grows dark, And comfortless, and stormy round! Thomas Moore [17 7g-i&s2] SONNET ,„ 8ij, j„a ON HIS HAVING ARRIVED TO THE AGE OF TWENTY-THREE How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year ! My hasting days fly on with full career, But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth That I to manhood am arrived so near; And inward ripeness doth much less appear. That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th. Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow, It shall be still in strictest measure even To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven: All is, if I have grace to use it so, As ever in my great Task-master 's eye. John Milton [i 608-1 674] 360 Poems of Youth and Age ON THIS DAY I COMPLETE MY THIRTY-SIXTH YEAR 'Tis time this heart should be unmoved, Since others it hath ceased to move: Yet, though I cannot be beloved. Still let me love! ■ ■' My days are in the yellow leaf; ., , ^^,_, ^ . The flowers and fruits of love are gone;.^^^^^ The worm, the canker, and the grief .^5 ||^ Are mine alone! The fire that on my bosom preys Is lone as some volcanic isle; No torch is kindled at its blaze — A funeral pile. The hope, the fear, the jealous care, ^^ ' '■ The exalted portion of the pain And power of love, I cannot share. But wear the chain. But 'tis not thus — and 'tis not here — Such thoughts should shake my soul, nor now, Where glory decks the hero 's bier. Or binds his brow. The sword, the banner, and the field. Glory and Greece, around me see! The Spartan, borne upon his shield, 'Was not more free. Awake! (not Greece — she is awake!) i. Awake, my spirit! Think through whom . Thy life-blood tracks its parent lake, And then strike home! Tread those reviving passions down, ™ Unworthy manhood! — unto thee Indifferent should the smile or frown Of beauty be. t. 1 Growing Gray h>^J 361 If thou regret 'st thy youth, why live? The land of honorable death Is here: — up to the field, and give Away thy breath ! Seek out — less often sought than found — A soldier's grave, for thee the best; Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy rest. George Gordon Byron [i 788-1824] GROWING GRAY " On a V age de son cceur." A. d' Houdetot A LITTLE more toward the light ; — Me miserable! Here's one that's white; And one that's turning; Adieu to song and "salad days;" siri ni smog My Muse, let's go at once to Jay's, And order mourning. /^n I We must reform our rhymes, my Dear, — Renounce the gay for the severe, — Be grave, not witty; We have, no more, the right to find That Pyrrha's hair is neatly twined, — That Chloe's pretty. Young Love's for us a farce that's played; Light canzonet and serenade No more may tempt us; Gray hairs but ill accord with dreams; From aught but sour didactic themes Our years exempt us. Indeed! you really fancy so? You think for one white streak we grow At once satiric? j:-ijl A fiddlestick! Each hair's a string .-^P_ To which our ancient Muse shall sing A younger lyric. 362 Poems of Youth and Age The heart's still sound. Shall "cakes and ale" Grow rare to youth because we rail At schoolboy dishes? -^^-■, ^-^ Perish the thought ! 'Tis ours to chant * When neither Time nor Tide can grant Belief with wishes. Austin Dohson [184a- THE ONE WHITE HAIR The wisest of the wise Listen to pretty Hes And love to hear 'em told. Doubt not that Solomon Listened to many a one, — Some in his youth, and more when he grew old. I never was among The choir of Wisdom's song, But pretty lies loved I 'I As much as any king, '/onsX When youth was on the wing. And (must it then be told?) when youth had quite gone by. Alas! and I have not The pleasant hour forgot When one pert lady said, "O Waiter! I am. quite Bewildered with affright I see (sit quiet now) a white hair on your head!" Another more benign Snipped it away from mine, And in her own 'dark hair Pretended it was found . . . She leaped, and twirled it round ., ...■:. Fair as she was, she never was so fair! doirfw o Walter Savage Landor [17 7 5- 1864] Middle Age.*ni3o4 ;^6;^ b.^llade' of middle age Our youth began with tears and sighs, With seeking what we could not find; Our verses all were threnodies, In elegiacs still we whined; Our ears were deaf, our eyes were blind, We sought and knew not what we sought. We mar\xl now we look behind: Life's more amusing than we thougbtjli'^l Oh, foohsh youth, untimely wise! ' _j. Oh, phantoms of the sickly mind! What? not content with seas and skies, With rainy clouds and southern wind. With common cares and faces kind, With pains and joys each morning brought? Ah, old, and worn, and tired we find Life's more amusing than we thought! Though youth "turns spectre-thin and dies," To mourn for youth we're not incHned; We set our souls on salmon flies, . We whistle where we once repined. Confound the woes of human-kind I By Heaven we're "well deceived." I wot; Who hum, contented or resigned, "Life's more amusing than we thought"! EX\'OY nate mecum, worn and Hned Our faces show, but that is naught; Our hearts are young 'neath wrinkled rind : Life's more amusing than we thought ! Andreiv Lang [1844- 19 12] MIDDLE AGE When that my days were fewer, Some twenty years ago. And ail that is was newer, And time itself, seemed glow, ■ 364 Poems of Youth and Age With ardor all impassioned, I let my hopes fly free, And deemed the world was fashioned My playing-field to be. The cup of joy was filled then • With Fancy's sparkling wine; And all the things I willed then Seemed destined to be mine. Friends had I then in plenty. And every friend was true; , ., .^ ,„ T- • J 1 . . . riailoot 40 Friends always are at twenty^ , ,^ And on to twenty-two., ^ ^ \^ „„ The men whose hair was sprinkled,, With little flecks of gray, rf "W Whose faded brows were wrinkled-rr Sure they had had their day. , , And though we bore no malice, We knew thejr hearts were cold. For they had drained their chalice, And now were spent and old. At thirty, we admitted, A man may be alive, But slower, feebler witted; And done at thirty-five. If Fate prolongs his earth-days. His joys grow fewer still; And after five more birthdays He totters down the hill. We were the true immortals Who held the earth in fee; For us were flung the portals Of fame and victory. The days were bright and breezy/ And gay our banners flew, And every peak was easyJ hs bnA To scale at twenty-two." ' " ' Middle Age 365 And thus we spent our gay time As having much to spend ; Swift, swift, that pretty playtime Flew b}' and had its end. .And io I without a warning I woke, as others do, One fine mid-winter morning, A man of forty-two. And now I see how vainly Is youth with ardor fired; How fondly, how insanely I formerly aspired. A boy may still detest age, But as for me I know, A man has reached his best age At forty-two or so. For youth it is the season Of restlessness and strife; Of passion and unreason, And ignorance of hfe. Since, though his cheeks have rose-s, Xo bo}^ can understand That ever^-thing he knows is A graft at second hand. But we have toiled and wandered With wear>^ feet and numb; Have doubted, suted, pondered, — How else should knowledge come? Have seen, too late for heeding. Our hopes go out in tears, Lost in the dim receding. Irrevocable years. Yet, though with busy fingers Xo more we wreathe the flowers. An air}' perfume fingers, A brightness still is ours. 2^6 Poems of Youth and Age And though no rose our cheeks have, The sky still shines as blue; And still the distant peaks have The glow of twenty-two. Rtidolph Chambers Lehmann [1856- TO CRITICS When I was seventeen I heard From each censorious tongue, "I'd not do that if I were you; You see you're rather young.'* Now that I number forty years, I'm quite as often told Of this or that I shouldn't do Because I'm quite too old. O carping world! If there's an age Where youth and manhood keep An equal poise, alas! I must Have passed it in my sleep. Walter Learned [1847-1915! THE RAINBOW My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began; So is it now I am a man; So be it when I shall grow old, Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man; And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety. William Wordsworth [1770-1850] LEAVETAKING Pass, thou wild light, Wild light on peaks that so Equinoctial 367 Grieve to let go The day. Lovely thy tarrying, lovely too is night: Pass thou away. Pass, thou wild heart, Wild heart of youth that still Hast half a will To stay. I grow too old a comrade, let us part: Pass thou away. William Watson [1858- EQUINOCTIAL The sun of life has crossed the line ; The summer-shine of lengthened Hght Faded and failed, till, where I stand, 'Tis equal day and equal night. One after one, as dv>dndling hours, Youth's glowing hopes have dropped away, And soon may barely leave the gleam That coldly scores a vv^inter's day. I am not young; I am not old; The flush of morn, the sunset calm, Pahng and deepening, each to each, Meet midway with a solemn charm. One side I see the summer fields, Not yet disrobed of all their green; While westerly, along the hills, Flame the first tints of frosty sheen. Ah, middle-point, where cloud and storm Make battle-ground of this my life ! Where, even-matched, the night and day Wage round me their September strife! 368 Poems of Youth and Age I bow me to the threatening gale: I know when that is overpast, Among the peaceful harvest days, An Indian Summer comes at last! Adeline D. T. Whitney [i 824-1 906] BEFORE THE BEGIXXIXG OF YE.ARS' From " Atalanta in Calj'don" Before the beginning of years, There came to the making of man Time, with a gift of tears; Grief, with a glass that ran; Pleasure, with pain for leaven; Summer, with flowers that fell; Remembrance, fallen from heaven; And madness, risen from hell; Strength, without hands to smite; Love, that endures for a breath; Night, the shadow of Kght: And Kfe, the shadow of death. And the high gods took in hand Fire, and the falling of tears, And a m.easure of sliding sand From under the feet of the years; And froth and drift of the sea; And dust of the laboring earth; And bodies of things to be In the houses of death and of birth; And wrought with weeping and laughter, And fashioned with loathing and love, With hfe before and after. And death beneath and above, For a day and a night and a morrow. That his strength might endure for a span, With travail and heavy sorrow, The holy spirit of man. Man 369 From the winds of the north and the south They gathered as unto strife; They breathed upon his mouth, They filled his body with hfe; Eyesight and speech they wrought For the veils of the soul therein, A time for labor and thought, A time to serve and to sin; They gave him light in his ways. And love, and a space for dehght, And beauty and length of days. And night, and sleep in the night. His speech is a burning fire ; With his lips he travaileth; In his heart is a blind desire. In his eyes foreknowledge of death; He weaves, and is clothed with derision' Sows, and he shall not reap; His life is a watch or a vision Between a sleep and a sleep. Algernon Charles Swinburne [183 7- 1909] MAN Weighing the steadfastness and state Of some mean things which here below reside, Where birds, like watchful clocks, the noiseless date And intercourse of times divide, Where bees at night get home and hive, and flowers, Early as well as late. Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowers; I would, said I, my God would give The staidness of these things to man ! for these To His divine appointments ever cleave. And no new business breaks their peace ; The birds nor sow nor reap, yet sup and dine, The flowers without clothes Hve, Yet Solomon was never dressed so fine. 370 Poems of Youth and Age Man hath still either toys, or care; He hath no root, nor to one place is tied. But ever restless and irregular About this earth doth run and ride; He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows v/here; He says it is so far. That he hath quite forgot how to go there. He knocks at all doors, strays and roams; Nay, hath not so much wit as some stones have, Which in the darkest nights point to their homes By some hid sense their Maker gave; Man is the shuttle, to whose winding quest And passage through these looms God ordered motion, but ordained no rest. Henry Vaughan [162 2-1 695] THE PULLEY When God at first made Man, Having a glass of blessings standing by- Let us (said He) pour on him all we can; Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, Contract into a span. So strength, first made a way, Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honor, pleasure: When almost all was out, God made a stay, Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure, Rest in the bottom lay. For if I should (said He) Bestow this jewel also on My creature. He would adore My gifts instead of Me, And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature: So both should losers be. Yet let him keep the rest. But keep them with repining restlessness; Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to My breast, /voit ari'J George Herbert fi 593-1633] Ode on the Intimations of Immortality 371 ODE ON THE INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY FROM RECOLLECTIONS OF EARLY CHILDHOOD There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream. The earth, and every common sight, To me did seem Apparelled in celestial light. The glory and the freshness of a dream. It is not now as it hath been of yore; — • Turn wheresoe'er I may. By night or day, The things which I have seen I now can see no more. The Rainbow comes and goes. And lovely is the Rose ; The Moon doth with delight Look round her when the heavens are bare; Waters on a starry night Are beautiful and fair; The sunshine is a glorious birth; But yet I know, where'er I go, That there hath passed away a glory from the earth. Ill Now, while the Birds thus sing a joyous song, And while the young Lambs bound As to the tabor's sound. To me alone there came a thought of grief: A timely utterance gave that thought relief, *, rfr-j'J -, And I again am strong. The Cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep: No more shall grief of mine the season wrong; I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng. The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep, 372 Poems of Youth and Age And all the earth is gay; Land and Sea Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every Beast keep holiday; — Thou Child of Joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy Shep= herd-boy! IV Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My heart is at your festival, My head hath its coronal. The fulness of your bliss, I feel — I feel it all. evil day! if I were sullen While Earth herself is adorning This sweet May morning, And the Children are culling On every side. In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm: — ■ 1 hear, I hear, with joy I hear! — But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: The Pansy at my feet Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life's Star^ Hath had elsewhere its setting, And Cometh from afar: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, Ode on the Intimations of Immortality jyj But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy, But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; The Youth, who daily farther from the East Must travel, still is Nature's Priest, And by the vision spendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the hght of common day. VI Earth fills her lap with pleasures of her own; Yearnings she hath in her own natural kind, And even with something of a Mother's mind, • And no unworthy aim. The homely Nurse doth all she can, To make her Foster-child, her Inmate Man, Forget the glories he hath known. And that imperial palace whence he came. VII Behold the Child among his new-born blisses, A six years' darling of a pigmy size ! See, where 'mid work of his own hand he lies. Fretted by sallies of his Mother's kisses, With light upon him from his Father's eyes'! See, at his feet, some little plan or chart, Some fragment from his dream of human life. Shaped by himself with newly-learned art ; A wedding or a festival, A mourning or a funeral; And this hath now his heart, And unto this he frames his song: Then will he fit his tongue To dialogues of business, love, or strife: But it will not be long 374 Poems of Youth and Age Ere this be thrown aside. And with new joy and pride The Httle Actor cons another part; Filling from time to time his "humorous stage'* With all the Persons, down to palsied Age^ That Life brings with her in her equipage; As if his whole vocation Were endless imitation. Thou, whose exterior semblance doth beHe Thy Soul's i mm ensity; Thou best Philosopher, who yet dost keep Thy heritage, thou Eye among the blind, That, deaf and silent, read'st the eternal deep, Haunted for ever by the eternal mind, — Mighty Prophet 1 Seer blest! On whom those truths do rest, \Miich we are toiling all our Kves to find, In dariiness lost, the darkness of the grave: Thou, over whom thy Immortahty Broods like the Day, a master o'er a Slave, A Presence which is not to be put by; Thou httle Child, yet glorious in the might Of heaven-bom freedom on thy being's height, ^^'hy with such earnest pains dost thou provoke The years to bring the inevitable yoke, Thus bhndly with th}- blessedness at strife? Full soon thy Soul shall have her earthly freight, And custom he upon thee with a weight Heavy as frost, and deep almost as life! IX O joy! that in our embers Is something that doth Hve, That nature 3'et remembers "What was so fugitive I The thought of our past years in me doth breed Perpetual benediction : not indeed Ode on the Intimations of Immortality 375 For that which is most worthy to be blest — Delight and Hberty, the simple creed Of Childhood, whether busy or at rest, With new-fledged hope still fluttering in his breast: — Not for these I raise The song of thanks and praise; But for those obstinate questionings Of sense and outward things, Faflings from us, vanishings; Blank misgivings of a Creature Moving about in worlds not realized, High instincts before which our mortal Nature Did tremble like a guflty thing surprised: But for those first aft'ections. Those shadowy recollections. Which, be they what they may, Are yet the fountain-light of all our day, Are yet a master-hght of all our seeing; Uphold us, cherish, and have power to make Our noisy years seem moments in the being Of the eternal Silence: truths that wake. To perish never; Which neither listlessness, nor mad endeavor, Nor Man nor Boy, Nor all that is at enmity with joy, Can utterly abolish or destroy! Hence, in a season of calm weather, Though inland far we be. Our Souls have sight of that immortal sea Which brought us hither, Can in a moment travel thither And see the children sport upon the shore, And hear the mighty waters rolling evermore. Then sing, ye Birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young Lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, 3y6 Poems of Youth and Age Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. XI And 0, ye Fountains, Meadows, Hills, and Groves, Forebode not any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquished one delight To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the Brooks, which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they: The innocent brightness of a new-born Day Is lovely yet ; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober coloring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live. Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blov/s can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. William Wordsworth [1770-185 o] THE WOMAN WOMAN -;; Not she with traitorous kiss her Saviour stung, Not she denied him with unholy tongue; She, while apostles shrank, could dangers brave, Last at the cross and earliest at the grave. Eaton Stannard Barrett [i 786-1 820] WOMAN There in the fane a beauteous creature stands, The first best work of the Creator's hands, Whose slender Hmbs inadequately bear A full-orbed bosom and a w^eight of care; Whose teeth like pearls, whose lips like cherries, show. And fawn-like eyes still tremble as they glow. From the Sanskrit of Calidasa SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS From " Epicceue " Still to be neat, still to be dressed As you were going to a feast; Still to be powdered, still perfumed: Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face. That' makes simplicity a grace; Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. Ben Jonson [1573?-! 63 7] 377 378 Poems of Youth and Age DELIGHT IN DISORDER A SWEET disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness: A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction: An erring lace, which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher: -^i^a xoM A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly: A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat: A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civihty: Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise m every part. , .^ [or.fe; Robert Herrick '[i59i-i'674l A PRAISE OF HIS LADY Give place, you ladies, and begone! Boast not yourselves at all! For here at hand approacheth one Whose face will stain you aU. The virtue of her lively looks Excels the precious stone; I wish to have none other books To read or look upon. In each of her two crystal eyes Smileth a naked boy; It would you all in heart suffice To see that lamp of joy. I think Nature hath lost the mould Where she her shape did take; Or else I doubt if Nature could So fair a creature make. j-^A Praise of His Lady 379 She may be well compared Unto the Phoenix kind, Whose hke was never seen nor heard, That any man can find. In hfe she is Diana chaste, In truth Penelope; In word and eke in deed steadfast. What will you more we say? If all the world were sought so far, Who could find such a wight? Her beauty twinkleth like a star Within the frosty night. Her roseal color comes and goes With such a comely grace, More ruddier, too, than doth the rose Wlthui her Hvely face. At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet, Nor at no wanton play. Nor gazing in an open street, ' ^ Nor gadding as a stray. The modest mirth that she doth use Is mixed with shamefastness; All vice she doth v/holly refuse, And hateth idleness. O Lord! it is a world to see How virtue can repair, And deck her in such honesty, Whom Nature made so fair. Truly she doth so far exceed Our women nowadays. As doth the gillyflower a weed; And more a thousand ways. .380 Poems of Youth and Age How might I do to get a graff Of this unspotted tree? For all the rest are plain but chaff, Which seem good corn to be. This gift alone I shall her give: When death doth what he can, Her honest fame shall ever live Within the mouth of man. John Heywood [149 7?- 15 80?] ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT I KNOW a thing that's most uncommon; (Envy, be silent and attend!) I know a reasonable woman. Handsome and witty, yet a friend. Not warped by passion, awed by rumor; Not grave through pride, nor gay through folly; An equal mixture of good-humor And sensible soft melancholy. "Has she no faults then (Envy says), Sir?" Yes, she has one, I must aver : When all the world conspires to praise her, The woman's deaf, and does not hear. Alexander Pope 11688-1744! PERFECT WOMAN She was a phantom of dehght When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament; Her eyes as stars of twihght fair; Like twihght's, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From May- time and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. The Solitary-Hearted 381 I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too! Her household motions hght and free, And steps of virgin hberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet; A creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine; A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller between life and death; The reason firm, the temperate will. Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; A perfect Woman, nobly planned. To warn, to comfort, and command; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of angelic light. William Wordsworth [1770-185 o] THE SOLITARY-HEARTED She was a queen of noble Nature's crowning, A smile of hers was like an act of grace ; She had no winsome looks, no pretty frowning, Like daily beauties of the vulgar race : But if she smiled, a light w^as on her face, A clear, cool kindliness, a lunar beam Of peaceful radiance, silvering o'er the stream Of human thought with unabiding glory; Not quite a waking truth, not quite a dream, A visitation, bright and transitory. But she is changed, — hath felt the touch of sorrow. No love hath she, no imderstanding friend; O grief! when Heaven is forced of earth to borrow What the poor niggard earth has not to lend ; 382 Poems of Youth and Age But vv^hen the stalk is snapped, the rose must bend. The tallest flower that skyward rears its head Grows from the common ground, and there must shed Its delicate petals. Cruel fate, too surely, That they should find so base a bridal bed, Who lived in ^drgin pride, so sweet and purely.. , : She had a brother, and a tender father, '. And she was loved, but not as others are '." From whom we ask return of love, — ^but rather As one might love a dream; a phantom fair Of something exquisitely strange and rare. Which all were glad to look on, men and maids, Yet no one claimed — as oft, in dewy glades, The peering primrose, like a sudden gladness, Gleams on the soul, yet unregarded fades; — .-, The joy is ours, but all its own the sadness. 