[Illustration: When the shadows are long]
POEMS
Every Child Should Know
EDITED BY
Mary E. Burt
[Illustration]
THE WHAT-EVERY-CHILD-
SHOULD-KNOW-LIBRARY
Published by
DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & CO., INC., for
THE PARENTS’ INSTITUTE, INC.
Publishers of “The Parents’ Magazine”
9 EAST 40th STREET, NEW YORK
COPYRIGHT. 1904, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY,
N.Y.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO PUBLISHERS AND AUTHORS
It sometimes happens that there are people who do not know that authors
are protected by copyright laws. A publisher once cited to me an
instance of a teacher who innocently put forth a little volume of poems
that she loved and admired, without asking permission of any one. Her
annoyance was boundless when she found that she had no right to the
poems.
Special permission has been obtained for each copyrighted poem in this
volume, and the right to publish has been purchased of the author or
publisher, except in those cases where the author or the publisher has,
for reasons of courtesy and friendship, given the permission.
In addition to the business arrangements which have been made, we wish
to extend our thanks and acknowledgments to those firms which have so
kindly allowed us to use their material.
To HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY, of Boston, we are indebted for
the use of the following poems: From the copyrighted works of
Longfellow--“The Arrow and the Song,” “A Fragment of Hiawatha’s
Childhood,” “The Skeleton in Armour,” “The Wreck of the
_Hesperus_,” “The Ship of State,” “The Psalm of Life,” “The
Village Blacksmith.” From Whittier--“Barbara Frietchie” and “The
_Three Bells_ of Glasgow.” From Emerson--“The Problem.” From
Burroughs--“My Own Shall Come to Me.” From Lowell--“The Finding of
the Lyre,” “The Shepherd of King Admetus,” and a fragment of “The
Vision of Sir Launfal,” From Holmes--“The Chambered Nautilus” and
“Old Ironsides.” From James T. Fields--“The Captain’s Daughter.”
From Bayard Taylor--“The Song in Camp,” From Celia Thaxter--“The
Sandpiper.” From J.T. Trowbridge--“Farm-Yard Song.” From Edith M.
Thomas--“The God of Music” and Hermes’ “Moly.”
To CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS we are indebted for the use of the
following poems: From the copyrighted works of Eugene
Field--“Wynken Blynken, and Nod,” “Krinken,” and “The Duel.” From
Robert Louis Stevenson--“My Shadow.” From James Whitcomb Riley’s
poems--“Little Orphant Annie.” From the poems of Sidney
Lanier--“Barnacles” and “The Tournament.” From “The Poems of
Patriotism”--“Sheridan’s Ride.”
We are further indebted to CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS, as well as
to MR. GEORGE W. CABLE, for “The New Arrival,” taken from
“The Cable Story Book,” and to MRS. KATHERINE MILLER and
_Scribner’s Magazine_ for “Stevenson’s Birthday.”
To J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY we are indebted for the use of
“Sheridan’s Ride,” from the complete works of T. Buchanan Read.
To HARPER & BROTHERS for the use of “Driving Home the Cows,”
by Kate Putnam Osgood.
To LITTLE, BROWN & COMPANY, of Boston, “How the Leaves Came
Down,” by Susan Coolidge.
To the WHITAKER & RAY COMPANY, of San Francisco, “Columbus,”
by Joaquin Miller, from his complete works published and
copyrighted by that company.
To D. APPLETON & COMPANY for “The Planting of the Apple-Tree”
and “Robert of Lincoln,” from the complete works of William Cullen
Bryant; also for “Marco Bozzaris,” from the works of Fitz-Greene
Halleck.
To the MACMILLAN COMPANY for “The Forsaken Merman,” by Matthew
Arnold, from the complete volume of his poems published by that
company.
To the HOWARD UNIVERSITY PRINT, Washington, D.C., for Jeremiah
Rankin’s little poem, “The Babie,” from “Ingleside Rhaims.”
To the heirs of MARY EMILY BRADLEY for “A Chrysalis.”
To HENRY HOLCOMB BENNETT for “The Flag Goes By.”
PREFACE
Is this another collection of stupid poems that children cannot use?
Will they look hopelessly through this volume for poems that suit them?
Will they say despairingly, “This is too long,” and “That is too hard,”
and “I don’t like that because it is not interesting”?
Are there three or four pleasing poems and are all the rest put in to
fill up the book? Nay, verily! The poems in this collection are those
that children love. With the exception of seven, they are short enough
for children to commit to memory without wearying themselves or losing
interest in the poem. If one boy learns “The Overland Mail,” or “The
Recruit,” or “Wynken, Blynken, and Nod,” or “The Song in Camp,” or “Old
Ironsides,” or “I Have a Little Shadow,” or “The Tournament,” or “The
Duel,” nine boys out of ten will be eager to follow him. I know because
I have tried it a dozen times. Every boy loves “Paul Revere’s Ride”
(alas! I have not been able to include it), and is ambitious to learn
it, but only boys having a quick memory will persevere to the end. Shall
the slower boy be deprived of the pleasure of reading the whole poem and
getting its inspiring sentiment and learning as many stanzas as his mind
will take? No, indeed. Half of such a poem is better than none. Let the
slow boy learn and recite as many stanzas as he can and the boy of quick
memory follow him up with the rest. It does not help the slow boy’s
memory to keep it down entirely or deprive it of its smaller activity
because he cannot learn the whole. Some people will invariably give the
slow child a very short poem. It is often better to divide a long poem
among the children, letting each child learn a part. The sustained
interest of a long poem is worth while. “The Merman,” “The Battle of
Ivry,” “Horatius at the Bridge,” “Krinken,” “The Skeleton in Armour,”
“The Raven” and “Hervé Riel” may all profitably be learned that way.
