A long time in waiting; for now
You find out too late, that a bird in the hand
Is worth, at least, two on the bough.
"And we, from our height, looking down on you there,
By experience taught to be sage,--
Find, one pair of wings that are free in the air
Are worth two or three in the cage!
"But when our old master awakes, and shall find
The work you have just been about,
We hope, by the freedom we love, he'll be kind,
And spare you for letting us out.
"We thank you for all the fine stories you tell,
And all the good things you would give;
But think, since we're out, we shall do very well
Where nature designed us to live.
"Whene'er you may think of the swift little wings
On which from your reach we have flown,
No doubt, you'll beware, and not meddle with things,
In future, that are not your own."
=Edward and Charles=.
The brothers went out with the father to ride,
Where they looked for the flowers, that, along the way-side,
So lately were blooming and fair;
But their delicate heads by the frost had been nipped;
Their stalks by the blast were all twisted and stripped;
And nothing but ruin was there.
"Oh! how the rude autumn has spoiled the green hills!"
Exclaimed little Charles, "and has choked the bright rills
With leaves that are faded and dead!
The few on the trees are fast losing their hold.
And leaving the branches so naked and cold.
That the beautiful birds have all fled."
"I know," replied Edward, "the country has lost
A great many charms by the touch of the frost,
Which used to appear to the eye;
But then, it has opened the chestnut-burr too,
The walnut released from the case where it grew;
And now our _Thanksgiving_ is nigh!
"Oh! what do you think we shall do on that day?"
"I guess," answered Charles, "we shall all go away
To Grandpa's; and there find enough
Of turkeys, plum-puddings, and pies by the dozens,
For Grandpa' and Grandma', aunts, uncles and cousins;
And at night we'll all play blind-man's-buff.
"Perhaps we'll get Grandpa' to tell us some stories
About the old times, with their _Whigs_ and their _Tories_;
And what sort of men they could be;
When some spread their tables without any cloth,
With basins and spoons, and the fuming bean-broth,
Which they took for their coffee and tea.
"They'd queer kind of sights, I have heard Grandma' say,
About in their streets; for, if not every day,
At least it was nothing uncommon,
To see them pile on the poor back of one horse
A saddle and _pillion_; and what was still worse,
Up mounted a man and a woman!
"The lady held on by the driver; and so,
Away about town at full trot would they go;
Or perhaps to a great country marriage,--
To Thanksgiving-supper--to husking, or ball;
Or quilting; for thus did they take nearly all
Their rides, on an _animal_ carriage!
"I know not what _huskings_ and _quiltings_ maybe;
But Grandma' will tell; and perhaps let us see
Some things she has long laid away:--
That stiff damask gown, with its sharp-pointed waist,
The hoop, the craped, cushion, and buckles of paste,
Which they wore in her grandparent's day.
"She says they had buttons as large as our dollars,
To wear on their coats with their square, standing collars;
And then, there's a droll sort of hat,
Which Mary once fixed me one like, out of paper,
And said she believed 'twas called _three-cornered scraper_;
Perhaps, too, she'll let us see that.
"Oh! a glorious time we shall have! If they knew
At the south, what it is, I guess they'd have one too;
But I have heard somebody say,
That, there, they call all the New England folks _Bumpkins,_
Because we eat puddings, and pies made of pumpkins,
And have our good Thanksgiving-day."
"I think, brother Charles," returned Edward "at least,
That they might go to church, if they don't like the feast;
For to me it is much the best part,
To hear the sweet anthems of praise, that we give
To Him, on whose bounty we constantly live:--
It is feasting the ear and the heart.
"From Him, who has brought us another year round,
Who gives every blessing, wherewith we are crowned,
Their gratitude who can withhold?
And now how I wish I could know all the poor
Their Thanksgiving-stores had already secure,
Their fuel, and clothes for the cold!"
"I'm glad," said their father, "to hear such a wish;
But wishes alone, can fill nobody's dish,
Or clothe them, or build them a fire.
And now I will give you the money, my sons,
Which I promised, you know, for your drum and your guns,
To spend in the way you desire."