'Tis vain to say — ^her worst of grief is only The common lot, which all the world have known; To her 'tis more, because her heart is lonely. And yet she hath no strength to stand alone,^ Once she had playmates, fancies of her own. And she did love them. They are passed away As Fairies vanish at the break of day; And like a spectre of an age departed, Or unsphered Angel wofully astray. She ghdes along — the soKtary-hearted. Hartley Coleridge [1,7 96-1840] yji&b oil. : OF THOSE WHO WALK ALONE Women there are on earth, most sweet and high, Who lose their own, and walk bereft and lonely. Loving that one lost heart until they die, Loving it only. And so they never see beside them grow Children, whose coming is like breath of flowers; Consoled by subtler loves the angels know Through childless hours. . i.u 77 "She Walks in Beauty" 383 Good deeds they do : they comfort and they bless In duties others put off till the morrow; Their look is balm, their touch is tenderness To all in sorrow. Betimes the world smiles at them, as 'twere shame, This maiden g^aise, long after youth's departed; But in God's Book they bear another name — "The faithful-hearted." Faithful in life, and faithful unto death. Such souls, in sooth, illume with lustre splendid That glimpsed, glad land wherein, the Vision saith, Earth's wrongs are ended. Richard Burton [1859- " SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY " She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelhng-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent ! George Gordon Byron [17 88-1 824] ,384 Poems of Youth and Age PRELUDES From " The Angel in the House " I UNTHRIFT Ah, wasteful woman, she that may On her sweet self set her own price, Knowing man cannot choose but pay, How has she cheapened paradise; How given for nought her priceless gift. How spoiled the bread, and spilled the wine, Which, spent with due, respective thrift. Had made brutes men, and men divine. HONOR AND DESERT O Queen, awake to thy renown. Require what 'tis our wealth to give, And comprehend and wear the crown Of thy despised prerogative ! I, who in manhood's name at length With glad songs come to abdicate The gross regality of strength. Must yet in this thy praise abate. That, through thine erring humbleness And disregard of thy degree. Mainly, has man been so much less Than fits his fellowship with thee. High thoughts had shaped the foolish brow, The coward had grasped the hero's sword, The vilest had been great, hadst thou. Just to thyself, been worth's reward. But lofty honors undersold Seller and buyer both disgrace; And favors that make folly bold Banish the light from virtue's face. Preludes 385 ni THE ROSE OF THE WORLD Lo, when the Lord made North and South, And sun and moon ordained, He, Forthbringing each by word of mouth In order of its dignity. Did man from the crude clay express By sequence, and all else decreed, He formed the woman ; nor might less Than Sabbath such a work succeed. And still with favor singled out. Marred less than man by mortal fall, Her disposition is devout. Her countenance angelical: The best things that the best believe Are in her face so kindly writ The faithless, seeing her, conceive Not only heaven, but hope of it; No idle thought her instinct shrouds, But fancy chequers settled sense, Like alteration of the clouds On noonday's azure permanence. Pure dignity, composure, ease, Declare affections nobly fixed, And impulse sprung from due degrees Of sense and spirit sweetly mixed. Her modesty, her chiefest grace, The cestus clasping Venus' side. How potent to deject the face Of him w^ho would affront its pride ! Wrong dares not in her presence speak, Nor spotted thought its taint disclose Under the protest of a cheek Outbragging Nature's boast, the rose. In mind and manners how discreet; How artless in her very art; How candid in discourse; how sweet The concord of her lips and heart! 386 Poems of Youth and Age How simple and how circumspect; How subtle and how fancy-free; Though sacred to her love, how decked With unexclusive courtesy; How quick in talk to see from far The way to vanquish or evade; How able her persuasions are To prove, her reasons to persuade. How (not to call true instinct's bent iVnd woman's very nature, harm), How amiable and innocent Her pleasure in her power to charm; How humbly careful to attract, Though crowned with all the soul desires Connubial aptitude exact. Diversity that never tires! I'M./. IV THE TRIBUTE Boon Nature to the woman bows; She walks in earth's whole glory clad, And, chief est far herself of shows. All ethers help her and are glad: No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome But serves her for familiar wear; The far-fetched diamond finds its home Flashing and smouldering in her hair; For her the seas their pearls reveal; Art and strange lands her pomp supply With purple, chrom.e, and cochineal, Ochre, and lapis lazuli; The worm its golden woof presents; Whatever runs, flies, dives, or delves. All doff for her their ornaments. Which suit her better than themselves; And all, by this their power to give. Proving her right to take, proclaim Her beauty's clear prerogative To profit so by Eden's blame. A Health 387 NEAREST THE DEAREST Till Eve was brought to Adam, he A solitary desert trod, Though in the great society Of nature, angels, and of God. If one slight column counterweighs The ocean, 'tis the Maker's law, ^Vho deems obedience better praise Than sacrifice of erring awe. VI THE FOREIGN LAND A woman is a foreign land. Of which, though there he settle young, A man will ne'er quite understand The customs, pohtics, and tongue. The fooHsh hie them post-haste through, See fashions odd and prospects fair, Learn of the language, "How d'ye do," And go and brag they have been there. The most for leave to trade apply, For once, at Empire's seat, her heart, Then get what knowledge ear and eye Glean chancewise in the life-long mart. And certain others, few and fit, Attach them to the Court, and see The Country's best, its accent hit. And partly sound its polity. Coventry Patmore [1823-1896] A HEALTH I FILL this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon; 388 Poems of Youth and Age To whom the better elements And kindly stars have given A form so fair, that, like the air, 'Tis less of earth than heaven. Her every tone is music's own, Like those of morning birds, And something more than melody Dwells ever in her words; The coinage of her heart are they, And from her lips each flows As one may see the burdened bee Forth issue from the rose. Affections are as thoughts to her, The measures of her hours; Her feelings have the fragrancy. The freshness of young flowers; And lovely passions, changing oft, So fill her, she appears The image of themselves by turns, — The idol of past years ! Of her bright face one glance will trace A picture on the brain. And of her voice in echoing hearts A sound must long remain; But memory, such as mine of her, So very much endears. When death is nigh my latest sigh Will not be life's, but hers. ; ' I fill this cup to one made up Of loveliness alone, A woman, of her gentle sex The seeming paragon — Her health ! and would on earth there stood Some more of such a frame. That life might be all poetry. And weariness a name. Edward Coate Pinkney [1802- 1828] Our Sister ogn OUR SISTER Her face was very fair to see, So luminous with purity: — It had no roses, but the hue Of Hhes lustrous with their dew — Her very soul seemed shining through! Her quiet nature seemed to be Tuned to each season's harmony. The holy sky bent near to her; She saw a spirit in the stir Of solemn woods. The rills that beat Their mosses with voluptuous feet, Went dripping music through her thought. Sweet impulse came to her unsought From graceful things, and beauty took A sacred meaning in her look. In the great Master's steps went she With patience and humility. The casual gazer could not guess Half of her veiled loveliness ; Yet ah ! what precious things lay hid Beneath her bosom's snowy lid: — What tenderness and sympathy, What beauty of sincerity, What fancies chaste, and loves, that grew In heaven's own stainless light and dew! True woman was she day by day In suffering, toil, and victory. Her life, made holy and serene By faith, was hid with things unseen. She knew what they alone can know Who live above but dwell below. Horatio Nelson Powers [i 826-1 890I 390 Poems of Youth and Age FROM LIFE Her thoughts are hke a flock of butterflies. She has a merry love of little things, And a bright flutter of speech, whereto she brings A threefold eloquence — voice, hands and eyes. Yet under all a subtle silence hes As a bird's heart is hidden by its wings; And you shall search through many wanderings The fairyland of her reahties. J oJ mnu'V She hides herself behind a busy brain— .r,,^ .^,: ■ A woman, with a child's laugh in her blood; A maid, wearing the shadow of motherhood — ■ Wise with the quiet memory of old pain, As the soft glamor of remembered rain Hallows the gladness of a sunlit wood. Brian Hooker [1880- THE ROSE OF THE WORLD Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red hps, with all their mournful pride, Mournful that no new wonder may betide, Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam. And Usna's children died. We and the laboring world are passing by: Amid men 's souls, that waver and give place, Like the pale waters in their wintry race, Under the passing stars, foam of the sky. Lives on this lonely face. Bow dovm, archangels, in your dim abode: Before you were, or any hearts to beat. Weary and kind one hngered by Llis seat; He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet. William B tiller Yeats [1865- Dawn of Womanhood 39 DAWN OF WOMANHOOD Thus will I have the vv^oman of my dream. Strong must she be and gentle, like a star Her soul burn whitely; nor its arrowy beam May any cloud of superstition mar: True to the earth she is, patient and calm. Her tranquil eyes shall penetrate afar j ..ir// Through centuries, and her maternal arm Enfold the generations yet unborn; Nor she, by passing glamor nor alarm, / , Will from the steadfast way of life be drawn. Gray-eyed and fearless, I behold her gaze ' ^ Outward into the furnace of the dawn. Sacred shall be the purport of her days, Yet human; and the passion of the earth Shall be for her adornment and her praise. She is most often joyous, with a mirth r That rings true-tempered holy womanhood. She cannot fear the agonies of birth, Nor sit in pallid lethargy and brood Upon the coming seasons of her pain: By her the mystery is understood Of harvest, and fulfilment in the grain. '^^ Yea, she is wont to labor in the field, Delights to heap, at sunset, on the wain Festoons and coronals of the golden yield. A triumph is the labor of her soul, Sublime along eternity revealed. Lo, everlastingly in her control. Under the even measure of her breath, Like crested waves the onward centuries roll. Nor to far heaven her spirit wandereth, Nor Hfteth she her voice in barren prayer, Nor trembleth at appearances of death. 392 Poems of Youth and Age She, godlike in her womanhood, will fare Calm-visaged and heroic to the end. The homestead is her most especial care; She loves the sacred hearth: she will defend Her gods from desecration of the vile. Fierce, like a wounded tigress, she can rend Whatever may have entered to defile. I see her in the evening by the fire, And in her eyes, illumined from the pile Of blazing logs, a motherly desire Glows like the moulded passion of a rose; Beautiful is her presence in the bower: Her spirit is the spirit of repose. Mankind shall hold her motherhood in awe: Woman is she indeed, and not of those That he with sacramental gold must draw Discreetly to his chamber in the night, Or bind to him with fetters of the law. He holds her by a spiritual right. With diamond and with pearl he need not sue; Nor will she deck herself for his delight : Beauty is the adornment of the true. She shall possess for ornament and gem A flower, the glowworm, or the drop of dew: More innocently fair than all of them. It will not even shame her if she make A coronal of stars her diadem. Though she is but a vision, I can take Courage from her. I feel her arrowy beam Already, for her spirit is awake, And passes down the future like a gleam, — Thus have I made the woman of my dream. Harold Monro [1870- :: A Portrait 393 THE SHEPHERDESS She walks — the lady of my delight — A shepherdess of sheep. Her flocks are thoughts. She keeps them white; She guards them from the steep. She feeds them on the fragrant height, And folds them in for sleep. She roams maternal hills and bright, Dark valleys safe and deep. Into that tender breast at night The chastest stars may peep. She walks — the lady of my delight — A shepherdess of sheep. She holds her little thoughts in sight. Though gay they run and leap. She is so circumspect and right ; She has her soul to keep. She walks — the lady of my delight — A shepherdess of sheep. Alice Meynell [1853- A PORTRAIT Mother and maid and soldier, bearing best Her girl's lithe body under matron gray, And opening new eyes on each new day With faith concealed and courage unconfessed; Jealous to cloak a blessing in a jest. Clothe beauty carefully in disarray, And love absurdly, that no word betray The worship all her deeds make manifest: Armored in smiles, a motley Britomart — Her lance is high adventure, tipped with scorn; Her banner to the suns and winds unfurled, Washed white with laughter; and beneath her heart, Shrined in a garland of laborious thorn, Blooms the unchanging Rose of all. the World. Brian Hooker [1880- 394 Poems of Youth and Age THE WIFE The little Dreams of Maidenhood— , I put them all away As tenderly as mother would The toys of yesterday, When little children grow to men Too over-wise for play. The little dreams I put aside — I loved them every one, And yet since moon-blown buds must hide Before the noon-day sun, I close them wistfully away And give the key to none. O little Dreams of Maidenhood — Lie quietly, nor care If some day in an idle mood I, searching unaware Through some closed corner of my heart, Should laugh to find you there. Theodosia Garrison [1874- TRUSTY, DUSKY, VIVID, TRUE" Trusty, dusky, vivid, true, With eyes of gold and bramble-dew, Steel true and blade straight The great Artificer made my mate. Honor, anger, valor, fire, A love that life could never tire, Death quench, or evil stir. The mighty Master gave to her. Teacher, tender comrade, wife, A fellow-farer true through life, Heart-whole and soul-free, The August Father gave to me. Robert Louis Stevenson [1850-1894] The Voice 395 THE SHRINE There is a shrine whose golden gate Was opened by the Hand of God ; It stands serene, inviolate, Though millions have its pavement trod; As fresh, as when the first sunrise Awoke the lark in Paradise. 'Tis compassed with the dust and toil Of common days, yet should there fall A single speck, a single soil Upon the whiteness of its wall, The angels' tears in tender rain Would make the temple theirs again. ^Without, the world is tired and old, But, once within the enchanted door. The mists of time are backward rolled, And creeds and ages are no more; But all the human-hearted meet In one communion vast and sweet. I enter — all is simply fair. Nor incense-clouds, nor carven throne; But in the fragrant morning air A gentle lady sits alone; My mother — ah! whom should I see Within, save ever only thee? Dighy Mackiaorth Dolben [i 848-1867] THE VOICE As I went down the hill I heard The laughter of the countryside; For, rain being past, the whole land stirred .;■ With new emotion, like a bride. I scarce had left the grassy lane, When something made me catch my breath: A woman called, and called again, Elizabeth! Elizabeth! 396 Poems of Youth and Age It was my mother's name. A part Of wounded memory sprang to tears, And the few violets of my heart Shook in the wind of happier years. Quicker than magic came the face That once was sun and moon for me; The garden shawl, the cap of lace, The collie's head against her knee. Mother, who findest out a way To pass the sentinels, and stand Behind my chair at close of day, To touch me — almost — with thy hand, Deep in my breast, how sure, how clear, The lamp of love burns on till death! — How trembles if I chance to hear Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Norman Gale [1862- MOTHER I HAVE praised many loved ones in my song, And yet I stand Before her shrine, to whom all things belong, With empty hand. Perhaps the ripening future holds a time For things unsaid; Not now; men do not celebrate in rhyme Their daily bread. Theresa Helbitrn [18S8- AD MATREM Oft in the after days, when thou and I Have fallen from the scope of human view, When, both together, under the sweet sky, We sleep beneath the daisies and the dew. Men will recall thy gracious presence bland, Conning the pictured sweetness of thy face; Will pore o'er paintings by thy plastic hand. And vaunt thy skill and tell thy deeds of grace. Oh, may they then, who crown thee with true bays. Saying, "What love unto her son she bore!" C. L. M. 397 Make this addition to thy perfect praise, "Nor ever yet was mother worshipped more!" So shall I live with Thee, and thy dear fame Shall link my love unto thine honored name. Julian Fane [1827-1870] C. L. M. In the dark womb where I began. My mother's life made me a man. Through all the months of human birth Her beauty fed my common earth. I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir, .But through the death of some of her. Down in the darkness of the grave She cannot see the life she gave. For all her love, she cannot tell Whether I use it ill or w^ell, Nor knock at dusty doors to find Her beauty dusty in the mind. If the grave's gates could be undone, She would not know her little son, I am so grown. If we should meet, She would pass by me in the street, Unless my soul's face let her see My sense of what she did for me. What have I done to keep in mind My debt to her and womankind? WhdX woman's happier life repays Her for those months of wretched days? For all my mouthless body leeched Ere Birth's releasing hell was reached? What have I done, or tried, or said In thanks to that dear woman dead? Men triumph over women still, Men trample women's rights at will. And man's lust roves the world untamed. . . . O grave, keep shut lest I be shamed. John Masefield [1874- STEPPING WESTWARD STEPPING WESTWARD ^What, you are stepping westward?^' — "Yea." — 'Twould be a wildish destiny. If we, who thus together roam In a strange Land, and far from home, W^re in this place the guests of Chance: Yet who would stop, or fear to advance Though home or shelter he had none, With such a sky to lead him on? The dewy ground was dark and cold; Behind, all gloomy to behold; And stepping westward seemed to be A kind of heavenly destiny: I liked the greeting; 'twas a sound Of something without place or bound; And seemed to give me spiritual right To travel through that region bright. The voice was soft, and she who spake Was walking by her native lake: The salutation had to me The very sound of courtesy: Its power was felt; and while my eye Was fixed upon the glowing Sky, The echo of the voice enwrought A human sweetness with the thought Of travelling through the world that lay Before me in my endless way. William Wordsworth [1770-1850] 398 The World ^gg A FAREWELL TO ARMS (to queen Elizabeth) His golden locks Time hath to silver turned; O Time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing! His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned, But spurned in vain; youth waneth by increasing: Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen; Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green. His helmet now shall make a hive for bees; And lovers' sonnets turned to holy psalms, A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees, And feed on prayers, which are Age his alms: But though from court to cottage he depart. His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart. And when he saddest sits in homely cell. He'll teach his swains this carol for a song, — "Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well, Curst be the souls that think her any wrong." Goddess, allow this aged man his right To be your beadsman now that was your knight. George Peek [i558?-i597?] THE WORLD The World's a bubble, and the life of Man Less than a span: In his conception wretched, — from the womb, So to the tomb; Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years With cares and fears. Who then to frail mortahty shall trust. But limns on w^ater, or but writes in dust. Yet whilst with sorrow here we live oppressed, What Hfe is best? Courts are but only superficial schools To dandle fools; 400 Poems of Youth and Age The rural parts are turned into a den Of savage men; And where 's a city from foul vice so free, But may be termed the worst of all the three? Domestic cares afflict the husband 's bed, Or pains his head: Those that live single, take it for a curse. Or do things worse: Some would have children; those that have them moan Or wish them gone : What is it, then, to have, or have no wife, But single thraldom, or a double strife? Our own affections still at home to please Is a disease; To cross the seas to any foreign soil. Peril and toil; Wars with their noise affright us; when they cease, We are worse in peace: — What then remains, but that we still should cry For being born, or, being born, to die? Francis Bacon [i 561-1626] ''WHEN THAT I WAS AND A LITTLE TINY BOY" From " Twelfth Night " When that I was and a little tiny boy, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, A foolish thing was but a toy, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I came to man 's estate. With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, For the rain it raineth every day. But when I cam.e, alas! to wive. With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering could I never thrive, For the rain it raineth every day. A Lament 401 But when I came unto my beds, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, With toss-pots still had drunken heads; For the rain it raineth every day. A great while ago the world begun. With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, But that 's all one, our play is done. And we'll strive to please you every day. William Shakespeare [i 564-161 6] OF THE LAST VERSES IN THE BOOK When we for age could neither read nor write. The subject made us able to indite; The soul, with nobler resolutions decked, The body stooping does herself erect. No mortal parts are requisite to raise Her that, unbodied, can her Maker praise. The seas are quiet when the v/inds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more. For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness which age descries. The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, Lets in new light through chinks that Time has made: Stronger by weakness, wiser men become As they draw near to their eternal home. Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view That stand upon the threshold of the new. Edmund Waller [1606-1687I A LAMENT THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION My prime of youth is but a frost of cares; My feast of joy is but a dish of pain; My crop of corn is but a field of tares; And all my good is but vain hope of gain; 402 Poems of Youth and Age The day is fled, and yet I saw no sun; '— irH And now I live, and now my life is done! The spring is past, and yet it is not sprung; The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green; My youth is gone, and yet I am but young; I saw the world, and yet I was not seen; My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun; And now I live, and now my life is done! I sought my death, and found it in my womb; I looked for life, and saw it was a shade; I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb; And now I die, and now I am but made; The glass is full, and now my glass is run; And now I live, and now my life is done! Chidiock Tichborne [1558?- 158 6] TOMORROW -^' In the down-hill of life, when I find I'm declining, May my fate no less fortunate be Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for reclining. And a cot that o'erlooks the wide sea; With an ambhng pad-pony to pace o'er the lawn, While I carol away idle sorrow. And blithe as the lark that each day hails the dawn, Look forward with hope for Tomorrow. With a porch at my door, both for shelter and shade too, As the sunshine or rain may prevail, And a small spot of ground for the use of the spade too, With a barn for the use of the flail: A cow for my dairy, a dog for my game, And a purse when a friend wants to borrow; I'll envy no Nabob his riches or fame, Nor what honors may wait him Tomorrow. . From the bleak northern blast may my cot be completely Secured by a neighboring hiU; And at night may repose steal upon me more sweetly By the sound of a murmuring rill. Youth and Age 403 And while peace and plenty I find at my board, With a heart free from sickness and sorrow, With my friends may I share what Today may afford, And let them spread the table Tomorrow. And w^hen I at last must throw off this frail covering. Which I've worn for three-score years and ten, On the brink of the grave I'll not seek to keep hovering, Nor my thread wish to spin o'er again; But my face in the glass I'll serenely survey, And with smiles count each wrinkle and furrow; And this old worn-out stuff", which is threadbare Today, May become everlasting Tomorrow. John Collins [i742?-i8o8l LATE WISDOM We've trod the maze of error round. Long wandering in the winding glade; And now the torch of truth is found, It only shows us where we strayed: By long experience taught, we know — Can rightly judge of friends and foes; Can all the worth of these allow. And all the faults discern in those. Now, 'tis our boast that we can quell The wildest passions in their rage, Can their destructive force repel. And their imxpetuous wrath assuage. — Ah, Virtue! dost thou arm when now This bold rebellious race are fled? When all these tyrants rest, and thou Art warring with the mighty dead? George Crabbe [1754-183 2] YOUTH AND AGE Verse, a breeze 'mid blossoms straying, Where Hope clung feeding like a bee, — Both were mine! Life went a-maying With Nature, Hope, and Poesy When I w^as young! 404 Poems of Youth and Age When I was young? — Ah, woful When! Ah, for the change 'twixt Now and Then! ,b This breathing house not buih with hands, This body that does me grievous wrong, O'er aery diffs and ghttering sands. How Kghtly then it flashed along: — Like those trim skiffs, unknown of yore, On winding lakes and rivers wide. That ask no aid of sail or oar. That fear no spite of wind or tide ! Naught cared this body for wind or weather When Youth and I lived in't together. Flowers are lovely; Love is flower-like; Friendship is a sheltering tree; - Oh ! the joys that came down shower-like, Of Friendship, Love, and Liberty Ere I was old! Ere I was old? Ah, woful Ere, Which tells me, Youth's no longer here! Youth! for years so many and sweet, 'Tis known that Thou and I were one. I'll think it but a fond conceit — It cannot be that Thou art gone! Thy vesper-bell hath not yet tolled: — And thou wert aye a masker bold! What strange disguise hast now put on To make beHeve that thou art gone? 1 see these locks in silvery slips. This drooping gait, this altered size: But Springtide blossoms on thy lips. And tears take sunshine from thine eyes! Life is but thought : so think I will That Youth and I are house-mates still. Dewdrops are the gems of morning, But the tears of mournful eve! Where no hope is, hfe's a warning That only serves to make us grieve When we are old: The Old Man's Comforts 405 That only serves to make us grieve With oft and tedious taking-leave, Like some poor nigh-related guest, That may not rudely be dismissed, Yet hath outstayed his welcome while, And tells the jest without the smile. Samuel Taylor Coleridge [177 2-1 83 4I THE OLD MAN'S COMFORTS AND HOW HE GAINED THEM "You are old, Father William," the young man cried; "The few locks which are left you are gray; You are hale, Father WiUiam, — a hearty old man: Now tell me the reason, I pray." "In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I rem-embered that youth would fly fast. And abused not my health and my vigor at first, That I never might need them at last." "You are old. Father William," the young man cried, "And pleasures with youth pass away; And yet you lament not the days that are gone: Now tell me the reason, I pray." "In the days of my youth," Father William replied, "I remembered that youth could not last; I thought of the future, whatever I did. That I never might grieve for the past." "You are old, Father William," the young man cried, "And life must be hastening away; You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death : Now tell me the reason, I pray." "I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied; "Let the cause thy attention engage; In the days of my youth, I remembered my God, . And He hath not forgotten my age." Robert Southey [17 74-1 843] 4o6 Poems of Youth and Age TO AGE Welcome, old friend! These many years Have we lived door by door: The Fates have laid aside their shears Perhaps for some few more. I was indocile at an age When better boys were taught, But thou at length hast made me sage, If I am sage in aught. ■IB uoY^^ Little I know from other men, - jj^'p>> Too little they from me, r ^^^ ^^y But thou hast pointed well the pen That writes these lines to thee. Thanks for expelling Fear and Hope, One vile, the other vain; One's scourge, the other's telescope, I shall not see again: Rather what lies before my feet My notice shall engage.