Nevertheless, the child enjoys most the poem that is just long enough,
and there is much to be said in favour of the selection that is adapted,
in length, to the average mind; for the child hesitates in the presence
of quantity rather than in the presence of subtle thought. I make claim
for this collection that it is made up of poems that the majority of
children will learn of their own free will. There are people who believe
that in the matter of learning poetry there is no “_ought_,” but this is
a false belief. There is a _duty_, even there; for every American
citizen _ought_ to know the great national songs that keep alive the
spirit of patriotism. Children should build for their future--and get,
while they are children, what only the fresh imagination of the child
can assimilate.
They should store up an untold wealth of heroic sentiment; they should
acquire the habit of carrying a literary quality in their conversation;
they should carry a heart full of the fresh and delightful associations
and memories, connected with poetry hours to brighten mature years. They
should develop their memories while they have memories to develop.
Will the boy who took every poetry hour for a whole school year to learn
“Henry of Navarre” ever regret it, or will the children who listened to
it? No. It was fresh every week and they brought fresh interest in
listening. The boy will always love it because he used to love it. There
were boys who scrambled for the right to recite “The Tournament,” “The
Charge of the Light Brigade,” “The Star-Spangled Banner,” and so on. The
boy who was first to reach the front had the privilege. The triumph of
getting the chance to recite added to the zest of it. Will they ever
forget it?
I know Lowell’s “The Finding of the Lyre.” Attention, Sir Knights! See
who can learn it first as I say it to you. But I find that I have
forgotten a line of it, so you may open your books and teach it to me.
Now, I can recite every word of it. How much of it can you repeat from
memory? One boy can say it all. Nearly every child has learned the most
of it. Now, it will be easy for you to learn it alone. And Memory, the
Goddess Beautiful, will henceforth go with you to recall this happy
hour.
MARY E. BURT.
The John A. Browning School, 1904.
POEMS
CONTENTS
PART I
1. The Arrow and the Song 3
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
2. The Babie 4
JEREMIAH EAMES RANKIN
3. Let Dogs Delight to Bark and Bite 4
ISAAC WATTS
4. Little Things 5
EBENEZER COBHAM BREWER
5. He Prayeth Best 5
SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE
6. Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star 6
ANONYMOUS
7. Pippa 6
ROBERT BROWNING
8. The Days of the Month 7
AN OLD SONG
9. True Royalty 7
RUDYARD KIPLING
10. Playing Robinson Crusoe 8
RUDYARD KIPLING
11. My Shadow 9
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
12. Little White Lily 10
GEORGE MACDONALD
13. How the Leaves Came Down 12
SUSAN COOLIDGE
14. Willie Winkie 13
WILLIAM MILLER
15. The Owl and the Pussy-Cat 15
EDWARD LEAR
16. Wynken, Blynken, and Nod 16
EUGENE FIELD
17. The Duel 18
EUGENE FIELD
18. The Boy Who Never Told a Lie 19
ANONYMOUS
19. Love Between Brothers and Sisters 20
ISAAC WATTS
20. The Bluebell of Scotland 20
ANONYMOUS
21. If I Had But Two Little Wings 21
SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE
22. A Farewell 21
CHARLES KINGSLEY
23. Casabianca 22
FELICIA HEMANS
24. The Captain’s Daughter 23
JAMES T. FIELDS
25. The Village Blacksmith 25
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
26. Sweet and Low 27
ALFRED TENNYSON
27. The Violet 27
JANE TAYLOR
28. The Rainbow (a fragment) 28
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
29. A Visit From St. Nicholas 29
CLEMENT CLARKE MOORE
30. The Star-Spangled Banner 31
FRANCIS SCOTT KEY
31. Father William 33
LEWIS CARROLL
32. The Nightingale and the Glow-worm 34
WILLIAM COWPER
PART II
33. The Frost 39
HANNAH FLAGG GOULD
34. The Owl 40
ALFRED TENNYSON
35. Little Billee 41
WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY
36. The Butterfly and the Bee 42
WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES
37. An Incident of the French Camp 43
ROBERT BROWNING
38. Robert of Lincoln 44
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
39. Old Grimes 47
ALBERT GORTON GREENE
40. Song of Life 48
CHARLES MACKAY
41. Fairy Song 50
JOHN KEATS
42. A Boy’s Song 50
JAMES HOGG
43. Buttercups and Daisies 51
MARY HOWITT
44. The Rainbow 53
THOMAS CAMPBELL
45. Old Ironsides 53
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
46. Little Orphant Annie 54
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY
47. O Captain! My Captain! 57
WALT WHITMAN
48. Ingratitude 58
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
49. The Ivy Green 59
CHARLES DICKENS
50. The Noble Nature 60
BEN JONSON
51. The Flying Squirrel 60
MARY E. BURT
52. Warren’s Address 63
JOHN PIERPONT
53. The Song in Camp 64
BAYARD TAYLOR
54. The Bugle Song 66
ALFRED TENNYSON
55. The _Three Bells_ of Glasgow 67
JOHN G. WHITTIER
56. Sheridan’s Ride 68
THOMAS BUCHANAN READ
57. The Sandpiper 71
CELIA THAXTER
58. Lady Clare 72
ALFRED TENNYSON
59. The Lord of Burleigh 75
ALFRED TENNYSON
60. Hiawatha’s Childhood 79
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
61. I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud 82
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
62. John Barleycorn 83
ROBERT BURNS
63. A Life on the Ocean Wave 85
EPES SARGENT
64. The Death of the Old Year 86
ALFRED TENNYSON
65. Abou Ben Adhem 89
LEIGH HUNT
66. Farm-Yard Song 90
J.T. TROWBRIDGE
67. To a Mouse 92
ROBERT BURNS
68. To a Mountain Daisy 94
ROBERT BURNS
69. Barbara Frietchie 96
JOHN G. WHITTIER
PART III
70. Lochinvar 103
SIR WALTER SCOTT
71. Lord Ullin’s Daughter 105
THOMAS CAMPBELL
72. The Charge of the Light Brigade 107
ALFRED TENNYSON
73. The Tournament 110
SIDNEY LANIER
74. The Wind and the Moon 111
GEORGE MACDONALD
75. Jesus the Carpenter 114
CATHERINE C. LIDDELL
76. Letty’s Globe 115
CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER
77. A Dream 116
WILLIAM BLAKE
78. Heaven Is Not Reached at a Single Bound 117
J.G. HOLLAND
79. The Battle of Blenheim 117
ROBERT SOUTHEY
80. Fidelity 120
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
81. The Chambered Nautilus 122
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
82. Crossing the Bar 124
ALFRED TENNYSON
83. The Overland-Mail 125
RUDYARD KIPLING
84. Gathering Song of Donald Dhu 126
SIR WALTER SCOTT
85. Marco Bozzaris 128
FITZ-GREENE HALLECK
86. The Death of Napoleon 131
ISAAC MCCLELLAN
87. How Sleep the Brave 133
WILLIAM COLLINS
88. The Flag Goes By 133
HENRY HOLCOMB BENNETT
89. Hohenlinden 134
THOMAS CAMPBELL
90. My Old Kentucky Home 136
STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER
91. Old Folks at Home 137
STEPHEN COLLINS FOSTER
92. The Wreck of the _Hesperus_ 138
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
93. Bannockburn 142
ROBERT BURNS
PART IV
94. The Inchcape Rock 145
ROBERT SOUTHEY
95. The Finding of the Lyre 148
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
96. A Chrysalis 149
MARY EMILY BRADLEY
97. For a’ That 151
ROBERT BURNS
98. The New Arrival 152
GEORGE W. CABLE
99. The Brook 153
ALFRED TENNYSON
100. The Ballad of the _Clampherdown_ 154
RUDYARD KIPLING
101. The Destruction of Sennacherib 158
LORD BYRON
102. I Remember, I Remember 159
THOMAS HOOD
103. Driving Home the Cows 160
KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD
104. Krinken 162
EUGENE FIELD
105. Stevenson’s Birthday 164
KATHERINE MILLER
106. A Modest Wit 165
SELLECK OSBORNE
107. The Legend of Bishop Hatto 166
ROBERT SOUTHEY
108. Columbus 160
JOAQUIN MILLER
109. The Shepherd of King Admetus 171
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
110. How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to 173
Aix
ROBERT BROWNING
111. The Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna 176
C. WOLFE
112. The Eve of Waterloo 177
LORD BYRON
113. Ivry 179
THOMAS B. MACAULAY
114. The Glove and the Lions 184
LEIGH HUNT
115. The Well of St. Keyne 186
ROBERT SOUTHEY
116. The Nautilus and the Ammonite 188
ANONYMOUS
117. The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk 190
WILLIAM COWPER
118. The Homes of England 192
FELICIA HEMANS
119. Horatius at the Bridge 193
THOMAS B. MACAULAY
120. The Planting of the Apple-Tree 211
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
PART V
121. June 217
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL
122. A Psalm of Life 218
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
123. Barnacles 219
SIDNEY LANIER
124. A Happy Life 220
SIR HENRY WOTTON
125. Home, Sweet Home 220
JOHN HOWARD PAYNE
126. From Casa Guidi Windows 222
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
127. Woodman, Spare That Tree! 222
GEORGE POPE MORRIS
128. Abide With Me 223
HENRY FRANCIS LYTE
129. Lead, Kindly Light 224
JOHN HENRY NEWMAN
130. The Last Rose of Summer 225
THOMAS MOORE
131. Annie Laurie 226
WILLIAM DOUGLAS
132. The Ship of State 227
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
133. America 228
SAMUEL FRANCIS SMITH
134. The Landing of the Pilgrims 229
FELICIA HEMANS
135. The Lotos-Eaters 231
ALFRED TENNYSON
136. Moly 233
EDITH M. THOMAS
137. Cupid Drowned 234
LEIGH HUNT
138. Cupid Stung 234
THOMAS MOORE
139. Cupid and My Campasbe 235
JOHN LYLY
140. A Ballad for a Boy 236
ANONYMOUS
141. The Skeleton in Armour 240
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW
142. The _Revenge_ 246
ALFRED TENNYSON
143. Sir Galahad 253
ALFRED TENNYSON
144. A Name in the Sand 256
HANNAH FLAGG GOULD
PART VI
145. The Voice of Spring 259
FELICIA HEMANS
146. The Forsaken Merman 260
MATTHEW ARNOLD
147. The Banks o’ Doon 265
ROBERT BURNS
148. The Light of Other Days 266
THOMAS MOORE
149. My Own Shall Come to Me 267
JOHN BURROUGHS
150. Ode to a Skylark 268
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
151. The Sands of Dee 271
CHARLES KINGSLEY
152. A Wish 272
SAMUEL ROGERS
153. Lucy 272
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
154. Solitude 273
ALEXANDER POPE
155. John Anderson 274
ROBERT BURNS
156. The God of Music 275
EDITH M. THOMAS
157. A Musical Instrument 275
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
158. The Brides of Enderby 277
JEAN INGELOW
159. The Lye 283
SIR WALTER RALEIGH
160. L’Envoi 285
RUDYARD KIPLING
161. Contentment 286
EDWARD DYER
162. The Harp That Once Through Tara’s Halls 287
THOMAS MOORE
163. The Old Oaken Bucket 288
SAMUEL WOODWORTH
164. The Raven 289
EDGAR ALLAN POE
165. Arnold von Winkleried 296
JAMES MONTGOMERY
166. Life, I Know Not What Thou Art 299
A.L. BARBAULD
167. Mercy 300
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
168. Polonius’ Advice 301
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
169. A Fragment from “Julius Cæsar” 301
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
170. The Skylark 302
THOMAS HOGG
171. The Choir Invisible 303
GEORGE ELIOT
172. The World Is Too Much With Us 304
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
173. On His Blindness 304
JOHN MILTON
174. She Was a Phantom of Delight 305
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
175. Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard 306
THOMAS GRAY
176. Rabbi Ben Ezra 312
ROBERT BROWNING
177. Prospice 320
ROBERT BROWNING
178. Recessional 321
RUDYARD KIPLING
179. Ozymandias of Egypt 322
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY
180. Mortality 323
WILLIAM KNOX
181. On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer 326
JOHN KEATS
182. Hervé Riel 326
ROBERT BROWNING
183. The Problem 333
RALPH WALDO EMERSON
184. To America 335
ALFRED AUSTIN
185. The English Flag 337
RUDYARD KIPLING
186. The Man With the Hoe 342
EDWIN MARKHAM
187. Song of Myself 344
WALT WHITMAN
Index 350
INDEX OF AUTHORS
ANONYMOUS
Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star, 6
The Days of the Month, 7
The Boy who Never Told a Lie, 19
The Bluebell of Scotland, 20
The Nautilus and the Ammonite, 188
A Ballad for a Boy, 236
ARNOLD, MATTHEW
The Forsaken Merman, 260
AUSTIN, ALFRED
To America, 335
BARBAULD, A.L.