The brothers went home, thinking o'er by the way,
For how many comforts this money might pay,
In something for clothing or food:
At length they resolved, if their mother would spend it,
For what she thought best, they would get her to send it
Where she thought it would do the most good.
=The Mountain Minstrel=.
On our mountain of Savoy,
In the shadow of a rock,
Once I sat, a shepherd-boy,
Watching o'er my father's flock.
We'd a happy cottage-home,
Peaceful as the sparrow's nest,
Where, at evening, we could come
From our roamings to our rest.
I'd a minstrel's voice and ear:
I could whistle, pipe and sing,
While I roving, seemed to hear
Music stir in every thing.
But misfortune, like a blast.
Swift upon my father rushed;
From our dwelling we were cast--
At a stroke our peace was crushed.
All we had was seized for debt:
In the sudden overthrow,
Even my fond, fleecy pet,
My white cosset, too, must go.
Then I wandered, sad and lone,
Where I'd once a flock to feed;
All the treasure now my own
Was my simple pipe of reed.
But a noble, pitying friend,
Who had seen me sadly stray,
Made me to his lute attend;
And he taught me how to play.
Then his lute to me he gave;
And abroad he bade me roam,
Till the earnings I could save
Would redeem our cottage-home.
Glad, his counsel straight I took--
I received his gift with joy;
All my former ways forsook,
And became a minstrel-boy.
With my mountain airs to sing,
Forward then I roamed afar,
Sweeping still the tuneful string--
Having hope my leading star.
In the hamlets where I've gone,
Groups would gather--music-bound:
In the cities I have drawn
List'ners till my hopes were crowned.
Ever saving as I earned,
I of one dear object dreamed;
To my mountain then returned,
And our cottage-home redeemed.
Time has wiped away our tears;
Here we dwell together blest;
All our sorrows, doubts and fears
I have played and sung to rest.
Here my aged parents live
Free from want, and toil, and cares;
All the bliss that earth can give
Deem they in this home of theirs.
Life's night-shades fast o'er them creep;
All their wrongs have been forgiven--
They have but to fall asleep
In their cot, to wake in heaven.
Gentle friend, dost thou inquire
What's the lineage whence I came?
Jesse is my shepherd sire--
David-Jesse is my name!
=The Veteran and the Child=.
"Come, grandfather, show how you carried your gun
To the field, where America's freedom was won,
Or bore your old sword, which you say was new then,
When you rose to command, and led forward your men;
And tell how you felt with the balls whizzing by,
Where the wounded fell round you, to bleed and to die!"
The prattler had stirred, in the veteran's breast,
The embers of fire that had long been at rest.
The blood of his youth rushed anew through his veins;
The soldier returned to his weary campaigns;
His perilous battles at once fighting o'er,
While the soul of nineteen lit the eye of four-score.
"I carried my musket, as one that must be
But loosed from the hold of the dead, or the free!
And fearless I lifted my good, trusty sword,
In the hand of a mortal, the strength of the Lord!
In battle, my vital flame freely I felt
Should go, but the chains of my country to melt!
"I sprinkled my blood upon Lexington's sod,
And Charlestown's green height to the war-drum I trod.
From the fort, on the Hudson, our guns I depressed,
The proud coming sail of the foe to arrest.
I stood at Stillwater, the Lakes and White Plains,
And offered for freedom to empty my veins!
"Dost now ask me, child, since thou hear'st here I've been,
Why my brow is so furrowed, my locks white and thin--
Why this faded eye cannot go by the line,
Trace out little beauties, and sparkle like thine;
Or why so unstable this tremulous knee,
Who bore 'sixty years since,' such perils for thee?
"What! sobbing so quick? are the tears going to start?
Come! lean thy young head on thy grandfather's heart!
It has not much longer to glow with the joy
I feel thus to clasp thee, so noble a boy!
But when in earth's bosom it long has been cold,
A man, thou'lt recall, what, a babe, thou art told."
=Captain Kidd=.
There's many a one who oft has heard
The name of Robert Kidd,
Who cannot tell, perhaps, a word
Of him, or what he did.