— ""t} ^"""^^^ He who hath braved Youth's dizzy heat Dreads not the frost of Age. Walter Savage Landor [17 75-1 864] LATE LEAVES The leaves are falling; so am I; The few late flowers have moisture in the eye; So have I too. Scarcely on any bough is heard Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird The whole wood through. Winter may come : he brings but nigher His circle (yearly narrowing) to the fire The River of Life 407 Where old friends meet. Let him; now heaven is overcast. And spring and summer both are past, And all things sweet. Walter Savage Landor [i 775-1864] YEARS Years, many parti-colored years, Some have crept on, and some have flown Since first before me fell those tears I never could see fall alone. Years, not so many, are to come, Years not so varied, when from you - 1 Gne more will fall: when, carried home, " 1 see it not, nor hear Adieu. , ., . ' , . , Walter Savage Zaw^/or '[1775-1864] THE RIVER OF LIFE The more we live, more brief appear : , Our life's succeeding stages: A day to childhood seems a year, And years lilie passing ages. The gladsome current of our youth, Ere passion yet disorders, Steals, lingering like a river smooth Along its grassy borders. But as the careworn cheek grows wan, And sorrow's shafts fly thicker, \ lyj Ye Stars, that measure life to man, Why seem your courses quicker? When joys have lost their bloom and breath, And life itself is vapid. Why, as we reach the Falls of Death, Feel we its tide more rapid? 4o8 Poems of Youth and Age It may be strange — yet who would change Time's course to slower speeding, When one by one our friends have gone And left our bosoms bleeding? Heaven gives our years of fading strength Indemnifying fleetness; And those of youth, a seeming length, Proportioned to their sweetness. Thomas Campbell [i 777-1844] "LONG TIME A CHILD" Long time a child, and still a child, when years Had painted manhood on my cheek, was I, — For yet I lived like" one not born to die; A thriftless prodigal of smiles and tears, No hope I needed, and I knew no fears. But sleep, though sweet, is only sleep; and waking, I waked to sleep no more; at once o'ertaking The vanguard of my age, with aU arrears Of duty on my back. Nor child, nor man, Nor youth, nor sage, I find my head is gray, For I have lost the race I never ran: A rathe December bhghts my lagging May; And still I am a child, though I be old: Time is my debtor for my years untold. Hartley Coleridge [i 796-1 849] THE WORLD I AM PASSING THROUGH Few, in the days of early youth, Trusted like me in love and truth. I've learned sad lessons from the years; But slowly, and with many tears; For God made me to kindly view The world that I w^as passing through. The World I Am Passing Through 409 How little did I once believe That friendly tones could e'er deceive! That kindness, and forbearance long, Might meet ingratitude and wrong! I could not help but kindly \dew The w^orld that I was passing through. And though I've learned some souls are base, I would not, therefore, hate the race; I still would bless my fellow men, And trust them, though deceived again. God help me still to kindly view The world that I am passing through! Through weary conflicts I have passed, And struggled into rest at last ; Such rest as when the rack has broke A joint, or nerve, at every stroke. The wish survives to kindly view The world that I am passing through. From all that fate has brought to me I strive to learn humihty, And trust in Him who rules above, Whose universal law is love. Thus only can I kindly view The world that I am passing through. When I approach the setting sun, And feel my journey nearly done, May earth be veiled in genial light. And her last smile to me seem bright! Help me till then to kindly view The world that I am passing through! And all who tempt a trusting heart From faith and hope to drift apart, — May they themselves be spared the pain Of losing power to trust again ! God help us all to kindly view The world that we are passing through! Lydia Maria Child [1802- 1880] 41 o Poems of Youth and Age r..^ 'fTO TERMINUS It is time to be old, To take in sail: — The god of bounds, Who sets to seas a shore, Came to me in his fatal rounds. And said: "No more! No farther shoot Thy broad ambitious branches, and thy root. Fancy departs: no more invent; Contract thy firmament To compass of a tent. There's not enough for this and that, Make thy option which of two; Economize the failing river. Not the less revere the Giver, Leave the many and hold the few. Timely wise accept the terms. Soften the fall with wary foot; A little while Still plan and smile, And, — fault of novel germs,— Mature the unfallen fruit. Curse, if thou wilt, thy sires. Bad husbands of their fires, Who, when they gave thee breath, Failed to bequeath The needful sinew stark as once, The Baresark marrow to thy bones. But left a legacy of ebbing veins. Inconstant heat and nerveless reins, — Amid the Muses, left thee deaf and dumb, Amid the Gladiators, halt and numb." As the bird trims her to the gale, I trim myself to the storm of time, I man the rudder, reef the sail, Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime: Rabbi Ben Ezra 411 "Lowly faithful, banish fear, j ion bnA Right onward drive unharmed ; '' The port, well worth the cruise, is near, And every wave is charmed," Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882] RABBI BEN EZRA Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, The last of Hfe, for which the first was made: Our times are in his hand Who saith "A whole I planned. Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!" Not that, amassing flowers. Youth sighed, "Which rose make ours, Which lily leave and then as best recall?" Not that, admiring stars. It yearned, "Nor Jove, nor Mars; Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them g|]i" / jriiqa 3?.ori// Not for such hopes and fears Annulling youth's brief years. Do I remonstrate: foUy wide the mark! Rather I prize the doubt Low kinds exist without. Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. Poor vaunt of Hfe indeed. Were man but formed to feed On joy, to solely seek and find and feast: Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men; Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast? Rejoice we are allied To that which doth provide 412 Poems of Youth and Age And not partake, effect and not receive! A spark disturbs our clod; Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of his tribes that take, I must beHeve. Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth's smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang; dare, never grudge the throe! For thence, — a paradox Which comforts while it mocks, — Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me: A brute I might have been, but would not sink i' the scale. What is he but a brute Whose flesh has soul to suit. Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? To man, propose this test — Thy body at its best. How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? Yet gifts should prove their use: I own the Past profuse Of power each side, perfection every turn: Eyes, ears took in their dole, Brain treasured up the whole: Should not the heart beat once "How good to live and learn"? Not once beat "Praise be thine! I see the whole design, I, who saw power, see now Love perfect too: Perfect I call thy plan : Thanks that I was a man! Maker, remake, complete, — I trust what thou shalt do!" Rabbi Ben Ezra 413 For pleasant is this flesh; 'iM^-v ' Our soul, in its rose-mesh Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest: Would we some prize might hold To match those manifold Possessions of the brute, — gain most, as we did best! Let us not always say, "Spite of this flesh to-day I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole!" As the bird wings and sings. Let us cry, "All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul!" Therefore I summon age To grant youth's heritage. Life's struggle having so far reached its term: Thence shall I pass, approved A man, for aye removed From the developed brute ; a God though in the germ. And I shall thereupon Take rest, ere I be gone Once more on my adventure brave and new: ~~ Fearless and unperplexed. When I wage battle next. What weapons to select, what armor to indue. Youth ended, I shall try My gain or loss thereby; Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold: And I shall weigh the same, Give life its praise or blame : Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old. For note, when evening shuts, A certain moment cuts The deed off, calls the glory from the gray: A whisper from the west Shoots — "Add this to the rest, Take it and try its worth: here dies another day." 414 Poems of Youth and Age So, still within this life, ro'f Though lifted o'er its strife, Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, "This rage was right i' the main, That acquiescence vain: The Future I may face now I have proved the Past." For more is not reserved To man, with soul just nerved To act to-morrow w^hat he learns to-day: Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool's true play. As it was better, youth Should strive, through acts uncouth, '*^^^'-^"^^^-^ Toward making, than repose on aught found made: So, better, age, exempt From strife, should know, than tempt Further. Thou waitedest age : wait death nor be afraid! Enough now, if the Right And Good and Infinite Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own, With knovv^ledge absolute, Subject to no dispute From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone. Be there, for once and all, Severed great minds from small, Announced to each his station in the Past! Was I, the world arraigned. Were they, my soul disdained. Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last! Now, who shall arbitrate? Ten men love what I hate, Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; Ten, who in ears and eyes Match me: we all surmise, They this thing, and I that : whom shall my soul believe? ]3§/i Rabbi Ben Ezra 415 Not on the vulgar mass Called "work," must sentence pass, Things done, that took the eye and had the price; O'er which, from level stand, The low world laid its hand, Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice: But all, the world's coarse thumb And finger failed to plumb, So passed in making up the main account; All instincts immature, All purposes unsure, That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man's amount: Thoughts hardly to be packed Into a narrow act. Fancies that broke through language and escaped; All I could never be, All, men ignored in me. This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. Ay, note that Potter's wheel. That metaphor! and feel Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay, — Thou, to whom fools propound, When the wine makes its round, '' Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day! " Fool! AU that is, at all, Lasts ever, past recall; Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure: What entered into thee. That was, is, and shall be: Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure. He fixed thee 'mid this dance Of plastic circumstance, This Present, thou, forsooth, would fain arrest: Machinery just meant To give thy soul its bent. Try thee and turn thee forth, sufiiciently impressed. 41 6 Poems of Youth and Age What though the earher grooves Which ran the laughing loves Around thy base, no longer pause and press? What though, about thy rim, Scull-things in order grim Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress? Look not thou down but up! To uses of a cup. The festal board, lamp's flash and trumpet's peal, The new wine's foaming flow. The Master's lips a-glow! Thou, heaven's consummate cup, what needest thou with earth's wheel? But I need, now as then. Thee, God, who mouldest men; And since, not even while the whirl was worst, Did I, — to the wheel of life With shapes and colors rife. Bound dizzily, — mistake my end, to slake thy thirst: So, take and use thy work: Amend what flaws may lurk, What strain o' the stuff, what warpings past the aim! My times be in thy hand! Perfect the cup as planned ! Let age approve of youth, and death complete the same! Robert Browning [i 812-1889] HUMAN LIFE Sad is our youth , for it is ever going. Crumbling away beneath our very feet; Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing, In current unperceived because so fleet; Sad are our hopes for they were sweet in sowing, But tares, self-sown, have overtopped the wheat; Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in blowing; And still, O still, their dying breath is sweet: The Isle of the Long Ago ^ly And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft us Of that which made our childhood sweeter still; And sweet our life's decline, for it hath left us A nearer Good to cure an older 111: And sweet are all things, when we learn to prize them Not for their sake, but His who grants them or denies them. Aubrey Thomas de Vere [i 814-1902] YOUNG AND OLD From " The Water Babies " When all the world is young, lad, And all the trees are green; And every goose a swan, lad, And every lass a queen; Then hey for boot and horse, lad, And round the world away; Young blood must have its course, lad, And every dog his day. When all the world is old, lad, And all the trees are brown; And all the sport is stale, lad. And all the wheels run down: Creep home, and take your place there, The spent and maimed among: God grant you find one face there You loved when all was young. Charles Kingsley [18 19-1875] THE ISLE OF THE LONG AGO O! A wonderful stream is the River Time, As it runs through the realm of tears, With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme, And a broader sweep and a surge sublime. As it blends with the Ocean of Years. 41 8 Poems of Youth and Age How the winters are drifting, like flakes of snow, And the summers, Uke buds between, And the year in the sheaf — so they come and they go, On the river's breast, with its ebb and its flow^. As it ghdes in the shadow and sheen. There's a magical isle up the River Time, Where the softest of airs are playing; There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime. And a song as sweet as a vesper chime, And the Junes with the roses are straying. And the name of the isle is the Long Ago, And we bury our treasures there; There are brows of beauty, and bosoms of snow; There are heaps of dust — but we loved them so! There are trinkets, and tresses of hair. There are fragments of song that nobody sings. And a part of an infant's prayer; There's a lute unswept, and a harp without strings; ' There are broken vows, and pieces of rings. And the garments that She used to wear; There are hands that are waved, when the fairy shore By the mirage is lifted in air; And we sometimes hear, through the turbulent roar, Sweet voices we heard in the days gone before. When the wind down the river is fair. ! remembered for aye be the blessed isle, All the day of our life till night; When the evening comes with its beautiful smile, And our eyes are closing to slumber awhile. May that "Greenwood" of Soul be in sight! B enjamin Franklin Taylor [1819-1887] GROWING OLD What is it to grow old? Is it to lose the glory of the form, The lustre of the eye? Growing Old 419 Is it for beauty to forego her wealth? — Yes, but not this alone. Is it to feel our strength — Not our bloom only, but our strength — decay? Is it to feel each limb Grow stiffer, every function less exact, Each nerve more loosely strung? Yes, this, and more; but not — . '^ . .' Ah, 'tis not what in youth we dreamed twoiJd be! 'Tis not to have our Hfe .^, Mellowed and softened as with sunset glow, A golden day's decline. 'Tis not to see the world As from a height, \\dth rapt prophetic eyes, And heart profoundly stirred; And weep, and feel the fulness of the past, The years that are no more. 'oti It is to spend long days And not once feel that we were ever young; It is to add, immured In the hot prison of the present, month *'" '" To month Y\dth weary pain. It is to suffer this, And feel but half, and feebly, what we feel. Deep in our hidden heart Festers the dull remembrance of a change, But no emotion — none. It is! — ^last stage of all — When we are frozen up within, and quite The phantom of ourselves. To hear the world applaud the hollow ghost Which blessed the Hving man. Matthew ^r;w^^{i822-i888] 420 Poems of Youth and Age PAST The clocks are chiming in my heart Their cobweb chime; Old murmurings of- days that die, The sob of things a-drifting by. The clocks are chiming in my heart ! The stars have twinkled, and gone out — Fair candles blown! The hot desires burn low, and wan Those ashy fires, that flamed anon. The stars have twinkled, and gone out! John Galsworthy [1867- TWILIGHT When I was young the twilight seemed too long. How often on the western window-seat I leaned my book against the misty pane And spelled the last enchanting lines again. The while my mother hummed an ancient song. Or sighed a little and said: "The hour is sweet!" When I, rebellious, clamored for the light. But now I love the soft approach of night, And now with folded hands I sit and dream While all too fleet the hours of twilight seem; And thus I know that I am growing old. O granaries of Age! O manifold And royal harvest of the common years! There are in all thy treasure-house no ways But lead by soft descent and gradual slope To memories more exquisite than hope. Thine is the Iris born of olden tears, And thrice more happy are the happy days That live divinely in the lingering rays. A. Mary F. Robinson [1857- Forty Years On 421 YOUTH AND AGE Youth hath many charms, — Hath many joys, and much deHght; Even its doubts, and vague alarms. By contrast make it bright : And yet — and yet— forsooth, I love Age as well as Youth! Well, since I love them both. The good of both I will combine, — ■ In women, I will look for Youth, And look for Age, in wine: And then — and then — I '11 bless This twain that gives me happiness ! George Arnold [i 834-1865] FORTY YEARS ON Forty years on, when afar and asunder Parted are those who are singing today, When you look back, and forgetfully wonder What you were like in your work and your play; Then, it may be, there will often come o 'er you GUmpses of notes like the catch of a song — Visions of boyhood shall float them before you, Echoes of dreamland shall bear them along. Follow up! Follow up! Follow up! Follow up! Till the field ring again and again. With the tramp of the twenty-two men. Follow up 1 Follow up ! Routs and discomfitures, rushes and rallies, Bases attempted, and res-^-ued, and won. Strife without anger, and art without malice, — How will it seem to you forty years on? 42 2 Poems of Youth and Age Then, you will say, not a feverish minute Strained the weak heart, and the wavering knee, Never the battle raged hottest, but in it Neither the last nor the faintest were we! Follow up! Follow up! O the great days, in the distance enchanted, Days of fresh air, in the rain and the sun, How we rejoiced as we struggled and panted — Hardly believable, forty years on ! How we discoursed of them, one with another, Auguring triumph, or balancing fate, Loved the ally with the heart of a brother, Hated the foe with a playing at hate! Follow up! Follow up! Forty years on, growing older and older, Shorter in wind, and in memory long. Feeble of foot and rheumatic of shoulder, What will it help you that once you were strong? God gives us bases to guard or beleaguer. Games to play out, whether earnest or fun. Fights for the fearless, and goals for the eager. Twenty, and thirty, and forty years on! Follow up! Follow up! Edward Ernest Bowen [1836-1901] DREGS The fire is out, and spent the warmth thereof, (This is the end of every song man sings!) The golden wine is drunk, the dregs remain, Bitter as wormwood and as salt as pain; And health and hope have gone the way of love Into the drear oblivion of lost things. Ghosts go along with us until the end; This was a mistress, this, perhaps, a friend. With pale, indifferent eyes, we sit and wait For the dropped curtain and the closing gate: This is the end of all the songs man sings. Ernest Dow son [186 7- 1900] The Paradox of Time 423 THE PARADOX OF TIME A VARIATION ON RONSARD " Le temps s'en va, le temps s'en va, ma dame! Las! le temps non: mais nous nous en allons!" Time goes, you say? Ah no! Alas. Time stays, we go; Or else, were this not so, What need to chain the hours. For Youth were always ours? Time goes, you say? — ah no! Ours is the eyes' deceit Of men whose flying feet Lead through some landscape low; We pass, and think we see The earth's fixed surface flee: — '■ • Alas, Time stays — ^we go! Once in the days of old. Your locks were curling gold, And mine had shamed the crow. Now, in the self-same stage, We've reached the silver age; Time goes, you say? — ah no! Once, when my voice was strong, I filled the woods with song To praise your " rose" and ''snow'*; My bird, that sang, is dead; Where are your roses fled? Alas, Time stays — we go ! See, in what traversed ways, What backward Fate delays The hopes we used to know; Where are our old desires? — Ah, where those vanished fires? Time goes, you say? — ah no! 424 Poems of Youth and Age How far, how far, O Sweet, The past behind our feet Lies in the even-glow! Now, on the forward way, Let us fold hands, and pray; Alas, Time stays, — we go ! Austin Dohson [1840- AGE Snow and stars, the same as ever In the days when I was young, — • But their silver song, ah never, Never now is sung! Cold the stars are, cold the earth is, Everything is grim and cold! Strange and drear the sound of mirth is — Life and I are old! William Winter [183 6-19 17] OMNIA SOMNIA Dawn drives the dreams away, yet some abide. Once, in a tide of pale and sunless weather, I dreamed I wandered on a bare hillside, When suddenly the birds sang all together. Still it was Winter, even in the dream; There was no leaf nor bud nor young grass springing; The skies shone cold above the frost-bound stream: It was not Spring, and yet the birds were singing. Blackbird and thrush and plaintive willow-wren, Chaffinch and lark and hnnet, all were calling; A golden web of music held me then, Innumerable voices, rising, falling. O, never do the birds of April sing More sweet than in that dream I stiU remember: Perchance the heart may keep its songs of Spring Even through the wintry dream of life's December. Rosamund Marriott Watson [i 863-191 il An Old Man's Song 425 THE YEAR'S END Full happy is the man who comes at last Into the safe completion of his year; Weathered the perils of his spring, that blast How many blossoms promising and dear! And of his summer, with dread passions fraught That oft, like fire through the ripening corn, Blight all with mocking death and leave distraught Loved ones to mourn the ruined waste forlorn. But now, though autumn gave but harvest slight, Oh, grateful is he to the powers above For winter's sunshine, and the lengthened night By hearth-side genial with the warmth of love. Through silvered days of vistas gold and green Contentedly he glides away, serene. Timothy Cole [1852- AN OLD MAN'S SONG Ye are young, ye are young, I am old, I am old; And the song has been sung And the story been told. Your locks are as brown As the mavis in May, Your hearts are as warm As the sunshine to-day. But mine white and cold As the snow on the brae. And Love, like a flower. Is growing for you, Hands clasping, lips meetings Hearts beating so true; While Fame like a star In the midnight afar Is flashing for you. 426 Poems of Youth and Age For you the To-come, But for me the Gone-by, You are panting to hve, I am waiting to die; The meadow is empty, No flower groweth high, And naught but a socket The face of the sky. Yea, howso we dream. Or how bravely we do; The end is the same. Be we traitor or true: And after the bloom And the passion is past, Death cometh at last. Richard Le Gallienne [1866- SONGS OF SEVEN SEVEN TIMES ONE. — EXULTATION There's no dew left on the daisies and clover, There's no rain left in heaven; I've said my "seven times" over and over, Seven times one are seven. I am old, so old, I can write a letter; My birthday lessons are done; The lambs play always, they know no better; They are only one times one. moon! in the night I have seen you sailing And shining so round and low; You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing,- _You are nothing now but a bow. You moon, have you done something wrong in heaven That God has hidden your face? 1 hope if you have, you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. i Songs of Seven 427 O velvet bee, you're a dusty fellow, You've powdered your legs with gold! O brave marsh marybuds, rich and yellow, Give me your money to hold! O columbine, open your folded wrapper. Where two twin turtle-doves dwell? cuckoopint, toll me the purple clapper . That hangs in your clear green bell! And show me your nest with the young ones in it; I will not steal them away; 1 am old! you may trust me, Hrmet, linnet, — I am seven times one to-day. SEVEN TIMES TWO. — ROMANCE You bells in the steeple, ring, ring out your changes. How many soever they be. And let the brown meadow-lark's note as he ranges Come over, come over to me. Yet birds' clearest carol by fall or by swelling No magical sense conveys. And bells have forgotten their old art of telling The fortune of future days "Turn again, turn again," once they rang cheerily, While a boy listened alone; Made his heart yearn again, musing so wearily All by himself on a stone. Poor bells! I forgive you; your good days are over. And mine, they are yet to be; No listening, no longing shall aught, aught discover: You leave the story to me. The foxglove shoots out of the green matted heather Preparing her hoods of snow; She was idle, and slept till the sunshiny weather: Oh! children take long to grow. 428 Poems of Youth and Age I wish and I wish that the spring would go faster, Nor long summer bide so late; And I could grow on like the foxglove and aster, For some things are ill to wait. I wait for the day when dear hearts shall discover, While dear hands are laid on my head; "The child is a woman, the book may close over, For all the lessons are said." I wait for my story, — the birds cannot sing it. Not one, as he sits on the tree; The bells cannot ring it, but long years, oh, bring it! Such as I wish it to be. SEVEN TIMES THREE. — LOVE I LEANED out of wiudow, I smelt the white clover, Dark, dark was the garden, I saw not the gate; ''Now, if there be footsteps, he comes, my one lover, — Hush, nightingale, hush! O sweet nightingale, wait Till I listen and hear If a step draweth near, For my love he is late ! "The skies in the darkness stoop nearer and nearer, A cluster of stars hangs like fruit in the tree. The fall of the water comes sweeter, comes clearer: To what art thou listening, and what dost thou see? Let the star-clusters grow, Let the sweet waters flow, And cross quickly to me. "You night-moths that hover, where honey brims over From sycamore blossoms, or settle or sleep; You glowworms, shine out, and the pathway discover To him that comes darkhng along the rough steep. Ah, my sailor, make haste, For the time runs to waste, And my love heth deep, — Songs of Seven 429 ''Too deep for swift telling; and yet, my one lover, I've conned thee an answer, it waits thee to-night." By the sycamore passed he, and through the white clover. Then all the sweet speech I had fashioned took flight; But I'll love him more, more Than e'er wife loved before. Be the days dark or bright. SEVEN TIMES FOUR. — MATERNITY Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups ! Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall I When the wind wakes how they rock in the grasses, And dance with the cuckoo-buds slender and small! Here's two bonny boys, and here's mother's own lasses, Eager to gather them all. Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups; Mother shall thread them a daisy chain; Sing them a song of the pretty hedge-sparrow. That loved her brown little ones, loved them full fain; Sing, "Heart, thou art wide though the house be but nar- row," — Sing once, and sing it again. Heigh-ho! daisies and buttercups! Sweet wagging cowsHps, they bend and they bow; A ship sails afar over warm ocean waters, And haply one musing doth stand at her prow. O bonny brown sons, and sweet little daughters, Maybe he thinks of you now. Heigh-ho ! daisies and buttercups ! Fair yellow daffodils, stately and tall! A sunshiny world full of laughter and leisure, And fresh hearts unconscious of sorrow and thrall! Send down on their pleasure smiles passing its measure, God that is over us all! 43 o Poems of Youth and Age SEVEN TIMES EIVE. — WIDO^^TIOOD I SLEEP and rest, my heart makes moan Before I am well awake; "Let me bleed! O let me alone, Since I must not break!" For children wake, though fathers sleep With a stone at foot and at head: sleepless God, forever keep. Keep both Hving and dead! 1 lift mine eyes, and what to see But a world happy and fair! I have not wished it to mourn with me,— = ComJort is not there. Oh, what anear but golden brooms, But a waste of reedy rills! Oh, what afar but the fine glooms On the rare blue hills ! I shall not die, but live forlore, — How bitter it is to part ! Oh, to meet thee, my love, once more! my heart, my heart! No more to hear, no more to see! Oh, that an echo might wake And waft one note of thy psalm to me Ere my heart-strings break ! I should know it how faint soe'er, And with angel voices blent ; Oh, once to feel thy spirit anear; 1 could be content! Or once between the gates of gold, While an entering angel trod, But once, — thee sitting to behold On the hills of God! ii Songs of Seven 4^ i SEVEN TIMES SIX. — GIVING IN MARRIAGE To bear, to nurse, to rear, To watch, and then to lose: To see my bright ones disappear, Drawn up hke morning dews, — To bear, to nurse, to rear, To watch and then to lose : This have I done when God drew near Among his own to choose. To hear, to heed, to wed, And with thy lord depart In tears, that he, as soon as shed, Will let no longer smart, — To hear, to heed, to wed. This while thou didst I smiled, For now it was not God who said, "Mother, give me thy child." fond, O fool, and blind! To God I gave with tears; But when a man like grace would find, My soul put by her fears, — O fond, O fool, and blind! God guards in happier spheres'; That man will guard where he did bind Is hope for unknown years. To hear, to heed, to wed, Fair lot that maidens choose, Th}'- mother's tenderest words are said, Thy face no more she views; Thy mother's lot, my dear, She doth in naught accuse; Her lot to bear, to nurse, to rear. To love, — and then to lose. SEVEN TIMES SEVEN. — LONGING EOR HOME A SONG of a boat : — There was once a boat on a billow : Lightly she rocked to her port remote, 43 2 Poems of Youth and Age And the foam was white in her wake like snow, And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow, And bent like a wand of willow. I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat Went curtsying over the billow, I marked her course till a dancing mote, She faded out on the moonlit foam, And I stayed behind in the dear-loved home; And my thoughts all day were about the boat, And my dreams upon the pillow. I pray you hear my song of a boat For it is but short : — My boat you shall find none fairer afloat, In river or port. Long I looked out for the lad she bore, On the open desolate sea, And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore, For he came not back to me — Ah me! A song of a nest: — There was once a nest in a hollow : Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed, Soft and warm and full to the brim — Vetches leaned over it purple, and dim. With buttercup buds to follow. I pray you hear my song of a nest. For it is not long: — You shall never light in a summer quest The bushes among — Shall never hght on a prouder sitter, A fairer nestful, nor ever know A softer sound than their tender twitter. That wind-like did come and go. I had a nestful once of my own, Ah, happy, happy I! Right dearly I loved them; but when they were grown They spread out their wings to fly — Songs of Seven 433 Oh, one after one they flew away- Far up to the heavenly blue, To the better country, the upper day. And — I wish I was going too. I pray you what is the nest to me, My empty nest? And what is the shore w^here I stood to see My boat sail down to the west? Can I call that home where I anchor yet, Though my good man has sailed? Can I call that home where my nest was set, Now all its hope hath failed? Nay, but the port where my sailor went. And the land where my nestlings be: There is the home where my thoughts are sent, The only home for me — Ah me! Jean Ingelow [1820-189 7] LOOKING BACKWARD THE RETREAT Happy those early days, when I Shined in my Angel-infancy! Before I understood this place Appointed for my second race, Or taught my soul to fancy aught But a white, celestial thought; When yet I had not walked above A mile or two from my first Love, And looking back, at that short space Could see a glimpse of His bright face; When on some gilded cloud or flower My gazing soul would dwell an hour. And in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity; Before I taught my tongue to wound My Conscience with a sinful sound, Or had the black art to dispense A several sin to every sense; But felt through all this fleshly dress Bright shoots of everlastingness. O how I long to travel back. And tread again that ancient track! That I might once more reach that plain Where first I left my glorious train; From whence the enlightened spirit sees That shady City of Palm-trees. But ah! my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and staggers in the way! Some men a forward motion love, But I by backward steps would move; And, when this dust falls to the urn. In that state I came, return. Henry Vaughan [1622-1695I 434 Castles in the Air A SUPERSCRIPTION 435 Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been; I am also called No-more, Too-late, Farewell; Unto thine ear I hold the dead-sea shell Cast up thy Life's foam-fretted feet between; Unto thine eyes the glass where that is seen Which had Life's form and Love's, but by my spell Is now a shaken shadow intolerable, Of ultimate things unuttered the frail screen, Mark me, how still I am! But should there dart One moment through thy soul the soft surprise Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs,- Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart Sleepless with cold commem.orative eyes. Dante Gabriel Rossetti [1828-188 2] THE CHILD IN THE GARDEN When to the garden of untroubled thought I came of late, and saw the open door, And wished again to enter, and explore The sweet, wild ways with stainless bloom inwrought, And bowers of innocence with beauty fraught. It seemed some purer voice must speak before I dared to tread that garden loved of yore, , That Eden lost unknown and found unsought. Then just within the gate I saw a child, — A stranger-child, yet to my heart most dear, — Who held his hands to me and softly smiled With eyes that knew no shade of sin or fear; "Come in," he said, "and play awhile with me; I am the little child you used to be." Henry Van Dyke [1852- CASTLES IN THE AIR My thoughts by night are often filled With visions false as fair: For in the Past alone I build My castles in the air. 436 Poems of Youth and Age I dwell not now on Vv-hat may be; Night shadows o'er the scene; But still my fancy wanders free Through that which might have been. Thomas Love Peacock [i 785-1866] SOMETIMES Across the fields of yesterday He sometimes comes to me, A little lad just back froin play — The lad I used to be. And yet he smiles so wistfully Once he has crept within, I wonder if he hopes to see The man I might have been, Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [1882- THE LITTLE GHOSTS Where are they gone, and do you know If they come back at fall o' dew. The Httle ghosts of long ago, That long ago were you? And all the songs that ne 'er were sung, And all the dreams that ne'er came true," Like httle children dying young — Do they come back to you? Thomas S. Jones, Jr. [18S2- MY OTHER ME Children, do you ever. In walks by land or sea, Meet a Uttle maiden Long time lost to me? She is gay and gladsome. Has a laughing face, And a heart as sunny; And her name is Graces :■" A Shadow Boat 437 Naught she knows of sorrow, Naught of doubt or bhght; Heaven is just above her — All her thoughts are white. Long time since I lost her, That other Me of mine; She crossed, into Time's shadow Out of Youth's sunshine. Now the darkness keeps her; And, call her as I will. The years that lie between us Hide her from me still. I am dull and pain-worn. And lonely as can be — Oh, children, if you meet her, Send back my other Me! Grace Denio Litchfield [1849- A SHADOW BOAT Under my keel another boat Sails as I sail, floats as I float; .-j- Silent and dim and mystic still. It steals through that weird nether-world^ Mocking my powTr, though at my wiU The foam before its prow is curled, Or calm it lies, with canvas furled. Vainly I peer, and fain would see What phantom in that boat may be; Yet half I dread, lest I with ruth Some ghost of my dead past divine, Some gracious shape of my lost youth. Whose deathless eyes once fixed on mine Would draw me downward through the brine! Arlo Bates [1850- 438 Poems of Youth and Age A LAD THAT IS GONE Sing me a song of a lad that is gone; Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. Mull was astern, Rum on the port, Eigg on the starboard bow; Glory of youth glowed in his soul: Where is that glory now? Sing me a song of a lad that is gone; Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. Give me again all that was there, Give me the sun that shone! ■ ■ Give me the eyes, give me the soul, Give me the lad that's gone! Sing me a song of a lad that is gone; Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. Billow and breeze, islands and seas, Mountains of rain and sun, ■ ; '*• All that was good, all that was fair, All that was me is gone. Robert Louis Stevenson [i 850-1 894I CARGASSONNE * "I'm growing old, I've sixty years; ;-/ I've labored all my hfe in vain. ^ In all that time of hopes and fears, ■■r.P. I've failed my dearest wish to gain. * For the original of this poem see page 3844. Carcassonne 439 I see full well that here below mry,-; r-.? Bliss unalloyed there is for none; My prayer would else fulfilment know — Never have I seen Carcassonne! *' You see the city from the hill, It lies beyond the mountains blue; And yet to reach it one must still Five long and weary leagues pursue, And, to return, as many more. Had but the vintage plenteous grown— But, ah! the grape withheld its store. I shall not look on Carcassonne! "They tell me every day is there Not more or less than Sunday gay; In shining robes and garments fair The people walk upon their way. One gazes there on castle walls As grand as those of Babylon, A bishop and two generals ! What joy to dwell in Carcassonne! "The vicar's right: he says that we Are ever wayward, weak, and blind; He tells us in his homily Ambition ruins all mankind; Yet could I there two days have spent, While still the autumn sweetly shone, Ah, me! I might have died content ilgii bniWhen I had looked on Carcassonnc^^jj axioIA "Thy pardon, Father, I beseech, In this my prayer if I offend; j,j One something sees beyond his reach -fc-j? From childhood to his journey 's end. My wife, our little boy, Aignan, ,^ , (, f^. Have travelled even to Narbonne ; , ^ ^null My grandchild has seen Perpignan; : ^ toiaoi bri/ And I — have not seen Carcassonne!" -^rfrr 440 Poems of Youth and Age So crooned, one day, close by Limoux, A peasant, double-bent with age. "Rise up, my friend," said I; "with you I'll go upon this pilgrimage." We left, next morning, his abode, But (Heaven forgive him!) half-way on The old man died upon the road. He never gazed on Carcassonne. Tra?islated by John R. Thompson from the French of Guslave Nadaud [1820- ? ] CHILDHOOD Old Sorrow I shall meet again, And Joy, perchance — but never, never, Happy Childhood, shall we twain See each other's face forever! And yet I would not call thee back, Dear Childhood, lest the sight of me, Thine old companion, on the rack Of Age, should sadden even thee. John Banister Tabb [1845-1909] lyj-'i'/ u''' I T^V3 ai/i THE WASTREL fbj ^h Once, when I was little, as the summer nigllf was falling, Among the purple upland fields I lost my barefoot way; The road to home was hidden fast, and frightful shadows, crawling Along the sky-line, swallowed up the last kind light of day; And then I seemed to hear you In the twilight, and be near you; Seemed to hear your dear voice calling — Through the meadows, calling, calling — • And I followed and I found you, Flung my tired arms around you. And rested on the mother-breast, returned, tired out from play. ^■[ Troia Fuit 441 Down the days from that day, though^ I t;:od strange paths unheeding, '^laYoI Jg-r Though I chased the jack-o'-lanterns of so many mad- dened years, Though I never looked behind me, where the home-hghts were receding. Though I never looked enough ahead to ken the Inn of Fears; - .^.i^i •. Still I knew your heart was near me,^ ■^^^- - That your ear was strained to hear me, That your love would need no pleading To forgive me, but was pleading Of its self that, in disaster, I should run to you the faster And be sure that I was dearer for your sacrifice of tears. Now on life 's last Summertime the long last dusk is falling. And I, who trod one way so long, can tread no other way Until at death's dim crossroads I watch, hesitant, the crawling Night-passages that maze me with the ultimate dismay. Then when Death and Doubt shall blind me — Even then-^I know you'll find me: ,,j I shall hear you, Mother, calling — Hear you calling — calling — calling : I shall fight and follow — find you Though the grave-clothes swathe and bind you. And I know your love will answer: "Here's my laddie home from play!" Reginald Wright Katiffman [1877- TROIA FUIT The world was wide when I was young, My schoolday hills and dales among; But, oh, it needs no Puck to put, j, With whipping wing and flying footf A girdle 'round the narrow sphere ?/ In which I labor now and here ! 44^ Poems of Youth and Age -: Life's face was fair when careless I :>iU nv/oCI First loved beneath an April sky, u nAi&q -b^a xr j^^^ wept those fine-imagined woes I rf§uor{T That Youth at nineteen thinks it knows j 'lob aid^d-si'-^Q^ love and woe both run so deep ^suodT I have not any time to weep. to f'fll '. No matter; though at last we see That what was could not always be, It girds our loins and steels our hands In duller days and smaller lands To recollect the country where The world was ^\dde and life was fair. Reginald Wright Kaufman [1877- TEMPLE GARLANDS ..^ . ,.:s ' There is a temple in my heart yii7/ isrfjo 0/1 Where moth or rust can never come, A temple swept and set apart, To make my soul a home. '^' . ' And round about the doors of it Gq-JrfgiZ Hang garlands that forever last, ' ^^^^T That gathered once are always sweei^^^''^^ The roses of the Past! ^*"^ "^^^^ ^^^ I 'A. Mary F. Robinson [1857-1 bsH TIME LONG PAST Like the ghost of a dear friend dead Is Time long past. A tone which is now forever fled, A hope which is now forever past, A love so sweet it could not last. Was Time long past. There were sweet dreams in the night Of Time long past : And, was it sadness or delight, Each day a shadow onward cast Which made us wish it yet might last, — That Time long past. 1 Remember, I Remember " 443 There is regret, almost remorse, For Time long past. 'Tis like a child's beloved corse /i" A father watches, till at last "'' Beauty is like remembrance, cast From Time long past. Fercy Bysshe Shelley [179 2-1 82 2] "I REMEMBER, I REMEMBER" I REMEMBER, I remember ^iq sriT The house where I was born, huA The little window where the sun Came peeping in at morn; He never came a wink too soon Nor brought too long a day; jdi bfiA But now, I often wish the night Had borne my breath away. I remember, I remember :'i' The roses, red and white, lA The violets, and the lily-cups — Those flowers made of hght! (/. The lilacs where the robin built, And where my brother set The laburnum on his birthday, — ; t. The tree is hving yet ! -i'j£ii-ji I I remember, I remember biu•^ Where I was used to swing, And thought the air must rush as fresh To swallows on the wing; My spirit flew in feathers then ;A That is so heavy now, T The summer pools could hardly cool The fever on my brow. : rigjjoiu grtt j-jha I remember, I remember ^: ladmamai T The fir-trees dark and high; -^ srfj hr\k I used to think their slender tops ' T Were close against the sky: 1 444 Poems of Youth and Age It was a childish ignorance, But now 'tis httle joy To know I'm farther off from Heaven Than when I was a boy. Thomas Hood [1799-184$] Ui? MY LOST YOUTH Often I think of the beautiful town That is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear old town, And my youth comes back to me. And a verse of a Lapland song Is haunting my memory still: "A boy's wdll is the v/ind's will. And the thoughts of youth, are long, long thoughts." I can see the shadowy Hnes of its trees, And catch, in sudden gleams. The sheen of the far-surrounding seas, And islands that were the Hesperides Of aU my boyish dreams. And the burden of that old song. It murmurs and whispers still: "A boy's will is the wind's will. And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the black wharves and the slips, And the sea- tides tossing free; And Spanish sailors with bearded lips, And the beauty and mystery of the ships, And the magic of the sea. And the voice of that wayward song Is singing and saying still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the bulwarks by the shore. And the fort upon the hill ; The sunrise gun, with its hollow roar, The drum-beat repeated o'er and o'er, ^ ; , .,/ i My Lost Youth 445 And the bugle wild and shrill. And the music of that old song Throbs in my memory still : "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.'' I remember the sea-fight far away, How it thundered o'er the tide! And the dead captains, as they lay In their graves, o'erlooking the tranquil bay Where they in battle died. •" * And the sound of that mournful song Goes through me with a thrill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts^'' .[■ji I can see the breezy dome of groves, The shadows of Deering's Woods; limA vTTT And the friendships old and the early loves Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves In quiet neighborhoods. And the verse of that sweet old song, It flutters and murmurs still: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." I remember the gleams and glooms that dart Across the school-boy's brain; The song and the silence in the heart. That in part are prophecies, and in part Are longings wild and vain. And the voice of that fitful song Sings on, and is never still: "A boy's will is the wind's will. And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." There are things of which I may not speak; There are dreams that cannot die; There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak, And bring a pallor into the cheek, : - > i. // 44^ Poems of Youth and Age And a mist before the eye. , jiy ju auj uujt^ And the words of that fatal son^'sam ')fft baA Come over me Hke a chill: "A boy's will is the wind's will, And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts " Strange to me are the forms I meet When I visit the dear old town; . But the native air is pure and sweet, j, : / And the trees that o'ershadow each well-known street* As they balance up and down, Are singing the beautiful song. Are sighing and whispering still: ",^ "A boy's will is the wind's will. And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." , And Deering's Woods are fresh and fair, And with joy that is almost pain -itj j-jc: i>i; > My heart goes back to wander there, obnde odf And among the dreams of the days that were 3ffl bnA I find my lost youth again. f ■^■mcO And the strange and beautiful song. The groves are repeating it still: jiil ijiii. "A boy's will is the wind's will, "^*1"^* lJ And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts." Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807- 1882] "VOICE OF THE WESTERN WINDyai.i I Voice of the western wind! ;aoTjA Thou singest from afar, -^^^^ srfT Rich with the music of a land Where all my memories are; But in thy song I only hear ' '"^* The echo of a tone - '■' That fell divinely on my ear -JdSiJOiir j^ ^^yg forever flown.^^ c^iigiJa£iJ^.^.bflA Star of the western sky! . ggnirfi siu siedT Thou beamest from afar, ■ -r 0-/^ oiarlT With lustre caught from eyes I knewu oisilT Whose orbs were each a star; , £ gniid bnA The Shoogy-Shoo 447 But, oh, those orbs— too wildly bright — No more eclipse thine own. And never shall I find the light Of days forever flown! Edmund Clarence Stedman [183 3- 1908] "LANGSYNE, WHEN LIFE WAS BONNIE" Langs YNE, when life was bonnie, An' a' the skies were blue. When Uka thocht took blossom, An' hung its heid wi' dew, When winter wasna winter, Though snaws cam' happin' doonp ^^^ssn Langsyne, when life was bonnie, Spring gaed a twalmonth roun'. .'Or \U0\ iijl. :fr^h rftr SlOl'JL^ i'3W dk {m IIA Langsyne, when life was bonnie, An' a' the days were lang; When through them ran the music That comes to us in sang. We never wearied liltin' The auld love-laden tune; Langsyne, when life was bonnie, Love gaed a twalmonth roun'. Langsyne, when life was bonnie,' "' =>"'^ -> " -^ An' a' the warld was fair, '^ ^^^ :^.^ .'"^^"^ The leaves were green wi' simmer, For autumn wasna there. But listen hoo they rustle, .g fn'I Wi' an eerie, weary soun', ^ jj^fij ai For noo, alas, 'tis winter 'n, ,-, That gangs a twaJmonth roun'. Alexander Anderson [184 5- 1909] THE SHOOGY-SHOO I DO be thinking, lassie, of the old days now; ^yy For oh! your hair is tangled gold above your Irish brow; And oh! your eyes are fairy flax! no other eyes so blue; Come nestle in my arms, and swing upon the shoogy-shoo. 44^ Poems of Youth and Age Sweet and slow, swinging low, eyes of Irish blue. All my heart is swinging, dear, swinging here with you; Irish eyes are like the flax, and mine are wet with dew. Thinking of the old days upon the shoogy-shoo. When meadow-larks would singing be in old Glentair, Was one sweet lass had eyes of blue and tangled golden hair; She was a wee bit girleen then, dear heart, the like of you, When we two swung the braes among, upon the shoogy- shoo. )'fiki Ah well, the world goes up and down, and some sweet day Its shoogy-shoo will swing us two where sighs will pass away; So nestle close your bonnie head, and close your eyes so true, And swing with, me, and memory, upon the shoogy-shoo. Sweet and slow, swinging low, eyes of Irish blue. All my heart is swinging, dear, swinging here with you; Irish eyes are like the flax, and mine are wet with dew, Thinking of the old days upon the shoogy-shoo. Winthrop Packard [1862- BABYLON " We shall meet again in Babylon." I'm going softly all my years in wisdom if in pain — For, oh, the music stirs my blood as once it did before. And still I hear in Babylon, in Babylon, in Babylon, The dancing feet in Babylon, of those who took my floor. I'm going silent all my years, but garnered in my brain Is that swift wit which used to flash and cut them like a sword — And now I hear in Babylon, in Babylon, in Babylon, The foolish tongues in Babylon, of those who took my word. I'm going lonely all my days, who was the first to crave The second, fierce, unsteady voice, that struggled td speak free — j 1 And now I watch in Babylon, in Babylon, in Babylon,:^' The pallid loves in Babylon of men who once loved me. The Triumph of Forgotten Things 449 I'm sleeping early by a flame as one content and gray, But, oh, I dream a dream of dreams beneath a winter moon, I breathe the breath of Babylon, of Babylon, of Babylon, The scent of silks in Babylon that floated to a tune. A band of years has flogged me out — an exile's fate is mine, To sit with mumbhng crones and still a heart that cries with youth. But, oh, to walk in Babylon, in Babylon, in Babylon, The happy streets in Babylon, when once the dream was truth. Viola Taylor [18 ' THE ROAD OF REMEMBRANCE The old wind stirs the hawthorn tree;- The tree is blossoming; rjrcp Northward the road runs to the sea, And past the House of Spring. The folk go down it unafraid; ,. . , , , / The still roofs rise before; .^^^ orft ni e/.. When you were lad and I was maid, Wide open stood the door. Now, other children crowd the stair, And hunt from room to room; Outside, under the hawthorn fair, We pluck the thorny bloom. ."'i-'i Out in the quiet road we stand, Shut in from wharf and mart, ^^j c.ij:> i The old wind blowing up the land, --rrfYf The old thoughts at our heart. Lizette Woodworih Reese [1856- THE TRIUMPH OF FORGOTTEN THINGS There is a pity in forgotten things. Banished the heart they can no longer fill, Since restless Fancy, spreading swallow wings, Must seek new pleasures still 1 450 Poems of Youth and Age There is a patience, too, in things forgot; r'T They wait — they find the portal long unused; And knocking there, it shall refuse them not, — Nor aught shall be refused! Ah, yes ! though we, unheeding years on years, In alien pledges spend the heart's estate, They bide some blessed moment of quick tears— Some moment without date — ,3iJtl Some gleam on flower, or leaf, or beaded dew, .