Life, I Know Not What Thou Art, 299
BENNETT, HENRY HOLCOMB
The Flag Goes By, 133
BLAKE, WILLIAM
A Dream, 116
BOWLES, WILLIAM LISLE
The Butterfly and the Bee, 42
BRADLEY, MARY EMILY
A Chrysalis, 149
BREWER, EBENEZER COBHAM
Little Things, 5
BROWNING, ELIZABETH BARRETT
From Casa Guidi Windows, 222
A Musical Instrument, 275
BROWNING, ROBERT
Pippa, 6
An Incident of the French Camp, 43
How They Brought the Good News from Ghent to Aix, 173
Rabbi Ben Ezra, 312
Prospice, 320
Hervé Riel, 326
BRYANT, WILLIAM CULLEN
Robert of Lincoln, 44
The Planting of the Apple Tree, 211
BURNS, ROBERT
John Barleycorn, 83
To a Mouse, 92
To a Mountain Daisy, 94
Bannockburn, 142
For a’ That, 151
The Banks o’ Doon, 265
John Anderson, 274
BURROUGHS, JOHN
My Own Shall Come to Me, 267
BURT, MARY E.
The Flying Squirrel, 60
BYRON, LORD
The Destruction of Sennacherib, 158
The Eve of Waterloo, 177
CABLE, GEORGE W.
The New Arrival, 152
CAMPBELL, THOMAS
The Rainbow, 53
Lord Ullin’s Daughter, 105
Hohenlinden, 134
CARROLL, LEWIS
Father William, 33
COLERIDGE, SAMUEL T.
He Prayeth Best, 5
If I Had But Two Little Wings, 21
COLLINS, WILLIAM
How Sleep the Brave, 133
COOLIDGE, SUSAN
How the Leaves Came Down, 12
COWPER, WILLIAM
The Nightingale and the Glow-worm, 34
The Solitude of Alexander Selkirk, 190
DICKENS, CHARLES
The Ivy Green, 59
DOUGLAS, WILLIAM
Annie Laurie, 226
DYER, EDWARD
Contentment, 286
ELIOT, GEORGE
The Choir Invisible, 303
EMERSON, RALPH WALDO
The Problem, 333
FIELD, EUGENE
Wynken, Blynken and Nod, 16
The Duel, 18
Krinken, 162
FIELDS, JAMES T.
The Captain’s Daughter, 23
FOSTER, STEPHEN COLLINS
My Old Kentucky Home, 136
Old Folks at Home, 137
GOULD, HANNAH FLAGG
The Frost, 39
A Name in the Sand, 256
GRAY, THOMAS
Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, 306
GREENE, ALBERT GORTON
Old Grimes, 47
HALLECK, FITZ-GREENE
Marco Bozzaris, 128
HEMANS, FELICIA
Casabianca, 22
The Homes of England, 192
The Landing of the Pilgrims, 229
The Voice of Spring, 259
HOOD, THOMAS
I Remember, I Remember, 159
HOGG, JAMES
A Boy’s Song, 50
The Skylark, 302
HOLLAND, J.G.
Heaven is Not Reached at a Single Bound, 117
HOLMES, OLIVER WENDELL
Old Ironsides, 53
The Chambered Nautilus, 122
HOWITT, MARY
Buttercups and Daisies, 51
HUNT, LEIGH
Abou Ben Adhem, 89
The Glove and the Lions, 184
Cupid Drowned, 234
INGELOW, JEAN
The Brides of Enderby, 277
JONSON. BEN
The Noble Nature, 60
KEATS, JOHN
Fairy Song, 50
On First Looking Into Chapman’s Homer, 326
KEY, FRANCIS SCOTT
The Star-Spangled Banner, 31
KINGSLEY, CHARLES
A Farewell, 21
The Sands of Dee, 271
KIPLING, RUDYARD
True Royalty, 7
Playing Robinson Crusoe, 8
The Overland Mail, 125
The Ballad of the Clampherdown, 154
L’Envoi, 285
Recessional, 321
The English Flag, 337
KNOX, WILLIAM
Mortality, 323
LANIER, SIDNEY
The Tournament, 110
Barnacles, 219
LEAR, EDWARD
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat, 15
LIDDELL, CATHERINE C.
Jesus the Carpenter, 114
LONGFELLOW, HENRY W.
The Arrow and the Song, 3
The Village Blacksmith, 25
Hiawatha’s Childhood, 79
The Wreck of the Hesperus, 138
A Psalm of Life, 218
The Ship of State, 227
The Skeleton in Armour, 240
LOWELL, JAMES RUSSELL
The Finding of the Lyre, 148
The Shepherd of King Admetus, 171
June, 217
LYLY, JOHN
Cupid and My Campasbe, 235
LYTE, HENRY FRANCIS
Abide With Me, 223
MACAULAY, THOMAS B.
Ivry, 179
Horatius at the Bridge, 193
MACDONALD, GEORGE
Little White Lily, 10
The Wind and the Moon, 111
MACKAY, CHARLES
Song of Life, 48
MARKHAM, EDWIN
The Man With the Hoe, 342
MCCLELLAN, ISAAC
The Death of Napoleon, 131
MILLER, JOAQUIN
Columbus, 169
MILLER, KATHERINE
Stevenson’s Birthday, 164
MILLER, WILLIAM
Willie Winkie, 13
MILTON, JOHN
On His Blindness, 304
MONTGOMERY, JAMES
Arnold von Winkleried, 296
MOORE, CLEMENT CLARKE
A Visit from St. Nicholas, 29
MOORE, THOMAS
The Last Rose of Summer, 234
Cupid Stung, 234
The Light of Other Days, 266
The Harp That Once Through Tara’s Halls, 287
MORRIS, GEORGE POPE
Woodman, Spare That Tree, 222
NEWMAN, JOHN HENRY
Lead, Kindly Light, 224
OSBORNE, SELLECK
A Modest Wit, 165
OSGOOD, KATE PUTNAM
Driving Home the Cows, 160
PAYNE, JOHN HOWARD
Home, Sweet Home, 220
PIERPONT, JOHN
Warren’s Address, 63
POE, EDGAR ALLAN
The Raven, 289
POPE, ALEXANDER
Solitude, 273
RALEIGH, SIR WALTER
The Lye, 283
RANKIN. JEREMIAH EAMES
The Babie, 4
READ, THOMAS BUCHANAN
Sheridan’s Ride, 68
RILEY, JAMES WHITCOMB
Little Orphant Annie, 54
ROGERS, SAMUEL
A Wish, 272
SARGENT, EPES
A Life on the Ocean Wave, 85
SCOTT, SIR WALTER
Lochinvar, 103
The Gathering Song of Donald Dhu, 126
SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM
Ingratitude, 58
Mercy, 300
Polonius’ Advice, 301
A Fragment from Julius Cæsar, 301
SHELLEY, PERCY BYSSHE
Ode to a Skylark, 268
Ozymandias in the Desert, 322
SMITH, SAMUEL FRANCIS
America, 228
SOUTHEY, ROBERT
The Battle of Blenheim, 117
The Inchcape Rock, 145
The Legend of Bishop Hatto, 166
The Well of St. Keyne, 186
STEVENSON, ROBERT LOUIS
My Shadow, 9
TAYLOR, BAYARD
The Song in Camp, 64
TAYLOR, JANE
The Violet, 27
TENNYSON, ALFRED
Sweet and Low, 27
The Owl, 40
The Bugle Song, 66
Lady Clare, 72
The Lord of Burleigh, 75
The Death of the Old Year, 86
The Charge of the Light Brigade, 107
Crossing the Bar, 124
The Brook, 153
The Lotos Eaters, 231
The REVENGE, 246
Sir Galahad, 253
THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE
Little Billee, 41
THAXTER, CELIA
The Sandpiper, 71
THOMAS, EDITH
Moly, 233
The God of Music, 275
TROWBRIDGE, J.T.
Farmyard Song, 90
TURNER, CHARLES TENNYSON
Letty’s Globe, 115
WATTS, ISAAC
Let Dogs Delight to Bark and Bite, 4
Love Between Brothers and Sisters, 20
WHITMAN, WALT
O Captain! My Captain! 57
Song of Myself, 344
WHITTIER, JOHN G.
The Three Bells of Glasgow, 67
Barbara Frietchie, 96
WOLFE, C.
The Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna, 176
WOODWORTH, SAMUEL
The Old Oaken Bucket, 288
WORDSWORTH, WILLIAM
The Rainbow (a fragment), 28
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud, 82
Fidelity, 120
Lucy, 272
The World is Too Much With Us, 304
She Was a Phantom of Delight, 305
WOTTON, SIR HENRY
A Happy Life, 220
PART I.
The Budding Moment
[Illustration]
Poems That Every Child Should Know
THE ARROW AND THE SONG.
“The Arrow and the Song,” by Longfellow (1807-82), is placed first in
this volume out of respect to a little girl of six years who used to
love to recite it to me. She knew many poems, but this was her
favourite.
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
THE BABIE.
I found “The Babie” in Stedman’s “Anthology.” It is placed in this
volume by permission of the poet, Jeremiah Eames Rankin, of Cleveland
(1828-), because it captured the heart of a ten-year-old boy whose
fancy was greatly moved by the two beautiful lines:
“Her face is like an angel’s face,
I’m glad she has no wings.”
Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes,
Nae stockin’ on her feet;
Her supple ankles white as snaw,
Or early blossoms sweet.
Her simple dress o’ sprinkled pink,
Her double, dimplit chin,
Her puckered lips, and baumy mou’,
With na ane tooth within.
Her een sae like her mither’s een,
Twa gentle, liquid things;
Her face is like an angel’s face:
We’re glad she has nae wings.