-re Some tremble at the ear of memoried sound Of mother-song, — they seize the slender clew, — The old loves gather round! When that which lured us once now lureth not, But the tired hands their garnered dross let fall, This is the triumph of the things forgot — To hear the tired heart call ! And they are with us at Life's farthest reach, A light when into shadow all else dips. As, in the stranger's land, their native speech Returns to d^dng lips ! Edith M. Thomas [1854- IN THE TWILIGHT Men say the sullen instrument. That, from the Master's bow. With pangs of joy or woe. Feels music's soul through every fibre sent, Whispers the ravished strings More than he knew or meant; Old summers in its memory glow; The secrets of the wind it sings; It hears the April-loosened springs; And mixes with its mood All it dreamed when it stood In the murmurous pine-wood Long ago! In the Twilight 451 The magical moonlight then Steeped every bough and cone; The roar of the brook in the glen Came dim from the distance blown; The wind through its glooms sang low, And it swayed to and fro, With deHght as it stood, In the wonderful wood, Long ago! O my hfe, have we not had seasons That only said. Live and rejoice? That asked not for causes and reasons, But made us all feeling and voice? WTien we went vdth. the v/inds in their blowing; When Nature and we were peers. And we seemed to share in the flowing Of the inexhaustible years? Have we not from the earth drawn juices Too fine for earth's sordid uses? Have I heard, have I seen All I feel, aU I know? Doth my heart overween? Or could it have been Long ago? il Sometimes a breath floats by me. An odor from Dreamland sent, That makes the ghost seem nigh me Of a splendor that came and went. Of a Kfe lived somewhere, I know not In what diviner sphere, Of memories that stay not and go not, Like music heard once by an ear That cannot forget or reclaim it, A something so shy, it would shame it To make it a show, A something too vague, could I name it. For others to know, r[T 452 Poems of Youth and Age As if I had lived it or dreamed it, As if I had acted or schemed it, Long ago! And yet, could I live it over, This hfe that stirs in my brain, Could I be both maiden and lover. Moon and tide, bee and clover, As I seem to have been, once again, Could I but speak it and show it, This pleasure more sharp than pain, That baffles and lures me so, The world should once more have a poet, Such as it had '' ' In the ages glad, '- Long ago ! James Russell Lowell [181 9-1 891] AN IMMORALITY Sing we for love and idleness, Naught else is worth the having. Though I have been in many a land. There is naught else in living. And I would rather have my sweet. Though rose-leaves die of grieving, Than do high deeds in Hungary To pass all men's believing. 'f^^fno^ Ezra Pound [1885- THREE SEASONS ;-lI -JYl L. lU "A CUP for hope!" she said- J'^K??- nl In springtime ere the bloom was old: 1(> The crimson wine was poor and cold By her mouth's richer red. "A cup for love!" how low, How soft the words; and all the while Her blush was rippling with a smile Like summer after snow. The Old Familiar Faces 453 "A cup for memory!" Cold cup that one must drain alone: While autumn winds are up and moan Across the barren sea. Hope, memory, love: Hope for fair morn, and love for day, And memory for the evening gray And solitary dove. Christina Georgina Rossetti [183 0-1894] THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES I HAVE had playmates, I have had companions, In my days of childhood, in my joyful schooldays, — All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have been laughing, I have been carousing, Drinking late, sitting late, with my bosom cronies, — All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I loved a Love once, fairest among women: Closed are her doors on me, I must not see her, — All, all are gone, the old familiar faces. I have a friend, a kinder friend has no man: Like an ingrate, I left my friend abruptly; Left him, to muse on the old familiar faces. Ghost-like, I paced round the haunts of my childhood. Earth seemed a desert I was bound to traverse, Seeking to find the old familiar faces. Friend of my bosom, thou more than a brother, Why wert not thou born in my father 's dwelHng? So might we talk of the old familiar faces — T How some they have died, and some they have left me, And some are taken from me; all are departed, — All, all are gone, the old famihar faces. Charles Lamb [17 75-1 834] 454 Poems of Youth and Age THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS Oft in the stilly night, Ere Slumber 's chain hath bound me, Fond memory brings the light Of other days around me: The smiles, the tears. Of boyhood 's years. The words of love then spoken; The eyes that shone. Now dimmed and gone. The cheerful hearts now broken! Thus in the stilly night, Ere Slumber 's chain hath bound me, i - Sad Memory brings the light ' <■ I Of other days around me. When I remember all ,.^| j- The friends, so linked together, ,;,i i I've seen around me fall, ji ,• Like leaves in wintry weather, I feel like one - ] Who treads alone ib bsgolD Some banquet-hail deserted, rr, rr/ Whose lights are fled, Whose garlands dead. And all but he departed! Thus in the stilly night, Ere Slumber's chain hath bound me, Sad Memory brings the light Of other days around me. Thomas Moore [17 79-1 85 2] "TEARS, IDLE TEARS" From " The Princess " Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean, Tears from the depth of some divine despair .1 1. Rise in the heart and gather to the eyes. In looking on the happy Autumn-fields, And thinking of the days that are no more. The Pet Name 455 Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail, That brings our friends up from the underworld, Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more. All, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds To dying ears, when unto dying eyes The casement slowly grows a glimmering square; So sad, so strange, the days that are no more. Dear as remembered kisses after death, And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned On hps that are for others; deep as love, Deep as first love, and wild with all regret; O Death in Life, the days that are no more! Alfred Tennyson [1800-1892] THE PET NAME " . . . the name Which from their lips seemed a caress." — Miss Milford's " Dramatic Scenes ' I HAVE a name, a little name, Uncadenced for the ear, Unhonored by ancestral claim, Unsanctified by prayer and psalm The solemn font anear. It never did to pages wove For gay romance belong; It never dedicate did move As "Sacharissa " unto love, "Orinda " unto song. Though I write books, it will be read - Upon the leaves of none. And afterward, when I am dead, Will ne 'er be graved for sight or tread, Across my funeral-stone. 456 Poems of Youth and Age This name, whoever chance to call, Perhaps your smile may win: Nay, do not smile ! mine eyelids fall Over mine eyes and feel withal The sudden tears within. Is there a leaf, that greenly grows Where summer meadows bloom. But gathereth the winter snows, And changeth to the hue of those, If lasting till they come? Is there a word, or jest, or game. But time incrusteth round With sad associate thoughts the same? And so to me my very name Assumes a mournful sound. My brother gave that name to me When we were children twain, When names acquired baptismally Were hard to utter, as to see That life had any pain. No shade was on us then, save one Of chestnuts from the hill ; And through the word our laugh did run As part thereof: the mirth being done, He calls me by it still. Nay, do not smile! I hear in it What none of you can hear, — The talk upon the willow seat, The bird and wind that did repeat Around, our human cheer. I hear the birthday 's noisy bliss My sisters ' woodland glee. My father's praise I did not miss When stooping down, he cared to kiss The poet at his knee, — Threescore and Ten 457 And voices which, to name me, aye Their tenderest tones were keeping, — To some I nevermore can say An answer till God wipes away In heaven these drops of weeping. My name to me a sadness wears: No murmurs cross my mind — Now God be thanked for these thick tears, Which show, of those departed years,^ .= Sweet memories left behind. ISTow God be thanked for years enwrought With love which softens yet : Now God be thanked for every thought Which is so tender it has caught Earth's guerdon of regret. Earth saddens, never shall remove Affections purely given; And e'en that mortal grief shall prove The immortality of love, And heighten it with Heaven. Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861J THREESCORE AND TEN Who reach their threescore years and ten, As I have mine, without a sigh, Are either more or less than men — Not such am I. I am not of them; hfe to me Has been a strange, bewildering dream, Wherein I knew not things that be From things that seem. I thought, I hoped, I knew one thing. And had one gift, when I was young — The impulse and the power to sing. And so I sung. 458 Poems of Youth and Age To have a place in the high choir Of poets, and deserve the same — What more could mortal man desire Than poet 's fame? I sought it long, but never found; The choir so full was and so strong The jubilant voices there, they drowned My simple song. Men would not hear me then, and now I care not, I accept my fate. When white hairs thatch the furrowed brow Crowns come too late ! The best of life went long ago From me; it was not much at best; Only the love that young hearts know, The dear unrest. Back on my past, through gathering tears, Once more I cast my eyes, and see Bright shapes that in my better years Surrounded me ! They left me here, they left me there. Went down dark pathways, one by one— The wise, the great, the young, the fair; But I went on. And I go on! And bad or good. The old allotted years of men I have endured as best I could, Threescore and ten! Richard Henry Stoddard [182 5-1903] RAIN ON THE ROOF W^HEN the humid shadows hover Over all the starry spheres, And the melancholy darkness Gently weeps in rainy tears, Rain on the Roof 459- What a bliss to press the pillow Of a cottage-chamber bed, And to listen to the patter Of the soft rain overhead! Every tinkle on the shingles Has an echo in the heart; And a thousand dreamy fancies Into busy being start, And a thousand recollections . Weave their air-threads into woof, As I Usten to the patter Of the rain upon the roof. Now in memory comes my mother, As she used, in years agone. To regard the darling dreamers Ere she left them till the dawn; And I feel her fond look on me. As I Hst to this refrain Which is played upon the shingles By the patter of the rain. Then my little seraph sister, With her wings and waving hair. And her star-eyed cherub brother — A serene angehc pair — Ghde around my wakeful pillow. With their praise or mild reproof, As I listen to the murmur Of the soft rain on the roof. iAnd another comes, to thrill me With her eyes' delicious blue; And I mind not, musing on her. That her heart was all untrue: I remember but to love her With a passion kin to pain, And my heart 's quick pulses vibrate To the patter of the rain. '460 Poems of Youth and Age Art hath naught of tone or cadence That can work with such a speil In the soul 's mysterious fountains, Whence the tears of rapture well, As that melody of nature, That subdued, subduing strain Which is played upon the shingles By the patter of the rain. Coates Kinney [i 826-1 904] ALONE BY THE HEARTH Here, in my snug little fire-lit chamber, Sit I alone: And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember Days long agone. Saddening it is when the night has descended, Thus to sit here, Pensively musing on episodes ended Many a year. Still in my visions a golden-haired glory Flits to and fro; She whom I loved — but 'tis just the old story: Dead, long ago. 'Tis but a wraith of love; yet I linger (Thus passion errs) , Foolishly kissing the ring on my finger — Once it was hers. Nothing has changed since her spirit departed, Here, in this room Save I, who, weary, and half broken-hearted, Sit in the gloom. Loud 'gainst the window the winter rain dashes. Dreary and cold; Over the floor the red fire-light flashes Just as of old. The Old Man Dreams 461 Just as of old — but the embers are scattered, Whose ruddy blaze Flashed o 'er the floor where the fairy feet pattered In other days! Then, her dear voice, like a silver chime ringing, Melted away; Often these walls have re-echoed her singing, Now hushed for aye! Why should love bring naught but sorrow, I wonder? Everything dies! Time and death, sooner or later, must sunder Holiest ties. Years have rolled by; I am wiser and older — Wiser, but yet Not till my heart and its feelings grow colder, Can I forget. So, in my snug little fire-lit chamber. Sit I alone; • And, as I gaze in the coals, I remember Days long agone! George Arnold [183 4- 1865] THE OLD MAN DREAMS Oh for one hour of youthful joy! Give back my twentieth spring! I 'd rather laugh, a bright-haired boy, Than reign, a gray-beard king. Off with the spoils of wrinkled age! Away with Learning's crown! Tear out life 's Wisdom-written page. And dash its trophies down! One moment let my life-blood stream From boyhood's fount of flame! Give me one giddy, reeling dream Of Ufe all love and fame! 4^2 Poems of Youth and Age My listening angel heard the prayer, -^ ^^^I And, calmly smiling, said, "If I but touch thy silvered hair, Thy hasty wish hath sped. "But is there nothing in thy track To bid thee fondly stay. While the swift seasons hurry back To find the wished-for day?" "Ah, truest soul of w^omankind! Without thee what were Hfe? One bliss I cannot leave behind: I'll take — my — ^precious — ^wife!" The angel took a sapphire pen And wrote in rainbow dew, ^ ' The man would he a hoy again, And he a hushand, too! "And is there nothing yet unsaid, Before the change appears? Remember, all their gifts have fled With those dissolving years." "Why, yes;" for memory would recaU My fond paternal joys; "I could not bear to leave them all — I'U take — my — girl — and — boys." The smiling angel dropped his pen,— - "Why, this will never do; The man would be a boy again. And be a father, too!" And so I laughed, — my laughter woke The household with its noise, — And wrote my dream, when morning broke, To please the gray-haired boys. Oliver Wendell Holmes [i 809-1894] The Garret 463 THE GARRET* AFTER BERANGER With pensive eyes the little room I view, WTiere, in my youth, I weathered it so long; t With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two, And a light heart still breaking into song: Making a mock of Hfe, and all its cares, Rich in the glory of my rising sun. Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. Yes; 'tis a garret — ^let him know't who will — There was my bed — full hard it was and small; My table there — and I decipher still Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall. Ye joys, that Time hath swept with him away, Come to mine eyes, ye dreams of love and fun; For you I pawned my watch how many a day, In the brave days when I was twenty-one. And see my li.ttle Jessy, first of all; She comes with pouting lips and sparkling eyes: Behold, how roguishly she pins her shawl Across the narrow casement, curtain-wise; Now by the bed her petticoat glides down. And when did woman look the worse in none? I have heard since who paid for many a gown. In the brave days when I was twenty-one. One jolly evening, when my friends and I Made happy m.usic v>^ith our songs and cheers, A shout of triumph mounted up thus high. And distant cannon opened on our ears: We rise, — we join in the triumphant strain, — Napoleon conquers — ^Austerlitz is won — Tyrants shall never tread us down again. In the brave days when I was twenty-one. * For the original of this poem see page 3839. 464 Poems of Youth and Age Let us begone — the place is sad and strange — How far, far off, these happy times appear; All that I have to Hve I'd gladly change For one such month as I have wasted here — To draw long dreams of beauty, love, and power, From founts of hope that never will outrun. And drink all Hfe's quintessence in an hour. Give me the days when I was twenty-one! William Makepeace Thackeray [ 1 8 1 1- 1 863) AULD LANG SYNE Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And days 0' lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne. We twa hae rin about the braes. And pu'd the gowans fine; But we've wandered monie a weary fit Sin' auld lang syne. We twa hae paidl't i' the burn, Frae mornin' sun till dine; / But seas between us braid hae roared Sin' auld lang syne. vbh i And here's a hand, my trusty fiere, '^^' ^'^ And gie's a hand o' thine; And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught For auld lang syne. And surely ye'll be your pint-stowp. And surely I'll be mine, And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet For auld lang syne! r Robert Burns [1759-1796] Rock Me To Sleep 465 ROCK ME TO SLEEP Backward, turn backward, Time, in your flight, Make me a child again, just for to-night! Mother, come back from the echoless shore, Take me again to your heart as of yore; Kiss from my forehead the furrows of care. Smooth the few silver threads out of my hair; Over my slumbers your loving watch keep; — ■ Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep! Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years! I am so weary of toil and of tears, — Toil without recompense, tears all in vain, — Take them, and give me my childhood again! I have grown weary of dust and decay, — Weary of flinging my soul- wealth away; Weary of sowing for others to reap; — Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep! Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Mother, O mother, my heart calls for you! Many a summer the grass has grown green, Blossomed and faded, our faces between: Yet, with strong yearning and passionate pain, Long I to-night for your presence again. Come from the silence so long and so deep; — Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep! Over my heart, in the days that are flown, No love like mother-love ever has shone; No other worship abides and endures, — Faithful, unselfish, and patient, like yours: None hke a mother can charm away pain From the sick soul and the world-weary brain. Slumber's soft calms o'er my heavy hds creep;— Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep! Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, Fall on your shoulders again as of old; 466 Poems of Youth and Age Let it drop over my forehead to-night, Shading my faint eyes away from the light; For with its sunny-edged shadows once more Haply will throng the sweet visions of yore; Lovingly, softly, its bright billows sweep; — Eock me to sleep, mother, — ^rock me to sleep! Mother, dear mother, the years have been long Since I last listened your lullaby song: Sing, then, and unto my soul it shall seem Womanhood's years have been only a dream. - Clasped to your heart in a loving embrace. With your Ught lashes just sweeping my face. Never hereafter to wake or to weep; — Rock me to sleep, mother, — rock me to sleep! " '\ Elizabeth Akers [1832-igii] THE BUCKET How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood, WTien fond recollection presents them to \dew! The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood, And every loved spot which my infancy knew! The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell. The cot t)f my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well — The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket. The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure. For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure. The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, "with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing. And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well — The old Oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket arose from the well. The Grape-Vine Swing 467 How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb it inclined to my Hps! Not a full blushing goblet would tempt me to leave it, The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. And now, far removed from the loved habitation. The tear of regret will intrusively swell, As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well — The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well! Samuel Woodworth [i 785-1 842] THE GRAPE-VINE SWING Lithe and long as the serpent train. Springing and clinging from tree to tree, * Now darting upward, now dowTi again, With a twist and a twirl that are strange to see; Never took serpent a deadlier hold, Never the cougar a wilder spring, Strangling the oak with the boa's fold. Spanning the beach with the condor's wing. Yet no foe that we fear to seek, — The boy leaps wild to thy rude embrace; Thy bulging arms bear as soft a cheek ^ As ever on lover's breast found place; On thy waving train is a playful hold Thou shalt never to Hghter grasp persuade; While a maiden sits in thy drooping fold, And swings and sings in the noonday shade! giant strange of our Southern woods ! I dream of thee still in the well-known spot. Though our vessel strains o'er the ocean floods, And the Northern forest beholds thee not; 1 think of thee still with a sweet regret. As the cordage yields to my playful grasp, — Dost thou spring and chng in our woodlands yet? Does the maiden still swing in thy giant clasp? ' ' William Gilmore Simms [ 1 806-1 870] T 468 Poems of Youth and Age THE OLD SWIMMIN'-HOLE Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep, And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below Sounded like the laugh of something we onc't ust to know Before we could remember anything but the eyes Of the angels lookin' out as we left Paradise; But the merry days of youth is beyond our controle, . , And it's hard to part ferever with the old swimmin'-hole. Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the happy days of yore, When I ust to lean above it on the old sickamore, Oh ! it showed me a face in its warm sunny tide That gazed back at me so gay and glorified, It made me love myself as I leaped to caress My shadder smilin' up at me with sich tenderness. But them days is past and gone, and old Time's tuck his toll From the old man come back to the old swimmin'-hole. Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! In the long, lazy days When the hum-drum of school made so many run-a-ways, How pleasant was the journey down the old dusty lane, Whare the tfacks of our bare feet was all printed so plane You could tell by the dent of the heel and the sole They was lots o' fun on hand at the old swimmin'-hole. But the lost joys is past! Let your tears in sorrow roll Like the rain that ust to dapple up the old swimmin'-hole. Thare the bulrushes growed, and the cattails so tall. And the sunshine and shadder fell over it all; And it mottled the worter with amber and gold Tel the glad liHes rocked in the ripples that rolled; And the snake-feeder's four gauzy wings fluttered by Like the ghost of a daisy dropped out of the sky, Or a wownded apple-blossom in the breeze's controle As it cut acrost some orchurd to'rds the old swimmin'-hole. Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! When I last saw the place, The scenes was all changed, like the change in my face; Forty Years Ago 469 ov The bridge of the railroad now crosses the spot Whare the old divin'-log lays sunk and fergot. 81 And I stray down the banks whare the trees ust to be — But never again will theyr shade shelter me! And I wish in my sorrow I could strip to the soul, And dive off in my grave like the old swimmin'-hole. James Whitcomb Riley [1852-1916] FORTY YEARS AGO I've wandered to the village, Tom, I've sat beneath the tree, Upon the schoolhouse playground, that sheltered you and me; But none were there to greet me, Tom; and few were left to know. Who played with us upon that green some forty years ago. The grass is just as green, Tom; barefooted boys at play Were sporting, just as we did then, with spirits just as gay. But the "master" sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o'ejr with snow. Afforded us a sliding-place some forty years ago. The old schoolhouse is altered some; the benches are re- placed By new ones, very like the same our jackknives once defaced; But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and fro; Its music's just the same, dear Tom, 'twas forty years ago. The boys were playing some old game, beneath that same old tree; I have forgot the name just now — you've played the same with me, On that same spot; 'twas played with knives, by throwing so and so; The loser had a task to do, there, forty years ago. The river's running just as still; the willows on its side Are larger than they were, Tom; the stream appears less wide; ^yo Poems of Youth and Age But the grape-vine swing is ruined now, where ■ -Qnee- we played the beau, b oH) oiBflY/' And swung our sweethearts — ^pretty girls — just forty years ago. The spring that bubbled 'neath the hill, close by the spread- ing beech, Is very low — 'twas then so high that we could scarcely reach; And, kneeUng down to get a drink, dear Tom, I started so, To see how sadly I am changed since forty years ago. Near by that spring, upon an elm, you know I cut your name, Your sweetheart's just beneath it, Tom, and you did mine the same; Some heartless wretch has peeled the bark, 'twas dying sure but slow. Just as she died, whose name you cut, some forty years . ago. My Hds have long been dr}^ Tom, but tears came to my eyes; I thought of her I loved so well, those early broken ties; I visited the old churchyard, and took some flowers to strow Upon the graves of those we loved some forty years ago. Some are in the churchyard laid, some sleep beneath the sea, And none are left of our old class, excepting you and me; But when our time shall come, Tom, and we are called to go, I hope we'll meet with those we loved some forty years ago. Francis Huston [i8 - BEN BOLT Don't you remember sweet Alice, Ben Bolt, — Sweet Alice w^hose hair was so brown. Who wept with dehght when you gave her a smile, And trembled wdth fear at your frown? ^r;A b" Ben Bolt 471 In the old churchyard in the valley, Ben Bolt, In a corner obscure and alone, They have fitted a slab of the granite so gray, And Alice lies under the stone. Under the hickory tree, Ben Bolt, ""'' Which stood at the foot of the hill, ^ Together we 've lain in the noonday shade, And listened to Appleton 's mill. ' • The mill-wheelhas fallen to pieces, Ben Bolt, The rafters have tumbled in. And a quiet which crawls round the walls as you gaze Has followed the olden din. Do you mind of the cabin of logs, Ben Bolt. At the edge of the pathless wood. And the button-ball tree with its motley limbs. Which nigh by the doorstep stood? The cabin to ruin has gone, Ben Bolt, 313; The tree you would seek for in vain; A And where once the lords of the forest waved " Are grass and the golden grain. And don't you remember the school, Ben Bolt, With the master so cruel and grim, And the shaded nook in the running brook Where the children went to swim? Grass grows on the master's grave, Ben Bolt, The spring of the brook is dry, And of all the boys who were schoolmates then There are only you and I. There is change in the things I loved, Ben Bolt, They have changed from the old to the new; But I feel in the deeps of my spirit the truth, There never was change in you. Twelvemonths twenty have passed, Ben Bolt, Since first we were friends — yet I hail Your presence a blessing, your friendship a truth, Ben Bolt of the salt-sea gale. Thomas Dunn English [i 819-1902] 472 Poems of Youth and Age "BREAK, BREAK, BREAK" Break, break, break. On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that mj'- tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. O, well for the fisherman 's boy. That he shouts with his sister at play! O, well for the sailor lad. That he sings in his boat on the bay! And the stately ships go on. To their haven under the hill; But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still! Break, break, break. At the foot of thy crags, Seal But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me. Alfred Tennyson [1809- 189 2] PART II POEMS OF LOVE . EROS The sense of the world is short, — Long and various the report, — • To love and be beloved; Men and gods have not outlearned it; And, how oft soe'er they've turned it, 'Tis not to be improved. Ralph Waldo Emerson [1803-1882] "NOW WHAT IS LOVE'^ "NOW WHAT IS LOVE" Now what is Love, I pray thee, tell? It is that fountain and that well Where pleasure and repentance dwell; It is, perhaps, the sauncing beU That tolls all into heaven or hell; And this is Love, as I hear teh. Yet what is Love, I prithee, say? It is a work on hoHday, It is December matched with May, When lusty bloods in fresh array Hear ten months after of the play; And this is Love, as I hear say. Yet what is Love, good shepherd, sain? It is a sunshine mixed with rain, It is a toothache or Hke pain, It is a game where none hath gain ; The lass saith no, yet would full fain: And this is Love, as I hear sain. Yet, shepherd, what is Love, I pray? It is a yes, it is a nay, A pretty kind of sporting fray. It is a thing wiU soon away. Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye may; And this is Love, as I hear say. Yet what is Love, good shepherd, show? A thing that creeps, it cannot go, A prize that passeth to and fro, A thing for one, a thing for moe, And he that proves shall find it so ; And shepherd, this is Love, I trow. Walter Raleigh [ 1 5 5 2 ?- 1 6 1 8] 475 47^ Poems of Love WOOING SONG From " Christ's Victory " ' .n /( Love is the blossom where there blows Every thing that Uves or grows: Love doth make the Heavens to move, And the Sun doth burn in love: Love the strong and weak doth yoke, And makes the iv}'' chmb the oak, Under whose shadows lions' wild, Softened by love, grow tame and mild: Love no medicine can appease, He burns fishes in the seas: Not all the skill his wounds can stench, Not all the sea his fire can quench. Love did make the bloody spear Once a leavy coat to wear, While in his leaves there shrouded lay Sweet birds, for love that sing and play And of all love 's joyful flame I the bud and blossom am. Only bend thy knee to me, Thy wooing shall thy winning be! See, see the flowers that below Now as fresh as morning blow; And of all the virgin rose That as bright Aurora shows; How they aU unleaved die. Losing their virginity! Like unto a summer shade, But now born, and now they fade. Every thing doth pass away; There is danger in delay: Come, come, gather then the rose, Gather it, or it you lose! All the sand of Tagus' shore Into my bosom casts his ore: All the valleys' swimming corn To my house is yearly borne: Rosalind's Madrigal 477 Every grape of every vine ':;-• 'I'T Is gladly bruised to make me wine: While ten thousand kings, as proud, To carry up my train have bowed, And a world of ladies send me In my chambers to attend me : All the stars in Heaven that shine, And ten thousand miore, are mine: Only bend thy knee to me, Thy wooing shall thy winning be. Giles Fletcher [i549?-i6ii] ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL From " Rosalind" Love in my bosom, like a bee Doth suck his sweet: Now with his wings he plays w^ith me, Now with his feet. Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast ; My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest: Ah! wanton, will ye? And if I sleep, then percheth he With pretty flight, And makes his pillow of my knee The livelong night. Strike I my lute, he tunes the string; He music plays if so I sing; He lends me every lovely thing, Yet cruel he my heart doth sting: Whist, wanton, still ye! Else I with roses every day Will whip you hence, And bind you, when you long to play. For your offence. 47^ Poems of Love I'll shut mine eyes to keep you in; I'll make you fast it for your sin; I '11 count your power not worth a pin. — ^Alas! what hereby shall I win If he gainsay me? What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod? He will repay me with annoy, Because a god. Then sit thou safely on my knee; Then let thy bower my bosom be; Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee; O Cupid, so thou pity me, Spare not, but play thee! Thomas Lodge [15 58?- 1625] SONG From " Hymen's Triumph " Love is a sickness full of woes. All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries — Heigh ho! Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting; And Jove hath made it of a kind Not well, nor full nor fasting. Why so? More we enjoy it, more it dies; li not enjoyed, it sighing cries— Heigh ho! Samuel Daniel [1562-1619I Venus' Runaway 47.9 LOVE'S PERJURIES From " Love's Labor's Lost " On a day, alack the day! Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, 'gan passage find; That the lover, sick to death. Wished himself the heaven's breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so ! But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne'er to pluck thee ffom thy thorn: Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me * That I am forsworn for thee: Thou for whom e 'en Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were. And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. William Shakespeare [ 1 5 64- 1 6 1 6] • VENUS' RUNAWAY From "The Hue and Cry After Cupid" Beauties, have ye seen this toy, Called Love, a little boy, Almost naked, wanton, blind; Cruel now, and then as kind? If he be amongst ye, say? He is Venus' runaway. She that will but now discover Where the winged wag doth hover, Shall to-night receive a kiss, How or where herself would wish: 4^0 Poems of Love But who brings him to his mother, Shall have that kiss, and another. He hath marks about him plenty: You shall know him among twenty. \ All his body is a fire, And his breath a flame entire, That, being shot like lightning in, _ ; Wounds the heart, but not the skin,' At his sight, the sun hath turned, Neptune in the waters burned; Hell hath felt a greater heat; Jove himself forsook his seat: From the centre to the sky, Are his trophies reared high. Wings he. hath, which though ye clip, He will leap from lip to lip. Over liver, lights, and heart, But not stay in any part; But if chance his arrow misses, He will shoot himself in kisses. He doth bear a golden bow. And a quiver, hanging low. Full of arrows, that outbrave Dian's shafts; where, if he have Any head more sharp than other, With that first he strikes his mother. Still the fairest are his fuel. When his days are to be cruel. Lovers' hearts are all his food. And his baths their warmest blood: Naught but wounds his hands doth season, And he hates none like to Reason. Trust him not; his words, though sweet, Seldom with his heart do meet. What is Love? 481 All his practice is deceit; Every gift it is a bait; Not a kiss but poison bears; And most treason in his tears. Idle minutes are his reign; Then, the straggler makes his gain By presenting maids with toys, And would have ye think them joys: 'Tis the ambition of the elf To have all childish as himself. If by these ye please to know him, Beauties, be not nice, but show him. Though ye had a will to hide him. Now, we hope, ye'U not abide him; Since you hear his falser play, And that he's Venus' runaway. Ben Jonson [iS73?-i637| WHAT IS LOVE? From " The Captain " Tell me, dearest, what is love? 'Tis a lightning from above; 'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire, 'Tis a boy they call Desire. 'Tis a grave, Gapes to have Those poor fools that long to prove. Tell me more, are women true? Yes, some are, and some as you. Some are willing, some are strange, Since you men first taught to change. And till troth Be in both, All shall love, to love anew. 4'82- Poems of Love Tell me more yet, can they grieve? Yes, and sicken sore, but live, And be wise, and delay, When you men are wise as they. Then I see, Faith will be jlnt Never till they both believe. "^ T John Fletcher [1579-1625! LOVE'S EMBLEMS From " Valentinian " Now the lusty spring is seen; Golden yellow, gaudy blue, Daintily invite the view: Everywhere on every green Roses blushing as they blow, And enticing men to pull, Lilies whiter than the snow. Woodbines of sweet honey full: All love's emblems, and all cry, "Ladies, if not plucked, we die." Yet the lusty spring hath stayed; Blushing red and purest white Daintily to love invite Every woman, every maid: Cherries kissing as they grow, And inviting men to taste, ' Apples even ripe below, Winding gently to the waist: All love's emblems, and all cry, "Ladies, if not plucked, we die." John Fletcher [15 79-1 625] THE POWER OF LOVE From " Valentinian " Hear, ye ladies that despise What the mighty Love has done; . Fear examples and be wise: Fair Callisto was a nun; /-^i^ iU\ Advice to a Lover 483 Leda, sailing on the stream To deceive the hopes of man, Love accounting but a dream, Doted on a silver swan; Danae, in a brazen tower, Where no love was, loved a shower. Hear, ye ladies that are coy, What the mighty Love can do ; Fear the fierceness of the boy: The chaste Moon he makes to woo; Vesta, kindling holy fires, Circled round about with spies, Never dreaming loose desires. Doting at the altar dies; j Ilion, in a short hour, higher He can build, and once more fire. John Fletcher [15 79-1 6 2 5] ADVICE TO A LOVER • The sea hath many thousand sands, The sun hath motes as many; . The sky is full of stars, and Love As full of woes as any: Believe me, that do know the elf. And make no trial by thyself! It is in truth a pretty toy ' ' ' ' -" ' " ■ For babes to play withal: ' ' ^^i^ori'I But O, the honies of our youth Are oft our age's gall: Self-proof in time will make thee know He was a prophet told thee so : A prophet that, Cassandra-like, Tells truth without belief; For headstrong Youth will run his race, Although his goal be grief: — Love's Martyr, when his heat is past. Proves Care's Confessor at the last. U-kknown 484 Poems of Love LOVE'S HOROSCOPE Love, brave Virtue's younger brother, Erst hath made my heart a mother, She consults the anxious spheres, To calculate her young son's years; She asks if sad or saving powers Gave omen to his infant hours; She asks each star that then stood by If poor Love shall live or die. Ah, my heart! is that the way? Are these the beams that rule thy day? Thou know'st a face in whose each look Beauty lays ope Love's fortune-book, On whose fair revolutions wait The obsequious motions of Love's fate. Ah, my heart ! her eyes and she Have taught thee new astrology. Howe'er Love's native hours were set, Whatever starry synod met, 'Tis in the mercy of her eye. If poor Love shall live or die. If those sharp rays, putting on ' Points of death, bid Love be gone; — "' Though the heavens in council sate '■ ^ To crown an uncontrolled fate; Though their best aspects twined ifppn.: The kindest constellation, q '-^,,^ Cast amorous glances on its birth, And whispered the confederate earth To pave his paths with all the good That warms the bed of youth and blood :^^ Love has no plea against her eye; Beauty frowns, and Love must die. - But if her milder influence move. And gild the hopes of humble Love; — Though heaven's inauspicious eye Lay black on Love's nativity; Ah, How Sweet It Is To Love" 485 Though every diamond in Jove's crown Fixed his forehead to a frown; — Her eye a strong appeal can give, Beauty smiles, and Love shall live. O, if Love shall live, O where, But in her eye, or in her ear, In her breast, or in her breath, Shall I hide poor Love from death? For in the life aught else can give, Love shall die, although he live. Or, if Love shall die, where, But in her eye, or in her ear, In her breath, or in her breast, Shall I build his funeral nest? While Love shall thus entombed lie, Love shall live, although he die! Richard Cm^Aaw. [1613?-! 649] 'AH, HOW SWEET IT IS TO LOVE!" From "Tyrannic Love " Ah, how sweet it is to love! Ah, how gay is young Desire! And what pleasing pains we prove When we first approach Love's fire! Pains of Love be sweeter far Than all other pleasures are. Sighs which are from lovers blown Do but gently heave the heart: Even the tears they shed alone Cure, like trickling balm, their smart: Lovers, when they lose their breath. Bleed away in easy death. Love and Time with reverence use. Treat them like a parting friend; Nor the golden gifts refuse Which in youth sincere they send: 486 Poems of Love For each year their price is more, And they less simple than before. Love, like spring-tides full and high, Swells in every youthful vein; But each tide does less supply, Till they quite shrink in again: If a flow in age appear, 'Tis but rain, and runs not clear. John Dryden [1631-1700I SONG Love still has something of the sea. From whence his Mother rose; No time his slaves from doubt can free. Nor give their thoughts repose. They are becalmed in clearest days, And in rough weather tossed; They wither under cold delays, Or are in tempests lost. One while they seem to touch the port. Then straight into the main Some angry wind, in cruel sport, The vessel drives again. At first Disdain and Pride they fear, Which if they chance to 'scape. Rivals and Falsehood soon appear, In a more dreadful shape. By such degrees to joy they come, And are so long withstood, - So slowly they receive the sun. It hardly does them good. 'Tis cruel to prolong a pain; And to defer a joy, Believe me, gentle Celemene, Offends the winged boy. Song 487 An hundred thousand oaths your fears, Perhaps, would not remove; And if I gazed a thousand years, I could not deeper love. Charles Sedley [i63g?-i7io] THE VINE The wine of Love is music. And the feast of Love is song: And when Love sits down to the banquet, Love sits long: Sits long and arises drunken, But not with the feast and the wine; He reeleth with his own heart, That great, rich Vine. James Thomson [1834-1882] SONG Fain would I change that note To which fond love hath charmed me, Long, long to sing by rote, Fancying that that harmed me: Yet when this thought doth come, — Love is the perfect sum Of all delight. I have no other choice Either for pen or voice To sing or write. love, they wrong thee much That say thy sweet is bitter When thy rich fruit is such As nothing can be sweeter. Fair house of joy and bliss Where truest pleasure is, I do adore thee: 1 know thee what thou art, I serve thee with my heart, And fall before thee. Unknown 488 Poems of Love CUPID STUNG Cupid once upon a bed Of roses laid his weary head; Luckless urchin, not to see Within the leaves a slumbering bee. The bee awaked — with anger wild The bee awaked, and stung the child. Loud and piteous are his cries; To Venus quick he runs, he flies; "Oh Mother! I am woimded through — ' I die with pain — ^in sooth I do ! Stung by some little angry thing, Some serpent on a tiny ^\ing — A bee it was — for once, I knoWj I heard a rustic call it so." Thus he spoke, and she the while Heard him with a soothing smile; Then said, "My infant, if so much Thou feel the little wild bee 's touch, How must the heart, ah, Cupid! be, The hapless heart that's stung by thee!" Thomas Moore [1779-1852I CUPID DROWNED T 'other day, as I was tT\ining Roses, for a crown to dine in, WTiat, of all things, 'mid the heap, Should I light on, fast asleep, But the little desperate elf. The tiny traitor, Love, himself! By the wings I picked him up Like a bee, and in a cup Of my wine I plunged and sank him, Then what d'ye think I did? — I drank him. Faith, I thought him dead. Not he! There he lives with ten-fold glee; "In the Days of Old" 489 And ROW this moment with his mngs I feel him tickling my heart-strings. Leigh Hunt [ 1 7 84- 1 8 5 9] SONG Oh! say not woman's heart is bought With vain and empty treasure. Oh! say not woman's heart is caught By every idle pleasure. WTien first her gentle bosom knows Love's flame, it wanders never; Deep in her heart the passion glows, She loves, and loves for ever. Oh ! say not woman 's false as fair, That like the bee she ranges! Still seeking flowers more sweet and rare. As fickle fancy changes. Ah! no, the love that first can warm Will leave her bosom never; No second passion e 'er can charm, She loves, and loves for ever. Thomas I. ove Peacock [1785-1866] IN THE DAYS OF OLD" From " Crotchet Castle " In the days of old Lovers felt true passion, Deeming years of sorrow By a smile repaid: Now the charms of gold, Spells of pride and fashion. Bid them say Good-morrow To the best-loved Maid. Through the forests wild, O 'er the mountains lonely, They were never weary Honor to pursue: 490 Poems of Love If the damsel smiled Once in seven years only, All their wanderings dreary Ample guerdon knew. Now one day 's caprice Weighs down years of smiling, Youthful hearts are rovers, Love is bought and sold. Fortune 's gifts may cease, Love is less beguiHng: Wiser were the lovers In the days of old, Thomas Love Peacock [i 785-1 866] SONG How delicious is the winning Of a kiss at Love 's beginning, When two mutual hearts are sighing For the knot there's no untying! Yet remember, 'midst your wooing, Love has bliss, but Love has ruing; Other smiles may make you fickle. Tears for other charms may trickle. Love he comes, and Love he tarries, Just as fate or fancy carries; Longest stays, when sorest chidden; Laughs and flies, when pressed and bidden. Bind the sea to slumber stilly, Bind its odor to the lily, Bind the aspen ne 'er to quiver, Then bind Love to last forever! Love 's a fire that needs renewal Of fresh beauty for its fuel: Love's wing moults when caged and captured, Only free, he soars enraptured. Stanzas 491 Can you keep the bee from ranging, Or the ringdove's neck from changing? No ! nor fettered Love from dying In the knot ^lere 's no untying. Thomas Campbell [1777-1844] STANZAS Could Love for ever Run like a river, And Time 's endeavor Be tried in vain — No other pleasure With this could measure, And like a treasure We 'd hug the chain. But since our sighing Ends not in dying. And, formed for flying, Love plumes his wing; Then for this reason Let's love a season; But let that season Be only Spring. When lovers parted Feel broken-hearted, And, all hopes thwarted, Expect to die; A few years older, Ah! how much colder They might behold her For whom they sigh! When linked together. In every weather, They pluck Love 's feather From out his wing — He '11 stay for ever. But sadly shiver 492 Poems of Love Without his plumage, When past the Spring. Like Chiefs of Faction, His Hfe is action — A formal paction That curbs his reign, Obscures his glory, Despot no more, he Such territory Quits with disdain. Still, stiU advancing, With banners glancing, His power enhancing. He must move on — • Repose but cloys him, Retreat destroys him. Love brooks not a Degraded throne. Wait not, fond lover! Till years are over. And then recover, As from a dream. While each bewailing The other 's failing, With wrath and railingj All hideous seem — While first decreasing, Yet not quite ceasing. Wait not till teasing All passion blight: ■ If once diminished Love 's reign is finished— = Then part in friendship,— And bid good-night. So shall Affection To recollection The dear connection They Speak O' Wiles " 493 Bring back with joy: You had not waited Till, tired or hated, Your passions sated Began to cloy. Your last embraces Leave no cold traces — The same fond faces As through the past; And eyes, the mirrors Of your sweet errors, Reflect but rapture — Not least though last. True, separations Ask more than patience; What desperations From such have risen! But yet remaining, What is 't but chaining Hearts which, once waning. Beat 'gainst their prison? Time can but cloy love, And use destroy love : The winged boy, Love, Is but for boys — You '11 find it torture Though sharper, shorter. To wean and not Wear out your joys. George Gordon Byron [i 788-1824] "THEY SPEAK O' WILES" They speak o ' wiles in woman 's smiles, An' ruin in her ee; I ken they bring a pang at whiles That's unco' sair to dree; 494 ^" Poems of Love But mind ye this, the half-ta'en kiss, The first fond fa'in' tear, Is, heaven kens, fu' sweet amends. An ' tints o' heaven here. When two leal hearts in fondness meet, Life's tempests howl in vain; The very tears o' love are sweet When paid with tears again. Shall hapless prudence shake its pow? Shall cauldrife caution fear? Oh, dinna, dinna droun the lowe That lights a heaven here! William Thorn [i7q8?-i'. "LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY = Over the mountains And over the waves, . Under the fountains And under the graves. Under floods that are deepest, Which Neptune obey, Over rocks that are steepest. Love will find out the way. Where there is no place For the glow-worm to lie. Where there is no space For receipt of a fly. Where the midge dares not venture. Lest herself fast she lay. If Love come, he will enter, And find out the way. You may esteem him A child for his might. Or you may deem him A coward from his flight: A Woman's Shortcomings 495 But if she whom Love doth honor Be concealed from the day, Set a thousand guards upon her, ■' H Love will find out the way. Some think to lose him, By having him confined, And some do suppose him, Poor thing, to be blind; But if ne 'er so close ye wall him, Do the best that you may, Blind Love, if so ye call him, Will find out the way. You may train the eagle To stoop to your fist, Or you may inveigle The phoenix of the east; The tiger, ye may move her To give over her prey; But you '11 ne'er stop a lover — He will find out the way. Unknown A WOMAN'S SHORTCOMINGS She has laughed as softly as if she sighed, She has counted six, and over. Of a purse well filled, and a heart well tried — Oh, each a worthy lover I They "give her time"; for her soul must slip Where the world has set the grooving; She will lie to none with her fair red lip: But love seeks truer loving. She trembles her fan in a sv/eetness dumb, As her thoughts were beyond recalling ; WitTi a glance for one, and a glance for some, From her eyelids rising and falling; 49^ T>m^.Poems of Love Speaks common v/ords with a blushful air, Hears bold words, unreproving; But her silence says — what she never will swear— And love seeks better loving. Go, lady! lean to the night-guitar, And drop a smile to the bringer; Then smile as sweetly, when he is far, At the voice of an in-door singer. Bask tenderly beneath tender eyes; Glance lightly, on their removing; And join new vows to old perjuries — But dare not call it loving! Unless you can think, when the song is done, No other is soft in the rhythm ; Unless you can feel, when left by One, That all men else go with him; Unless you can know, when upraised by his breath, That your beauty itself wants proving; Unless you can swear "For life, for death!" — Oh, fear to call it loving! Unless you can muse in a crowd all day On the absent face that fixed you; Unless you can love, as the angels may, With the breadth of heaven betwixt you; Unless you can dream that his faith is fast, Through behoving and unbehoving; Unless you can die when the dream is past — Oh, never call it loving! Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-186] "LOVE HATH A LANGUAGE" From " To My Son " Love hath a language for all years — Fond hieroglyphs, obscure and old — Wherein the heart reads, writ in tears, The tale w^hich never yet was told. Amaturus 497 Love hath his meter too, to trace Those bounds which never yet were given, — To measure that which mocks at space. Is deep as death, and high as heaven. Love hath his treasure hoards, to pay True faith, or goodl}^ service done, — Dear priceless nothings, which outweigh All riches that the sun shines on. Helen Selina Sheridan [i 807-1 867] SONG From " Maud " 0, LET the soHd ground. Not fe.il beneath my feet Before my life has found What some have found so sweet; Then let come what come may, What matter if I go mad, I shall have had my day. Let the sweet heavens endure, Not close and darken above me Before I am quite quite sure That there is one to love me! Then let come what come may To a life that has been so sad, I shall have had my day. Alfred Tennyson [1809- AMATURUS Somewhere beneath the sun, These quivering heart-strings prove it. Somewhere there must be one Made for this soul to move it; 49 8 Poems of Love Some one that hides her sweetness From neighbors whom she sHghts, Nor can attain completeness, Nor give her heart its rights; Some one whom I could court With no great change of manner, Still holding reason 's fort, Though waving fancy's banner; A lady, not so queenly As to disdain my hand, Yet born to smile serenely Like those that rule the land; Noble, but not too proud; With soft hair simply folded, And bright face crescent-browed, And throat by Muses moulded; And eyelids lightly falling On little glistening seas,^ Deep-calm, when gales are brawling.- Though stirred by every breeze; Swift voice, like fhght of dove Through minster-arches floating, With sudden turns, when love Gets overnear to doting; Keen lips, that shape soft sayings Like crystals of the snow. With pretty half-betrayings Of things one may not know; Fair hand whose touches thrill. Like golden rod of wonder. Which Hermes wields at will Spirit and flesh to sunder; Light foot, to press the stirrup In fearlessness and glee, Or dance, till finches chirrup, And stars sink to the sea. Forth, Love, and find this maid^ Wherever she be hidden: Speak, Love, be not afraid, But plead as thou art bidden: • A Ballad of Dreamland 499 And say, that he who taught thee His yearning want and pain, Too dearly, dearly bought thee ., ,,, Xo part with thee in vain. *iJi£nia bfluov/ a'morfj William Johnson-Cory [1823-1892] THE SURFACE AND THE DEPTHS Love took my life and thrilled it Through all its strings, Played round my mind and filled it With sound of wings; But to my heart he never came To touch it with his golden flame. Therefore it is that singing I do rejoice. Nor heed the slow years bringing A harsher voice; Because the songs which he has sung Still leave the untouched singer young. But whom in fuller fashion The Master sways, For him, swift-winged with passion. Fleet the brief days. Betimes the enforced accents come. And leave him ever after dumb. Lewis Morris [i 833-1 907] A BALLAD OF DREAMLAND I HID my heart in a nest of roses. Out of the sun's way, hidden apart; In a softer bed then the soft white snow's is, Under the roses I hid my heart. Why would it sleep not? why should it start, When never a leaf of the rose-tree stirred? What made sleep flutter his wings and part? Only the song of a secret bird. 500 -'^ Poems of Love Lie still, I said, for the wind 's wing closes, And mild leaves muffle the keen sun's dart; Lie still, for the wind on the warm seas dozes. And the wind is unquieter yet than thou art. Does a thought in thee still as a thorn 's wound smart? Does the fang still fret thee of hope deferred? What bids the lips of thy sleep dispart? Only the song of a secret bird. The green land 's name that a charm encloses, It never was writ in the traveller's chart, And sweet on its trees as the fruit that grows is, It never was sold in the merchant 's mart. The swallows of dreams through its dim fields dart, And sleep's are the tunes in its tree- tops heard; No hound 's note wakens the wildwood hart, Only the song of a secret bird. ENVOI In the world of dreams I have chosen my part, To sleep for a season and hear no word Of true love's truth or of light love's art, Only the song of a secret bird. Algernon Charles Swinburne [1837-1009] ENDYMION The rising moon has hid the stars; Her level rays, like golden bars, Lie on the landscape green. With shadows brown between. And silver white the river gleams, As if Diana, in her dreams Had dropped her silver bow Upon the meadows low. Endymion roi On such a tranquil night as this, She woke Endymion with a kiss, When, sleeping in the grove. He dreamed not of her love. Like Dian 's kiss, unasked, unsought, Love gives itself, but is not bought; Nor voice, nor sound betrays Its deep, impassioned gaze. It comes, — the beautiful, the free, The crown of all humanity, — In silence and alone To seek the elected one. It lifts the boughs, whose shadows deep Are life's oblivion, the soul's sleep, And kisses the closed eyes Of him who slumbering lies. O weary hearts ! O slumbering eyes ! O drooping souls, whose destinies Are fraught with fear and pain, Ye shall be loved again! No one is so accursed by fate. No one so utterly desolate. But some heart, though unknown, Responds unto his own. Responds, — as if with unseen wings, An angel touched its quivering strings ; And whispers, in its song, "Where hast thou stayed so long?" Henry Wadsworth Longfellow [1807-188 2] 502 Poems of Love FATE Two shall be born, the whole wide world apart, And speak in different tongues and have no thought Each of the other's being, and no heed. And these, o'er unknown seas, to unknown lands Shall cross, escaping wreck, defying death; And all unconsciously shape every act And bend each wandering step to this one end — That, one day, out of darkness they shall meet And read life's meaning in each other's eyes. And two shall walk some narrow way of life So nearly side by side that, should one turn Ever so little space to left or right. They needs must stand acknowledged, face to face. And, yet, with wistful eyes that never meet And groping hands that never clasp and lips CalHng in vain to ears that never hear, They seek each other all their weary days And die unsatisfied — and this is Fate! Susan Marr Spalding [i8 - ? "GIVE ALL TO LOVE' Give all to love; Obey thy heart; Friends, kindred, days, Estate, good fame. Plans, credit, and the Muse,- Nothing refuse. 