JEREMIAH EAMES RANKIN.
LET DOGS DELIGHT TO BARK AND BITE.
“Let Dogs Delight to Bark and Bite,” by Isaac Watts (1674-1748), and
“Little Drops of Water,” by Ebenezer Cobham Brewer (1810-97), are poems
that the world cannot outgrow. Once in the mind, they fasten. They were
not born to die.
Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so;
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For ’tis their nature too.
But, children, you should never let
Such angry passions rise;
Your little hands were never made
To tear each other’s eyes.
ISAAC WATTS.
LITTLE THINGS.
Little drops of water,
Little grains of sand,
Make the mighty ocean
And the pleasant land.
Thus the little minutes,
Humble though they be,
Make the mighty ages
Of eternity.
EBENEZER COBHAM BREWER.
HE PRAYETH BEST.
These two stanzas, the very heart of that great poem, “The Ancient
Mariner,” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834), sum up the lesson of
this masterpiece--“Insensibility is a crime.”
Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.
He prayeth best who loveth best
All things, both great and small:
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.
SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE.
TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE 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 glorious sun is set,
When the grass with dew is wet,
Then you show your little light,
Twinkle, twinkle all the night.
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
Guides the traveller in the dark,
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star!
PIPPA.
“Spring’s at the Morn,” from “Pippa Passes,” by Robert Browning
(1812-89), has become a very popular stanza with little folks. “All’s
right with the world” is a cheerful motto for the nursery and
schoolroom.
The year’s at the spring,
The day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hillside’s dew pearled;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in His heaven--
All’s right with the world!
ROBERT BROWNING.
THE DAYS OF THE MONTH.
“The Days of the Month” is a useful bit of doggerel that we need all
through life. It is anonymous.
Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November;
February has twenty-eight alone.
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting leap-year--that’s the time
When February’s days are twenty-nine.
OLD SONG.
TRUE ROYALTY.
“True Royalty” and “Playing Robinson Crusoe” are pleasing stanzas from
“The Just So Stories” of Rudyard Kipling (1865-).
There was never a Queen like Balkis,
From here to the wide world’s end;
But Balkis talked to a butterfly
As you would talk to a friend.
There was never a King like Solomon,
Not since the world began;
But Solomon talked to a butterfly
As a man would talk to a man.
_She_ was Queen of Sabaea--
And _he_ was Asia’s Lord--
But they both of ’em talked to butterflies
When they took their walks abroad.
RUDYARD KIPLING.
(In “The Just So Stories.”)
PLAYING ROBINSON CRUSOE.
Pussy can sit by the fire and sing,
Pussy can climb a tree,
Or play with a silly old cork and string
To ’muse herself, not me.
But I like Binkie, my dog, because
He knows how to behave;
So, Binkie’s the same as the First Friend was,
And I am the Man in the Cave.
Pussy will play Man-Friday till
It’s time to wet her paw
And make her walk on the window-sill
(For the footprint Crusoe saw);
Then she fluffles her tail and mews,
And scratches and won’t attend.
But Binkie will play whatever I choose,
And he is my true First Friend.
Pussy will rub my knees with her head,
Pretending she loves me hard;
But the very minute I go to my bed
Pussy runs out in the yard.
And there she stays till the morning light;
So I know it is only pretend;
But Binkie, he snores at my feet all night,
And he is my Firstest Friend!
RUDYARD KIPLING.
(In “The Just So Stories.”)
MY SHADOW.
“My Shadow,” by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-94), is one of the most
popular short poems extant. I have taught it to a great many very young
boys, and not one has ever tried to evade learning it. Older pupils
like it equally well.
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 like 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.
LITTLE WHITE LILY.
This poem (George Macdonald, 1828-) finds a place in this volume
because, as a child, I loved it. It completely filled my heart, and has
made every member of the lily family dear to me. George Macdonald’s
charming book, “At the Back of the North Wind,” also was my wonder and
delight.
Little White Lily
Sat by a stone,
Drooping and waiting
Till the sun shone.
Little White Lily
Sunshine has fed;
Little White Lily
Is lifting her head.
Little White Lily
Said: “It is good
Little White Lily’s
Clothing and food.”
Little White Lily
Dressed like a bride!
Shining with whiteness,
And crownèd beside!
Little White Lily
Drooping with pain,
Waiting and waiting
For the wet rain.
Little White Lily
Holdeth her cup;
Rain is fast falling
And filling it up.
Little White Lily
Said: “Good again,
When 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 White Lily
Smells very sweet;
On her head sunshine,
Rain at her feet.
Thanks to the sunshine,
Thanks to the rain,
Little White Lily
Is happy again.
GEORGE MACDONALD.
HOW THE LEAVES CAME DOWN.
“How the Leaves Came Down,” by Susan Coolidge (1845-), appeals to
children because it helps to reconcile them to going to bed. “I go to
bed by day” is one of the crosses of childhood.
“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, for just 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.”
But the great Tree did no such thing;
He smiled to hear their whispering.
“Come, children, all to bed,” he cried;
And ere the leaves could urge their prayer,
He shook his head, and far and wide,
Fluttering 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,
White bedclothes heaped upon her arm,
Should come to wrap them safe and warm.
The great bare Tree looked down and smiled.
“Good-night, dear little leaves,” he said.
And from below each sleepy child
Replied, “Good-night,” and murmured,
“It is _so_ nice to go to bed!”
SUSAN COOLIDGE.
WILLIE WINKIE.
“Wee Willie Winkie,” by William Miller (1810-72), is included in this
volume out of respect to an eight-year-old child who chose it from
among hundreds. We had one poetry hour every week, and he studied and
recited it with unabated interest to the end of the year.
Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town,
Up-stairs and doon-stairs, in his nicht-gown,
Tirlin’ at the window, cryin’ at the lock,
“Are the weans in their bed?--for it’s now ten o’clock.”
Hey, Willie Winkie! are ye 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! glow’rin’ like the moon,
Rattlin’ in an airn jug wi’ an airn spoon,
Rumblin’ tumblin’ roun’ about, crowin’ like a cock,
Skirlin’ like a kenna-what--wauknin’ sleepin’ folk.
Hey, Willie Winkie! the wean’s in a creel!
Waumblin’ aff a body’s knee like a vera eel,
Ruggin’ at the cat’s lug, and ravellin’ a’ her thrums,--
Hey, Willie Winkie!--See, there he comes!
Wearie is the mither that has a storie wean,
A wee stumpie stoussie that canna rin his lane,
That has a battle aye wi’ sleep before he’ll close an ee;
But a kiss frae aff his rosy lips gies strength anew to me.
WILLIAM MILLER.
THE OWL AND THE PUSSY-CAT.
“The Owl and the Pussy-Cat,” by Edward Lear (1812-88), is placed here
because I once found that a timid child was much strengthened and
developed by learning it. It is a song that appeals to the imagination
of children, and they like to sing it.
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat;
They took some honey, and plenty of money
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the moon above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love!
What a beautiful Pussy you are,--
You are,
What a beautiful Pussy you are!”
Pussy said to the Owl, “You elegant fowl!
How wonderful sweet you sing!
Oh, let us be married,--too long we have tarried,--
But what shall we do for a ring?”
They sailed away for a year and a day
To the land where the Bong-tree grows,
And there in a wood a piggy-wig stood
With a ring in the end of his nose,--
His nose,
With a ring in the end of his nose.
“Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?” Said the piggy, “I will,”
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined upon mince and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon,
And hand in hand on the edge of the sand
They danced by the light of the moon,--
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
EDWARD LEAR.
WYNKEN, BLYNKEN, AND NOD.
“Wynken, Blynken, and Nod,” by Eugene Field (1850-95), pleases
children, who are all by nature sailors and adventurers.
Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night
Sailed off in a wooden shoe,--
Sailed on a river of crystal light
Into a sea of dew.
“Where are you going, and what do you wish?”
The old moon asked the three.
“We have come to fish for the herring-fish
That live in this beautiful sea;
Nets of silver and gold have we,”
Said Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
The old moon laughed and sang a song,
As they rocked in the wooden shoe;
And the wind that sped them all night long
Ruffled the waves of dew;
The little stars were the herring-fish
That lived in the beautiful sea.
“Now cast your nets wherever you wish,--
Never afeard are we!”
So cried the stars to the fishermen three,
Wynken,
Blynken,
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:
’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 sailing 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 little head,
And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies
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 on the misty sea
Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three,
Wynken,
Blynken,
And Nod.
EUGENE FIELD.
THE DUEL.
“The Duel,” by Eugene Field (1850-95), is almost the most popular
humorous poem that has come under my notice. In making such a
collection as this it is not easy to find poems at once delicate,
witty, and graphic. I have taught “The Duel” hundreds of times, and
children invariably love it.
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.
(_I 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,
With bits of gingham and calico,
While the old Dutch clock in the chimney-place
Up with its hands before its face,
For it always dreaded a family row!
(_Now mind: I’m 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 awfullest way you ever saw--
And, oh! how the gingham and calico flew!
(_Don’t fancy I exaggerate!
I got my views from the Chinese plate_!)
Next morning where the two had sat
They found no trace of the dog or cat;
And some folks think unto this day
That burglars stole the pair away!
But the truth about the cat and the 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.
THE BOY WHO NEVER TOLD A LIE.
“The Boy Who Never Told a Lie” (anonymous), as well as “Whatever Brawls
Disturb the Street,” by Isaac Watts (1674-1748), are real gems. A few
years ago they were more in favour than the poorer verse that has been
put forward. But they are sure to be revived.
Once there was a little boy,
With curly hair and pleasant eye--
A boy who always told the truth,
And never, never told a lie.
And when he trotted off to school,
The children all about would cry,
“There goes the curly-headed boy--
The boy that never tells a lie.”
And everybody loved him so,
Because he always told the truth,
That every day, as he grew up,
’Twas said, “There goes the honest youth.”
And when the people that stood near
Would turn to ask the reason why,
The answer would be always this:
“Because he never tells a lie.”
LOVE BETWEEN BROTHERS AND SISTERS.
Whatever brawls disturb the street,
There should be peace at home;
Where sisters dwell and brothers meet,
Quarrels should never come.
Birds in their little nests agree;
And ’tis a shameful sight,
When children of one family
Fall out and chide and fight.
ISAAC WATTS.
THE BLUEBELL OF SCOTLAND.
Oh where! and oh where! is your Highland laddie gone?
He’s gone to fight the French for King George upon the throne;
And it’s oh! in my heart how I wish him safe at home.
Oh where! and oh where! does your Highland laddie dwell?
He dwells in merry Scotland at the sign of the Bluebell;
And it’s oh! in my heart that I love my laddie well.
IF I HAD BUT TWO LITTLE WINGS.
“If I Had But Two Little Wings,” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
(1772-1834), is recommended by a number of teachers and school-girls.
If I had but two little wings
And were a little feathery bird,
To you I’d fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things
And I stay here.
But in my sleep to you I fly:
I’m always with you in my sleep!
The world is all one’s own.
And then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.
SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE.
A FAREWELL.
“A Farewell,” by Charles Kingsley (1819-75), makes it seem worth while
to be good.
My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray;
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day.
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;
Do noble things, not dream them all day long:
And so make life, death, and that vast forever
One grand, sweet song.
CHARLES KINGSLEY.
CASABIANCA.