'Tis a brave master; Let it have scope: FoUow it utterly, Hope beyond hope: High and more high "Give All To Love" 503 It dives into noon, With wing unspent, Untold intent; But it is a god, Knows its own path And the outlets of the sky. It was never for the. mean; It requireth courage stout. Souls above doubt, Valor unbending, It will reward, — They shall return More than they were, And ever ascending. Leave all for love; Yet, hear me, yet. One word more thy heart behoved, One pulse more of firm endeavor, — = Keep thee to-day, To-morrow, forever. Free as an Arab Of thy beloved. Cling with life to the maid; But when the surprise, First vague shadow of surmise, Flits across her bosom young. Of a joy apart from thee, Free be she, fancy-free; Nor thou detain her vesture's hem, Nor the palest rose she flung From her summer diadem. Though thou loved her as thyself, As a self of purer clay, Though her parting dims the day, Stealing grace from all alive; 504 Poems of Love Heartily know, When half -gods go, The gods arrive. Ralph Waldo Emerson [i 803-1 88 2I "0, LOVE IS NOT A SUMMER MOOD" O, LOVE is not a summer mood, Nor flying phantom of the brain, Nor youthful fever of the blood. Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance. Love is not born of blinded chance, Nor bred in simple ignorance. Love is the flower of maidenhood; Love is the fruit of mortal pain; And she hath winter in her blood. True love is steadfast as the skies. And once alight, she never flies; And love is strong, and love is wise. Richard Watson Gilder [1844-1909] WHEN WILL LOVE COME? Some find Love late, some find him soon, Some with the rose in May, Some with the nightingale in June, And some when skies are gray; Love comes to some with smiling eyes. And comes with tears to some; For some Love sings, for some Love sighs, For some Love's lips are dumb. How will you come to me, fair Love? Will you come late or soon? With sad or smiling skies above. By light of sun or moon? The Secret ,505 Will you be sad, will you be sweet, Sing, sigh, Love, or be dumb? Will it be summer when we meet, Or autumn ere you come? Pakenham Beatty [1855- "AWAKE, MY HEART" Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake! The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break. It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake! She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee: Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee, Already they watch the path thy feet shall take: Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake! And if thou tarry from her, — if this could be, — She Cometh herself, O heart, to be loved, to thee; For thee would unashamed herself forsake: Awake, to be loved, my heart, awake, awake! Awake! The land is scattered with light, and see, Uncanopied sleep is flying from field and tree; And blossoming boughs of April in laughter shake : Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake! Lo, all things wake and tarry and look for thee: She looketh and saith, "O sun, now bring him to me. Come, more adored, O adored, for his coming's sake. And awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake!" Robert Bridges [1855- THE SECRET Nightingales warble about it All night under blossom and star; The wild swan is dying without it, And the eagle crieth afar; ro6 Poems of Love The sun, he doth mount but to find it, Searching the green earth o'er; But more doth a man's heart mind it — O more, more, more! Over the gray leagues of ocean The infinite yearneth alone; The forests with wandering emotion The thing they know not intone; Creation arose but to see it, ''^A A million lamps in the blue; -T But a lover, he shall be it. If one sweet maid is true. George Edward Woodherry [1855- THE ROSE OF STARS When Love, our great Immortal, Put on mortality. And down from Eden's portal Brought this sweet life to be. At the sublime archangel He laughed with veiled eyes. For he bore within his bosom -. The seed of Paradise. He hid it in his bosom, And there such warmth it found. It brake in bud and blossom, And the rose fell on the ground; As the green light on the prairie. As the red light on the sea. Through fragrant belts of summer Came this sweet life to be. And the grave archangel seeing. Spread his mighty wings for flight, But the glow hung round him fleeing Like the rose of an Arctic night; Love is Strong 507 And sadly moving heavenward By Venus and by Mars, He heard the joyful planets Hail Earth, the Rose of Stars. George Edward Woodberry [1855- SONG OF EROS From " Agathon " When love in the faint heart trembles, And the eyes with tears are wet, O, tell me what resembles Thee, young Regret? Violets with dewdrops drooping, Lilies o'erfuil of gold, Roses in June rains stooping, That weep for the cold. Are like thee, young Regret. Bloom, violets, lilies, and roses! But what, young Desire, Like thee, when love discloses Thy heart of fire? The wild swan urireturning. The eagle alone with the sun. The long-winged storm-gulls burning Seaward when day is done. Are like thee, young Desire. George Edward Woodberry [1855- LOVE IS STRONG A VIEWLESS thing is the wind. But its strength is mightier far Than a phalanxed host in battle line, Than the limbs of a Samson are. 5o8 Poems of Love And a viewless thing is Love, And a name that vanisheth; But her strength is the wind's wild strength above, For she conquers shame and Death. Richard Burton [1859- *LOVE ONCE WAS LIKE AN APRIL DAWN" Love once was like an April dawn: Song throbbed within the heart by rote, And every tint of rose or fawn Was greeted by a joyous note. How eager was my thought to see Into that morning mystery! Love now is like an August noon, No spot is empty of its shine; The sun makes silence seem a boon. And not a voice so dumb as mine. Yet with what words I'd welcome thee — Couldst thou return, dear mystery! Robert Underwood Johnson [1853- THE GARDEN OF SHADOW Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose. O bright, bright hair! O mouth like a ripe fruit! Can famine be so nigh to harvesting? Love, that was songful, with a broken lute In grass of graveyards goeth murmuring. Let the wind blow against the perfect flowers, And all thy garden change and glow with spring: Love is grown blind with no more count of hours Nor part in seed-time nor in harvesting. Ernest Dowson [1867-1900I The Highway 509 THE CALL Love comes laughing up the valleys, Hand in hand with hoyden Spring; All the Flower-People nodding, All the Feathered -Folk a- wing. "Higher! Higher'" call the thrushes; "Wilder! Freer!" breathe the trees; And the purple mountains beckon Upward to their mysteries. Always farther leagues to wander, Peak to peak and slope to slope; Lips to sing and feet to follow, Eyes to dream and heart to hope! Tarry? Nay, but who can tarry? All the world is on the wing; Love comes laughing up the valleys, Hand in hand with hoyden Spring. Reginald Wright Kaufman [1877- THE HIGHWAY All day long on the highway The King's fleet couriers ride; You may hear the tread of their horses sped Over the country side. They ride for life and they ride for death And they override who tarrieth. With show of color and flush of pride They stir the dust on the highway. Let them ride on the highway wide. Love walks in little paths aside. All day long on the highway Is a tramp of an army's feet; You may see them go in a marshaled row ^^o Poems of Love With the tale of their arms complete: They march for war and they march for peace, For the lust of gold and fame's increase, For victories sadder than defeat They raise the dust on the highway. All the armies of earth defied. Love dwells in little paths aside. All day long on the highway Rushes an eager band, With straining eyes for a worthless prize That slips from the grasp like sand. And men leave blood where their feet have stood And bow them down unto brass and wood— Idols fashioned by their own hand — Blind in the dust of the highway. Power and gold and fame denied, Love laughs glad in the paths aside. Louise Driscoll [1875- SONG Take it, love! 'Twill soon be over, - With the thickening of the clover, With the calling of the plover, Take it, take it, lover. Take it, boy! The blossom's falling, And the farewell cuckoo's calling, While tke sun and showers are one, Take your love out in the sun. Take it, girl! • And fear no after, Take your fill of all this laughter. Laugh or not, the tears will fall, Take the laughter first of all. Richard Le Gallienne [1866- Song ST "NEVER GIVE ALL THE HEART" Never give all the heart, for love Will hardly seem worth thinking of To passionate women, if it seem Certain, and they never dream That it fades out from kiss to kiss; For everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy, kind delight. O never give the heart outright For they, for all smooth lips can say, Have given their hearts up to the play, And who can play it well enough If deaf and dumb and blind with love? He that made this knows all the cost. For he gave all his heart and lost. William Butler Yeats [1865- SONG I CAME to the door of the House of Love And knocked as the starry night went by; And my true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said "ItisL" And Love looked down from a lattice above Where the roses were dry as the lips of the dead: "There is not room in the House of Love For you both, " he said, I plucked a leaf from the porch and crept Away through a desert of scoffs and scorns To a lonely place where I prayed and wept And wove me a crown of thorns. I came once more to the House of Love And knocked, ah, softly and wistfully, And my true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said "None now but thee." 512 Poems of Love And the great doors opened wide apart And a voice rang out from a glory of light, "Make room, make room for a faithful heart In the House of Love, to-night." Alfred Noyes [1880- " CHILD, CHILD" Child, child, love while you can The voice and the eyes and the soul of a man, Never fear though it break your heart — Out of the wound new joy will start; Only love proudly and gladly and well Though love be heaven or love be hell. Child, child, love while you may, For life is short as a happy day; Never fear the thing you feel — Only by love is life made real; Love, for the deadly sins are seven, Only through love will you enter heaven. Sara TeasdaJe [1884- WISDOM The young girl questions: "Whether were it better To lie for ever, a warm slug-a-bed, Or to rise up and bide by Fate and Chance, The rawness of the morning, The gibing and the scorning Of the stern Teacher of my ignorance?" "I know not," Wisdom said. The young girl questions: "Friend, shall I die calmer. If I've lain for ever, sheets above the head, Warm in a dream, or rise to take the w^orst Of peril in the highways Of straying in the by-ways. Of hunger for the truth, of drought and thirst?" "We do not know," he said, "Nor may till we be dead." Ford Madox Hiieffer [1873- Epilogue 513 EPILOGUE FROM "emblems OF LOVE" What shall we do for Love these days? How shall -we make an altar-blaze To smite the horny eyes of men With the renown of our Heaven, And to the unbelievers prove Our service to our dear god, Love? What torches shall we lift above The crowd that pushes through the mire, To amaze the dark heads wdth strange fire? I should think I were much to blame. If never I held some fragrant flame Above the noises of the world, And openly 'mid men's hurrying stares, Worshipped before the sacred fears That are Hke flashing curtains furled Across the presence of our lord Love. Nay, would that I could fill the gaze Of the whole earth with some great praise Made in a marvel for men's eyes, Some tower of glittering masonries. Therein such a spirit flourishing Men should see what my heart can sing: . :. All that Love hath done to me orft oj q J Built into stone, a visible glee; Marble carried to gleaming height '" As moved aloft by inward dehght; Not as with toil of chisels hewn, But seeming poised in a mighty tune. ) For of all those who have been known To lodge with our kind host, the sun, I envy one for just one thing: In Cordova of the Moors There dwelt a passion-minded King, Who set great bands of marble-hewers To fashion his heart's thanksgiving In a tall palace, shapen so 514 Poems of Love All the wondering world might know The joy he had of his Moorish lass. His love, that brighter and larger was Than the starry places, into firm stone He sent, as if the stone were glass Fired and into beauty blown. Solemn and invented gravely In its bulk the fabric stood, Even as Lpve, that trust eth bravely In its own exceeding good To be better than the waste Of time's devices; grandly spaced, Seriously the fabric stood. But over it all a pleasure went Of carven delicate ornament, • ■ il Wreathing up like ravishment. Mentioning in sculptures twined The blitheness Love hath in his mind; And like delighted senses were The windows, and the columns there Made the following sight to ache As the heart that did them make. Well I can see that shining song Flowering there, the upward throng Of porches, pillars and windowed walls, Spires like piercing panpipe caUs, ;i/l Up to the roof's snow-cloud flight; ■:/ All glancing in the Spanish light White as water of arctic tides. Save an amber dazzle on sunny sides. You had said, the radiant sheen Of that palace might have been A young god's fantasy, ere he came His serious worlds and suns to frame; • i Such an immortal passion I Quivered among the slim hewn stone. And in the nights it seemed a jar Cut in the substance of a star, Wherein a wine, that will be poured Some time for feasting Heaven, was stored. Epilogue 51 J But within this fretted shell, The wonder of Love made visible, The King a private gentle mood There placed, of pleasant quietude. Foi right amidst there was a court, Where always musked silences Listened to water and to trees; And herbage of all fragrant sort, — Lavender, lad's-love, rosemary, Basil, tansy, centaury, — Was the grass of that orchard, hid Love's amazements all amid. Jarring the air with rumor cool, Small fountains played into a pool With sound as soft as the barley's hiss When its beard just sprouting is; Whence a young stream, that trod on moss. Prettily rimpled the court across. And in the pool's clear idleness. Moving like dreams through happiness, Shoals of small bright fishes were; In and out weed-thickets bent Peich and carp, and sauntering went With mounching jaws and eyes a-stare; Or on a lotus leaf would crawl A brindled loach to bask and sprawl, Tasting the warm sun ere it dipped Into the water; but quick as fear Back his shining brown head slipped To crouch on the gravel of his lair, "Where the cooled sunbeams, broke in wrack. Spilt shattered gold about his back. So within that green-veiled air. Within that white-walled quiet, where Innocent water thought aloud,— Childish prattle that must make The wise sunlight with laughter shake On the leafage overbowed, — Often the King and his love-lass Let the delicious hours pass. 516 Poems of Love All the outer world could see Graved and sawn amazingly Their love's dehghted riotise, Fixed in marble for all men's eyes; But only these twain could abide In the cool peace that withinside Thrilling desire and passion dwelt; They only knew the still meaning spelt By Love's flaming script, which is God's word written in ecstasies. And where is now that palace gone, All the magical skilled stone, All the dreaming towers wrought By Love as if no more than thought The unresisting marble was? How could such a wonder pass? Ah, it was but built in vain Against the stupid horns of Rome, That pushed down into the common loam The loveliness that shone in Spain. But we have raised it up again! A loftier palace, fairer far, Is ours, and one that fears no war. Safe in marvellous walls we are; Wondering sense like build ed fires, High amazement of desires, Delight and certainty of love, Closing around, roofing above Our unapproached and perfect hour Within the splendors of love's power. Lascelles Abercrombie [1881- ON HAMPSTEAD HEATH Against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree, His scarlet tunic burns; And Hveher than the green sap's mantling glee The Spring fire tingles through him headily As quivering he turns Once on a Time 517 And stammers out the old amazing tale Of youth and April weather; While she, with half-breathed jests that, sobbing, fail, Sits, tight-lipped, quaking, eager-eyed and pale, Beneath her purple feather. Wilfrid Wilson Gibson [1878- ONCE ON A TIME Once on a time, once on a time, Before the Dawn began. There was a nymph of Dian's train Who was beloved of Pan; Once on a time a peasant lad W^ho loved a lass at home; Once on a time a Saxon king Who loved a queen of Rome. The world has but one song to sing, And it is ever new, The first and last of all the songs For it is ever true — A little song, a tender song, The only song it hath; "There was a youth of Ascalon Who loved a girl of Gath." A thousand thousand years have gone, And aeons still shall pass. Yet shall the world forever sing Of him who loved a lass — An olden song, a golden song, And sing it unafraid; "There was a youth, once on a time, Who dearly loved a maid." Kendall Banning [1879- -J..OJO IJIUI diuoy iO IN PRAISE OF HER FIRST SONG From " Astrophel and Stella " Doubt you to whom my ]\Iuse these notes intendeth, WTiich now my breast, o'ercharged, to music lendeth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only in you my song begins and endeth. Who hath the eyes vrhich marry state with pleasure? Who keeps the key of Nature's chief est treasure? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only for you the heaven forgat all measure. \Mio hath the lips where vdt in fairness reigneth? Who womankmd at once both decks and staineth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only by you Cupid his crown maintaineth. Who hath the feet, whose step all sweetness planteth? Who else, for whom Fame worthy tnmipets wanteth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only to you her sceptre \^enus granteth. WTio hath the breast, whose milk doth passions nourish? WTiose grace is such, that when it chides doth cherish? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only through you the tree of hfe doth flourish. \Mio hath the hand, which without stroke subdueth? V>lio long-dead beauty with increase reneweth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only at you all envy hopeless rueth. Si8 S^9 Silvia Who hath the hair, which loosest fastest tieth? Who makes a man hve then glad when he dieth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only of you the flatterer never lieth. Who hath the voice, which soul from senses sunders? WTiose force but yours the bolts of beauty thunders? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only with you not miracles are wonders. Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth, Which now my breast, o'ercharged, to music lendeth? To you! to you! all song of praise is due; Only in you my song begins and endeth. Philip Sidney [1554-1586I SILVIA From " The Two Gentlemen of Verona" Who is Silvia? What is she? That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her. That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness: Love doth to her eyes repair, ■ '^ To help him of his blindness; And, being helped, inhabits there. Then to Sil'vda let us sing. That Silvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling: To her let us garlands bring. William Shakespeare [1564-1616I S20 Poems of Love CUPID AND CAMPASPE From " Alexander and Campaspe " Cupid and my Campaspe played At cards for kisses; Cupid paid: He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how); With these, the crystal of his brow. And then the dimple on his chin; All these did my Campaspe win: And last he set her both his eyes- She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me? John Lyly [15 54?-! 606] APOLLO'S SONG From " Midas " My Daphne's hair is twisted gold. Bright stars apiece her eyes do hold. My Daphne's brow enthrones the Graces, My Daphne's beauty stains all faces. On Daphne's cheek grow rose and cherry. On Daphne's lip a sweeter berry, Daphne's snowy hand but touched does melt. And then no heavenlier warmth is felt. My Daphne's voice tunes all the spheres. My Daphne's music charms all ears. Fond am I thus to sing her praise; These glories now are turned to bays. John Lyly [1554?-! 606] 'FAIR IS MY LOVE FOR APRIL'S IN HER FACE From " Perimedes " Fair is my love for April's in her face. Her lovely breasts September claims his part, And lordly July in her eyes takes place, But cold December dwelleth in her heart; Samela 521 Blest be the months that set my thoughts on fire, Accurst that month that hindereth my desire. Like Phoebus' fire, so sparkle both her eyes, As air perfumed with amber is her breath, Like swelling waves her lovely breasts do rise, As earth, her heart, cold, dateth me to death: Aye me, poor man, that on the earth do live. When unkind earth death and despair doth give! In pomp sits mercy seated in her face, Love 'twixt her breasts his trophies doth imprint, Her eyes shine favor, courtesy, and grace, But touch her heart, ah, that is framed of flint! Therefore my harvest in the grass bears grain ; The rock will wear, washed with a winter's rain. Robert Greene [1560?-! 59 2I SAMELA From " Menaphon " Like to Diana in her summer weed. Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye. Goes fair Samela; Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed, When washed by Arethusa's Fount they lie, Is fair Samela. As fair Aurora in her morning-gray. Decked with the ruddy glister of her love, Is fair Samela; Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day, Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move. Shines fair Samela. Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams. Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory Of fair Samela; Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams; Her brows bright arches framed of ebony: Thus fair Samela 522 Poems of Love '"' ■ ' Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, And Juno in the show of majesty, For she's Samela; Pallas, in wit, — all three, if you well view. For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity Yield to Samela. Robert Greene [1560?-! 59 2] DAMELUS' SONG OF HIS DIAPHENIA DiAPHENiA like the daffadowndilly. White as the sun, fair as the lily. Heigh ho, how I do love thee! I do love thee as my lambs Are beloved of their dams; — How blest were I if thou would'st prove me. Diaphenia like the spreading roses. That in thy sweets all sweets encloses. Fair sweet, how I do love thee! I do love thee as each flower Loves the sun's life-giving power; For dead, thy breath to life might move me. Diaphenia like to all things blessed. When all thy praises are expressed. Dear joy, how I do love thee! As the birds do love the spring. Or the bees their careful king: Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me! Henry Constable [156 2-1 6 13] MADRIGAL My love in her attire doth show her wit, It doth so well become her; For every season she hath dressings fit,. Far Winter, Spring, and Summer. There is a Lady Sweet and Kind" 523 No beauty she doth miss When all her robes are on : But Beauty's self she is When all her robes are gone. Unknown CHLORIS IN THE SNOW I SAW fair Chloris walk alone, When feathered rain came swiftly down, As Jove descending from his Tower To court her in a silver shower: The wanton snow flew to her breast, Like pretty birds into their nest, But, overcome with whiteness there, For grief it thawed into a tear: Thence falling on her garment's hem, To deck her, froze into a gem. Unknown ^ THERE IS A LADY SWEET AND KIND" There is a lady sweet and kind. Was never face so pleased my mind; I did but see her passing by. And yet I love her till I die. Her gesture, motion, and her smiles. Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles, Beguiles my heart, I know not why, And yet I love her till I die. Cupid is winged and doth range. Her country so my love doth change: But change she earth, or change she sky, Yet I will love her till I die. Unknown 524 Poems of Love CHERRY-RIPE There is a garden in her face Where roses and white Hlies blow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow: There cherries grow which none may buy Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry. Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which when her lovely laughter shows. They look like rose-buds filled with snow; Yet them nor peer nor prince can buy Till ''Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry. Her eyes like angels watch them still; Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threatening with piercing frowns to kill All that attempt with eye or hand Those sacred cherries to come nigh. Till "Cherry-ripe" themselves do cry. Thomas Campion [ ? -1619I «., AMARILLIS I CARE not for these ladies, That must be wooed and prayed: Give me kind Amarillis, The wanton countrymaid. Nature art disdaineth. Her beauty is her own. Her when we court and kiss, She cries. Forsooth, let go! But when we come where comfort is, She never will say No. If I love Amarillis, She gives me fruit and flowers: But if we love these ladies, We must give golden showers. Elizabeth of Bohemia 525 Give them gold, that sell love, .j Give me the Nut-brown lass, Who, when we court and kiss, She cries, Forsooth, let go: But when we come where comfort is, She never will say No. These ladies must have pillows. And beds by strangers wrought; Give me a bower of willows, Of moss and leaves unbought, And fresh Amarillis, With milk and honey fed; Who, when we court and kiss. She cries, Forsooth, let go: But when we come where comfort is. She never will say No! Thomas Campion [ ? -1619I ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA You meaner beauties of the night. That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light, You common people of the skies; What are you when the moon shall rise? You curious chanters of the wood, That warble forth Dame Nature's lays. Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents; what's your praise When Philomel her voice shall raise? You violets that first appear. By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year. As if the spring were all your own; What are you when the rose is blown? 526 Poems of Love So, when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, ^ By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not designed Th' eclipse and glory of her kind. Henry Wotton [1568-1639] HER TRIUMPH From " A Celebration of Charis " See the Chariot at hand here of Love, Wherein my Lady rideth! Each that draws is a swan or a dove, And well the car Love guideth. As she goes, all hearts do duty Unto her beauty; And, enamored, do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight. That they still were to run by her side, Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth! Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it riseth! Do but mark, her forehead's smoother Than words that soothe her! And from her arched brows such a grace Sheds itself through the face. As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good, of the elements ' strife. Have you seen but a bright lily grow Before rude hands have touched it? '/ Have you marked but the fall 0' the snovf \^ Before the soil hath smutched it? '' ■' >-i^ T Have you felt the wool of beaver. Or swan's down ever? .'/^•/ 'jic jcn // A Welcome! 527 Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier? ,j2n\.. . Or the nard in the fire? Or have tasted the bag o' the bee? O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she! Ben Jonson [i573?-i637] OF PHYLLIS In petticoat of green, Her hair about her eyne, Phyllis beneath an oak Sat milking her fair flock : Among that sweet-strained moisture, rare delight, Her hand seemed milk in milk, it was so white. William Drummond [15 85-1 649] A WELCOME Welcome, welcome, do I sing, Far more welcome than the spring; He that parteth from you never Shall enjoy a spring forever. He that to the voice is near. Breaking from your ivory pale, Need not walk abroad to hear The delightful nightingale. He that looks still on your eyes. Though the winter have begun To benumb our arteries. Shall not want the summer's sun. He that still may see your cheeks. Where all rareness still reposes, Is a fool if e 'er he seeks Other lilies, other roses. 5^8 Poems of Love He to whom your soft lip yields, And perceives your breath in kissing, All the odors of the fields avfirt-i:iO Never, never shall be missing. • - =' > He that question would anew What fair Eden was of old. Let him rightly study you, And a brief of that behold. Welcome, welcome, then I sing, Far more welcome than the spring; He that parteth from you never. Shall enjoy a spring forever. William Browne [1591-1643?] THE COMPLETE LOVER For her gait, if she be walking; Be she sitting, I desire her For her state's sake; and admire her For her wit if she be talking; Gait and state and wit approve her; For which all and each I love her. Be she sullen, I commend her For a modest. Be she merry. For a kind one her prefer I. Briefly, everything doth lend her" So much grace, and so approve her, That for everything I love her. William Browne [i 591-1643?] RUBIES AND PEARLS Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing I did say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of JuHa. To Cynthia ' 529 Some asked how pearls did grow, and where; Then spoke I to my girl, To part her lips, and showed them there The quar relets of pearl. Robert Herrick [1591-1674] UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES Whenas in silks my Julia goes, Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows The liquefaction of her clothes! Next, when I cast mine eyes and see That brave vibration each way free, — O how that glittering taketh me! Robert Herrick [1591-1674] TO CYNTHIA ON CONCEALMENT OF HER BEAUTY Do not conceal those radiant eyes, The starlight of serenest skies; Lest, wanting of their heavenly light, They turn to chaos ' endless night ! ' Do not conceal those tresses fair. The silken snares of thy curled hair; Lest, finding neither gold nor ore, The curious silk-worm w^ork no more. Do not conceal those breasts of thine, More snow-white than the Apennine; Lest, if these be like cold and frost, The lily be for ever lost. Do not conceal that fragrant scent, Thy breath, which to all flowers hath lent Perfumes; lest, if being suppressed, No spices grow in all the rest. 53 o Poems of Love Do not conceal thy heavenly voice, Which makes theiearts of gods rejoice; Lest, music hearing no such thing^ii j -,;• ol The nightingale forget to sing, -jiup sdT Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse, Thy pearly teeth with coral lips; Lest that the seas cease to bring forth Gems which from thee have all their worth. Do not conceal no beauty, grace, "AHShW That's either in thy mind or face; -'T Lest virtue overcome by vice Make men believe no Paradise. Francis Kynaston [1587-164 2] ^'''''' ''■'''"'''''' SONG Ask me no more where Jove bestows, , When June is past, the fading rose;.^. ' For in your beauty 's orient deep ' ^ ^ These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day; For in pure love heaven did prepare ''"; Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more whither doth haste ., : The nightingale when May is past; ,dT For in your sweet dividing throat >).J She winters and keeps warm her note. : \T Ask me no more where those stars 'light That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become as in their sphere. ' ^.^ Ask me no more if east or west The Phoenix builds her spicy nest; ,u For unto you at last she flies, i J And in your fragrant bosom dies. vmuhsT Thomas Carew[i 5g8?-i6s9?] 3' Castara 0*1 SJi etiB on zr. y1ij£^,d 13d ai rfoug ^'Ot: A DEVOUT LOVER :, svbH I HAVE a mistress, for perfections rare ' ^^ In every eye, but in m}^ thoughts most lair. Like tapers on the altar shine her eyes; Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice ; And wheresoe 'er my fancy would begin^^^.^ Still her perfection lets religion in. rj We sit and talk, and kiss away the hour? - As chastely as the morning dews kiss flowers: I touch her, like my beads, with devout care. And come unto my courtship as m^y prayer. Thomas Randolph [i 605-1 63 5I - q 3VJ51S i^H ON A GIRDLE r,,j/^ That which her slender waist confined Shall now my joyful temples bind; No monarch but would give his crown His arms might do what this has done. It v/as my Heaven 's extremest sphere; The pale which held that lovely deer:'^ ' My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,^ Did all within this circle move. A narrow compass! and yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair! Give me but what this ribbon bound. Take all the rest the sun goes round! Edmund Waller [1606-1687] t^iJT CASTARA Like the violet, which alone Prospers in some happy shade, ^^j^j-^ My Castara lives unknown, 1 -i .\i To no looser eye betrayed: For she 's to herself untrue Who delights i' the pubhc view. 532 Poems of Love Such is her beauty as no arts Have enriched with borrowed grace. Her high birth no pride imparts, For she blushes in her place. Folly boasts a glorious blood; t She is noblest, being good. Cautious, she knew never yet What a wanton courtship meant; Nor speaks loud to boast her wit, In her silence, eloquent. Of herself survey she takes, But 'tween men no difference makes. She obeys with speedy will Her grave parents' wise commands; And so innocent, that ill She nor acts, nor understands. _ ^ Women 's feet run stni astray ^ If to ill they know the way. She sails by that rock, the court. Where oft virtue splits her mast; And retiredness thinks the port Where her fame may anchor cast. Virtue safely cannot sit Where vice is enthroned for wit. She holds that day's pleasure best Where sin waits not on delight ; Without mask, or ball, or feast, Sweetly spends a winter's night. 'er that darkness whence is thrust Prayer and sleep, oft governs lust.. She her throne makes reason climb, While wild passions captive lie; And, each article of time, Her pure thoughts to heaven fly; All her vows religious be, And she vows her love to me. . >' ,,> 1 / . I ! ^ : . 1 . ^ , ; ) ; , William HaUngton [1605-165 4] Chloe Divine TO ARAMANTHA THAT SHE WOULD DISHE\'EL HER HAIR Aramantha, sweet and fair, -'-f^^ Ah, braid no more that shining hairll As my curious hand or eye ''^'^ Hovering round thee, let it fly. Let it fly as unconfined As its calm ravisher the wind, Who hath left his darling, th' east, To wanton in that spicy nest. Every tress must be confessed; But neatly tangled at the best; Like a clew of golden thread Most excellently ravelled. Do not, then, wind up that light In ribbons, and o'er-cloud in night, Like the sun in's early ray; But shake your head and scatter day. Richard Lovelace [1618-165! CHLOE DIVINE "^ Chloe's a Nymph in flowery groves, A Nereid in the streams ; Saint-hke she in the temple moves, A woman in my dreams. S33 Love steals artillery from her eyes. The Graces point her charms; Orpheus is rivalled in her voice, And Venus in her arms. K Never so happily in one Did heaven and earth combine; And yet 'tis flesh and blood alone That makes her so divine. . \.,,i-. Thotnas D'Urfey [1653-1723I 534 Poems of Love |3cO! MY teGGY My Peggy is a young thing, Just entered in her teens, Fair as the day, and sweet as May, Fair as the day, and always gay: My Peggy is a young thing, And I'm na very auld, Yet weel I hke to meet her at The wauking o' the fauld. My Peggy speaks sae sweetly ■; ^ - . Whene'er we meet alane, I wish nae mair to lay my care, I wish nae mair o' a' that's rare: My Peggy speaks sae sweetly, To a' the lave I'm cauld; ' ' ''^'But she gars a' rtly spirits glow At wauking o' the fauld?^''-- 'My Peggy smiles sae kindly Whene'er I whisper love. That I look doun on a' the toun, That I look doun upon a croun : My Peggy smiles sae kindly. It makes me bhthe and bauld, And naetliing gi'es me sic delight As waulking o' the fauld. My Peggy sings sae saftly, When on my pipe I play; By a' the rest it is confessed, By a' the rest that she sings best: My Peggy sings sae saftly,'^^^ And in her sangs are tauld, Wi' innocence the wale o' sense. At wauking o' the fauld. i>r.uij v^oM J ■. . .'., .v,v_ Allan Ramsay [1686-1758? Tell Me. My Heart" ^35 SONG From " Ads and Galatea " O RUDDIER than the cherry! O sweeter than the berry! O nymph more bright , , ,•, Than moonshine night, Like kidlings bhthe and merry! Ripe as the melting luster; Yet hard to tame As raging flame, ^^ ,:^ ^^ And fierce as storms that bliister! John Gay [1685-173 2] "TELL ME, MY HEART, IF THIS BE LOVE" When DeHa on the plain appears. Awed by a thousand tender fears I v/ould approach, but dare not move: Tell me, my heart, if this be love? no ' ^ ; 1A Whene'er she speaks, my ravished fM" No other voice than hers can hear/) j 8 No other wit but hers approve: jiT Tell me, my heart, if this be love? If she some other youth commend, ' Though I was once his fondest friend, His instant enemy I prove : ..Tell me, my heart, if this be love? .[{r WTien she is absent, I no more . ;/ Delight in all that pleased before — . ;- The clearest spring, or shadiest grove^: Tell me, my heart, if this be love? * When fond of power, of beauty vam^f Her nets she spread for every swairi, ■ I strove to hate, but vainly strove: TeU me, my heart, if this be love? George Lyttleion [1709-1773I 536 Poems of Love THE FAIR THIEF Before the urchin well could gd, * ^ She stole the whiteness of the snow; And more, that whiteness to adorn, She stole the blushes of the morn; Stole all the sweetness ether sheds On primrose buds and violet beds. Still to reveal her artful wiles She stole the Graces' silken smiles; She stole Aurora's balmy breath; And pilfered orient pearl for teeth; "\1 /( The cherry, dipped in morning dew, '.I3T" Gave moisture to her lips, and hue. These were her infant spoils, a store; And she, in time, still pilfered more! At twelve, she stole from Cyprus' queen Her air and love-commanding mien; Stole Juno's dignity; and stole From Pallas sense to charm the soul. Apollo's wit was next her prey; Her next, the beam that lights the day; She sang; — amazed, the Sirens heard, And to assert their voice appeared. She played; — the Muses from their hill, Wondered who thus had stole their skill. Great Jove approved her crimes and art; And, t'other day, she stole my heart! If lovers, Cupid, are thy care. Exert thy vengeance on this Fair: To trial bring her stolen charms, And let her prison be my arms! h^ti-QOM] i^^k^H\ bjiWv <^^^^^^^ Wyndham [1710-1763] 3voJ Ao ^f^^ ^nt^' 537 AMORET If rightly tuneful bards decide, If it be fixed in Love's decrees, That Beauty ought not to be tried But by its native power to please, Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell — What fair can Amoret excel? Behold that bright unsuUied smile. And wisdom speaking in her mien: Yet — she so artless all the while, So little studious to be seen — We naught but instant gladness know, Nor think to whom the gift we owe. But neither music, nor the powers Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer, Add half the sunshine to the hours, Or make life's prospect half so clear, As memory brings it to the eye From scenes where x^moret was by. This, sure, is Beauty's happiest part; This gives the most unbounded sway; This shall enchant the subject heart When rose and lily fade away; And she be still, in spite of Time, Sweet Amoret, in all her prime. Mark Akenside [1721-1770I SONG The shape alone let others prize, The features of the fair: I look for spirit in her eyes. And meaning in her air. S3^ Poems of Love A damask cheek, an ivory arm, Shall ne'er my wishes win: Give me an animated form, That speaks a mind within. A face where awful honor shinesp;l Where sense and sweetness move, And angel innocence refines :The tenderness of love. These are the soul of beauty's frame; Without whose vital aid Unfinished all her features seem. And all her roses dead. But ah ! where both their charms unite, How perfect is the view. With every image of delight, With graces ever new: Of power to charm the greatest woe, The wildest rage control, Diffusing mildness o'er the brow. And rapture through the soul. Their power but faintly to express All language must despair; But go, behold Arpasia's face. And read it perfect there. Mark Akenside [17 21-17 70] KATE OF ABERDEEN The silver moon's enamored beam Steals softly through the night. To wanton with the winding stream. And kiss reflected light. To beds of state go balmy sleep ('Tis where you've seldom been), May's vigil while the shepherds keep With Kate of Aberdeen. Song 539 Upon the green the virgins wait, In rosy chaplets gay, Till morn unbar her golden gate, And give the promised May. IVIethinks I hear the maids declare, The promised May, when seen, Not half so fragrant, half so fair, As Kate of Aberdeen. Strike up the tabor's boldest notes, We'll rouse the nodding grove; The nested birds shall raise their throats. And hail the maid of love; And see — the matin lark mistakes. He quits the tufted green: Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks, — 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen. Now lightsome o'er the level mead. Where midnight fairies rove, Like them the jocund dance we'll Jea^i.; - Or tune the reed to love: t-/o h^/-. For see the rosy May draws nigh, She claims a virgin Queen; And hark, the happy shepherds cry, 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen. John Cunningham [172 9- 1773] Who has robbed the ocean cave. To tinge thy lips with coral hue?- . Who from India's distant wave^a'tBa JiiT For thee those pearly treasures drew? Who from yonder orient sky Stole the morning of thine eye? A thousand charms, thy form to deck, From sea, and earth, and air are torn; Roses bloom upon thy cheek, , ■ On thy breath their fragrance borne. 540 Poems of Love Guard thy bosom from the day, Lest thy snows should melt a way J u.iii iiiT But one charm remains behind, - ^ Which mute earth can ne'er impart;;" Nor in ocean wilt thou find, Nor in the circling air, a heart. Fairest! wouldst thou perfect be, Take, oh, take that heart from me. John Shaw [1559-1625] CHLOE It was the charming month of May, When all the flowers were fresh and gay; One morning, by the break of day, The youthful, charming Chloe From peaceful slumber she arose. Girt on her mantle and her hose, [] J And o'er the flowery mead she goes, - The youthful, charming Chloe. Lovely was she by the dawn, Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, Tripping o'er the pearly lawn. The youthful, charming Chloe. The feathered people you might see. Perched all around on every tree. In notes of sweetest melody They hail the charming Chloe; Till, painting gay the eastern skies. The glorious sun began to rise, Out-rivalled by the radiant eyes Of youthful, charming Chloe. Lovely was she by the dawn. Youthful Chloe, charming Chloe, Tripping o'er the pearly lawn. The youthful, charming Chloe. Robert Burns [1759-17Q6] The Lover's Choice 54: ^'0 MALLY'S MEEK, MALLY'S SWEET" As I was walking up the street, A barefit maid I chanced to meet; But O the road was very hard For that fair maiden's tender feet. O Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, Mally's modest and discreet, Mally's rare, Mally's fair, Mally's every way complete. It were more meet that those fine feet Were weel laced up in silken shoon. And 'twere more fit that she should sit Within yon chariot gilt aboon. Her yellow hair, beyond compare. Comes trinkling down her swan-white neck, And her two eyes, like stars in skies. Would keep a sinking ship frae wreck. Mally's meek, Mally's sweet, Mally's modest and discreet, Mally's rare, Mally's fair, Mally's every w^ay complete. Robert Burns [i 759-1 796] THE LOVER'S CHOICE You, Damon, covet to possess The nymph that sparkles in her dress; Would rusthng silks and hoops invade, And clasp an armful of brocade. O Such raise the price of your delight Who purchase both their red and white, And, pirate-like, surprise your heart W' ith colors of adulterate art. 5.4#^ Poems of Love Me, Damon, me the maid enchants Whose cheeks the hand of nature paints; A modest blush adorns her face, Her air an unaffected grace. No art she knows, or seeks to know; No charm to wealthy pride will owe; ;' -"^'^ No gems, no gold she needs to wear; "" ' She shines intrinsically fair. Thomas Beding field [ ? -1613I RONDEAU REDOUBLE My day and night are in my lady's hand; I I have no other sunrise than her sight; For me her favor glorifies the land; Her anger darkens all the cheerful light. Her face is fairer than the hawthorn white. When all a-iiower in May the hedgerows stand; While she is kind, I know of iiOi affright; My day and night are in my lady's hand. All heaven in her glorious eyes is spanned; Her smile is softer than the summer's night, Gladder than daybreak on the Faery strand; I have no other sunrise than her sight. : ,,^, ^_ Her silver speech is like the singing flight Of runnels rippling o'er the jewelled sand; Her kiss a dream of delicate delight ; For me her favor glorifies the land. What if the Winter chase the Summer bland! The gold sun in her hair burns ever bright. If she be sad, straightway all joy is banned; Her anger darkens all the cheerful light. Come weal or woe, I am my lady's knight And in her service every ill withstand; Love is my Lord in all the world's. despite And holdeth in the hollow of his hand My day and night. JgJin^Payrie^XQ,.^ 1770-1800I My Love She's But a Lassie Yet" 543 :iVLAJSV 'MY LOVE SHE'S BUT A LASSIE YET" •\ijz an! My love she's but a lassie yet, I bnA A lightsome lovely lassie yet; I ^IlrfV/ It scarce wad do To sit an' woo • in-jDown by the stream sae glassy yet. But there's a braw time coming yet, When we may gang a-roaming yet; An' hint wi' glee O' joys to be, ri- When fa's the modest gloaming yetjiyiiuy loi fildnuQ 'She's neither proud nor saucy yet, She's neither plump nor gaucy yet; !j^n* But just a jinking, roHt no 1 Bonny blinking, Hilty-skilty lassie yet . :.;■•,. .'iiiLl ov snim But O, her artless smile's mair sweet Than hinny or than marmalete; An' right or wrang, Ere it be lang, .; vj;-:- j : . .anBfrfnfj^I'll bring her to a parley yet. ■rntfin'S WVl I'm jealous o' what blesses her, The very breeze that kisses her, The flowery beds iiJ On which she treads, 1 Though wae for ane that misses her. Then O, to meet my lassie yet. Up in yon glen sae grassy yet; For all I see Are naught to me. Save her that's but a lassie yet. James Hogg [1770-1835] 544 Poems of Love ^^J yM ^' JESSIE, THE FLOWER O' DUNBLANE The sun has gane down o'er the lofty Benlomond And left the red clouds to preside o'er the scene, While lanely I stray, in the calm simmer gloamin', To muse on sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane. How sweet is the. brier, wi' its saft fauldin' blossom. And sweet is the birk, wi' its mantle o' green; Yet sweeter and fairer, and dear to this bosom, Is lovely young Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane. She's modest as ony, and blithe as she's bonnie; For guileless simplicity marks her its ain ; And far be the villain, divested of feeling, W'ha'd blight in its bloom the sweet Flower o' Dunblanec Sing on, thou sweet mavis, thy hymn to the e'ening! Thou'rt dear to the echoes of Calderwood glen; Sae dear to this bosom, sae artless and winning, Is charming young Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane. How lost were my days till I met wi' my Jessie! The sports o' the city seemed foolish and vain; I ne'er saw a nymph I would ca' my dear lassie Till charmed wi' sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane. Though mine were the station o' loftiest grandeur. Amidst its profusion I'd languish in pain. And reckon as naething the height o' its splendor. If wanting sweet Jessie, the Flower o' Dunblane. Robert Tannahill 11774-1810] MARGARET AND DORA Margaret's beauteous — Grecian arts Ne'er drew form completer. Yet why, in my hearts of hearts, Hold I Dora's sweeter? si 99£ii Dagonet's Canzonet 545 Dora's eyes of heavenly blue Pass all painting's reach, Ringdoves' notes are discord to The music of her speech. Artists! Margaret's smile receive, And on canvas show it; But for perfect worship leave Dora to her poet. Thomas Campbell [i 777-1844] DAGONET'S CANZONET A QUEEN lived in the South; And music was her mouth, And sunshine was her hair, By day, and all the night The drowsy embers there Remembered still the light; My soul, was she not fair! But for her eyes — they made An iron man afraid; Like sky-blue pools they were, Watching the sky that knew Itself transmuted there Light blue, or deeper blue; My soul, was she not fair! The lifting of her hands Made laughter in the lands Where the sun is, in the South: ._ .*. .r-.-r But my soul learnt sorrow there In the secrets of her mouth. Her eyes, her hands, her hair: O soul, was she not fair! Ernest Rhys [1859- 54^ Poems of Love STANZAS FOR MUSIC There be none of Beauty's daughters With a magic hke thee; And Hke music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound v/ere causing The charmed ocean's pausing, The waves lie still and gleaming. And the lulled winds seem dreaming. And the midnight moon is weaving Her bright chain o'er the deep, Whose breast is gently heaving, As an infant's asleep: So the spirit bows before thee, To listen and adore thee; With a full but soft emotion. Like the swell of Summer's ocean. Gordon Byron [1788-18 2 4] "FLOWERS I WOULD BRING" Flowers I would bring if flowers could make thee fairer, And music, if the Muse were dear to thee; (For loving these would make thee love the bearer) But sweetest songs forget their melody. And loveliest flowers would but conceal the wearer: — A rose I marked, and might have plucked; but she Blushed as she bent, imploring me to spare her. Nor spoil her beauty by such rivalry. ' Alas ! and with what gifts shall I pursue thee, What offerings bring, what treasures lay before thee; When earth with all her floral train doth woo thee. And all old poets and old songs adore thee; And love to thee is naught; from passionate mood Secured by joy's complacent plenitude! Aubrey Thomas de Vere [1814-1902I "It Is Not Beauty I Demand" 547 'IT IS NOT BEAUTY I DEMAND" It is not Beauty I demand, A crystal brow, the moon's despair, Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand, Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair: Tell me not of your starry eyes, . , Your lips that seem on roses fed, Your breasts, where Cupid tumbling lies Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed: — A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours, A breath that softer music speaks Than summer winds a-wooing flowers,— These are but gauds: nay, what are lips? Coral beneath the ocean-stream. Whose brink wlien your adventurer sips Full oft he perisheth on them. And what are cheeks but ensigns oft That wave hot youth to fields of blood? Did Helen's breast, though ne'er so soft, Do Greece or Ilium any good? aa HBffT Eyes can with baleful ardor burn; Poison can breathe, that erst perfumed; There's many a white hand holds an urn With lovers' hearts to dust consumed. For crystal brows — ^there's naught within; They are but empty cells for pride; He who the Siren's hair would win' ^ Is mostly strangled in the tideV'^ '"' ' . 13d bnA Give me, instead of Beauty's bust[T A tender heart, a loyal mind Which with temptation I could trust,' -'^ Yet never linked with error find, — >'^^ 548 '^nrrr;2: .- .[.^rfrrT oHT Shy as the squirrel and wayward as the swallow, Swift as the swallow along the river's light Circleting the surface to meet his mirrored winglets. Fleeter she seems in her stay than in her flight. Shy as the squirrel that leaps among the pine-tops. Wayward as the swallow overhead at set of sun. She whom I love is hard to catch and conquer. Hard, but O the glory of the winning were she won! When her mother tends her before the laughing mirror. Tying up her laces, looping up her hair, Often she thinks, were this wild thing wedded, More love should I have, and much less care. When her mother tends her before the lighted mirror. Loosening her laces, combing down her curls. Often she thinks, were this wild thing wedded, ;it^nd I should miss but one for many boys and girls^f, '. ■ Heartless she is as the shadow in the meadows, i,\.,,,, , , Flying to the hills on a blue and breezy nooii,