“Casabianca,” by Felicia Hemans (1793-1835), is the portrait of a
faithful heart, an example of unreasoning obedience. It is right that a
child should obey even to the death the commands of a loving parent.
The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle’s wreck
Shone round him o’er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud though childlike form.
The flames rolled on--he would not go
Without his father’s word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud, “Say, father, say
If yet my task is done?”
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
“Speak, father!” once again he cried,
“If I may yet be gone!”
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair;
And looked from that lone post of death
In still, yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud
“My father! must I stay?”
While o’er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child
Like banners in the sky.
Then came a burst of thunder sound--
The boy--oh! where was he?
--Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strew the sea;
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair.
That well had borne their part--
But the noblest thing that perished there
Was that young, faithful heart.
FELICIA HEMANS.
THE CAPTAIN’S DAUGHTER.
“The Captain’s Daughter,” by James T. Fields (1816-81), carries weight
with every young audience. It is pointed to an end that children
love--viz., trust in a higher power.
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 rattling trumpet
Thunder, “Cut away the mast!”
So we shuddered there in silence,--
For the stoutest held his breath,
While the hungry sea was roaring
And the breakers talked with Death.
As thus we sat in darkness,
Each one busy with his prayers,
“We are lost!” the captain shouted
As he staggered down the stairs.
But his little 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 little maiden.
And we spoke in better cheer,
And we anchored safe in harbour
When the morn was shining clear.
JAMES T. FIELDS.
[“The ‘village smithy’ stood in Brattle Street, Cambridge. There came a
time when the chestnut-tree that shaded it was cut down, and then the
children of the place put their pence together and had a chair made for
the poet from its wood.”]
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.
Longfellow (1807-82) is truly the children’s poet. His poems are as
simple, pathetic, artistic, and philosophical as if they were intended
to tell the plain everyday story of life to older people. “The Village
Blacksmith” has been learned by thousands of children, and there is no
criticism to be put upon it. The age of the child has nothing whatever
to do with his learning it. Age does not grade children nor is poetry
wholly to be so graded. “Time is the false reply.”
Under a spreading chestnut-tree
The village smithy stands;
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands,
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long;
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate’er he can,
And looks the whole world in the face,
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming forge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing-floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church,
And sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach,
He hears his daughter’s voice
Singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother’s voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling,--rejoicing,--sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night’s repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend,
For the lesson thou hast taught!
Thus at the flaming forge of life
Our fortunes must be wrought;
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped
Each burning deed and thought.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.
SWEET AND LOW.
Sweet and low, sweet and low,
Wind of the western sea,
Low, low, breathe and blow,
Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dropping moon and blow,
Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps.
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother’s breast,
Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon:
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
ALFRED TENNYSON.
THE VIOLET.
“The Violet,” by Jane Taylor (1783-1824), is another of those dear
old-fashioned poems, pure poetry and pure violet. It is included in
this volume out of respect to my own love for it when I was a child.
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,
No colours bright and fair;
It might have graced a rosy bower,
Instead of hiding there.
Yet there it was content to bloom,
In modest tints arrayed;
And there diffused its 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 humility.
JANE TAYLOR.
THE RAINBOW.
(A FRAGMENT.)
“The Rainbow,” by William Wordsworth (1770-1850), accords with every
child’s feelings. It voices the spirit of all ages that would love to
imagine it “a bridge to heaven.”
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.
A VISIT FROM ST. NICHOLAS.
“A Visit From St. Nicholas,” by Clement Clarke Moore (1779-1863) is the
most popular Christmas poem ever written. It carries Santa Claus on
from year to year and the spirit of Santa Claus.
’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.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name:
“Now, _Dasher_! now, _Dancer_! now, _Prancer_ and _Vixen_!
On, _Comet_! on, _Cupid_! on, _Donder_ and _Blitzen_!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky;
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas, too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes--how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a 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 wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down on 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.
THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.
O! say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming--
Whose broad stripes and bright stars, through the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming!
And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there;
O! say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?
On that shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, now conceals, now discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
In full glory reflected now shines on the stream;
’Tis the star-spangled banner; O long may it wave
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps, pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight, or the gloom of the grave;
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
O! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war’s desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav’n-rescued land
Praise the power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, for our cause it is just,
And this be our motto--“_In God is our trust_”:
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.
FRANCIS SCOTT KEY.
FATHER WILLIAM.
“Father William” a parody by Lewis Carroll (1833-), is even more clever
than the original. Harmless fun brightens the world. It takes a real
genius to create wit that carries no sting.
“You are old, Father William,” the young man said,
“And your hair has become very white;
And yet you incessantly stand on your head--
Do you think, at your age, it is right?”
“In my youth,” Father William replied to his son,
“I feared it might injure the brain;
But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again.”
“You are old,” said the youth, “as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door--
Pray, what is the reason of that?”
“In my youth,” said the sage, as he shook his gray locks,
“I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment--one shilling the box--
Allow me to sell you a couple.”
“You are old,” said the youth, “and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak:
Pray, how did you manage to do it?”
“In my youth,” said his father, “I took to the law,
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength which it gave to my jaw
Has lasted the rest of my life.”
“You are old,” said the youth; “one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose--
What made you so awfully clever?”
“I have answered three questions, and that is enough,”
Said his father, “don’t give yourself airs!
Do you think I can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off, or I’ll kick you down-stairs!”
LEWIS CARROLL.
(“Alice in Wonderland.”)
THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW-WORM.
“The Nightingale,” by William Cowper (1731-1800), is a favourite with a
teacher of good taste, and I include it at her request.
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;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
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.”
The songster heard his short oration,
And warbling out his approbation,
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
WILLIAM COWPER.