So, though I never saw the man,
And lived not in his day;
I'll tell you how his guilt began--
To what it paved the way.
'Twas in New York Kidd had his home;
And there he left his wife
And children, when he went to roam,
And lead a seaman's life.
Now Robert had as firm a hand,
A heart as stern and brave,
As ever met in one on land,
Or on the briny wave.
'Twas in the third king William's time,
When many a pirate bold
Committed on the seas the crime
Of shedding blood for gold.
So Captain Kidd was singled out
As one devoid of fears,
To take a ship and cruise about
Against the Bucaniers.
The ship was armed with many a gun,
And manned with many a man,
Across the southern seas to run
To foil the pirate's plan.
But when she long, from isle to isle,
Without success had sailed,
And made no capture all the while,
Her master's patience failed.
The prizes he so oft had sought,
He found he sought in vain;
And soon a wicked, bloody thought,
Came into Robert's brain!
His mind he opened to his men;
And found his guilty crew
Agreed with him, that they, from then,
Would all turn pirates too!
He threw his Bible in the deep,
Defied its Author's will;
And, with his conscience put to sleep,
Began to rob and kill.
And now the desperado reigned,
A tyrant on the waves;
While they whose blood his hands had stained,
Went down to watery graves.
No merchant ship could near him go,
Which he would not annoy;
For Kidd was passing to and fro,
And seeking to destroy.
He seized the vessel, plunged the knife
Within the seamen's breast:
And by a cruel waste of life,
His evil gains possessed.
He then would make the nearest isle.
And go at night by stealth,
To hide within the earth awhile
His last ill-gotten wealth.
Thus, many a shining wedge of gold
This modern Achan hid;
And many a frightful tale was told
About the pirate, Kidd.
But Justice does not slumber long;
If slow, she's ever sure.
There's none too artful, quick, or strong
For her to make secure!
To Boston, with a brazen face,
The pirate boldly went,
Where he was seized; and in disgrace
And chains, to England sent.
The captain and his crew were there,
A solemn, fearful sight;
Resigning life high up in air,
E'en at the gibbet's height!
For many a year their bodies hung
Along the river side;
As beacons, showing old and young
How they had lived and died.
The wealth they hid was never found.
Though often sought of men.
'Tis where they placed it in the ground,
Till they should come again!
The earth has seemed by Heaven constrained.
The treasures to withhold
That price of blood has none obtained,
Or used the pirate's gold!
=The Dying Storm=.
I am feeble, pale and weary,
And my wings are nearly furled.
I have caused a scene so dreary,
I am glad to quit the world.
While with bitterness I'm thinking
On the evil I have done,
To my caverns deep I'm sinking
From the coming of the sun.
Oh! the heart of man will sicken
In that pure and holy light,
When he feels the hopes I've stricken
With an everlasting blight!
For, so wildly in my madness
Have I poured abroad my wrath,
I've been changing joy to sadness;
And with ruins strewed my path.
Earth has shuddered at my motion:--
She my power in silence owns;
While the troubled, roaring ocean
O'er my deeds of horror moans.
I have sunk the dearest treasure--
I've destroyed the fairest form:
Sadly have I filled my measure;
And I'm now a dying Storm!
Yet, to man among the living,
With my final gasp and sigh,
I, a solemn caution giving,
Fain would serve him while I die.
Not like me, shall he, descending
Swift to death, from being cease.
He's a spirit!--fleetly tending
To eternal pain or peace!
=The Little Traveller=.
I am the tiniest child of earth!
But still, I would like to be known to fame;
Though next to nothing I had my birth,
And lowest of all in my lowly name.
Yet, if so humble my native place,
This I can say, in family pride--
That I'm of the world's most numerous race,
And made by the Maker of all beside.
Although I'm so poor, I naught to lose;
Still I'm so little I can't be lost!
I journey about, wherever I choose,
And those who carry me bear the cost.
The most forgiving of earthly things,
I often cling to my deadly foe;
And, spite of the cruellest flirts and flings,
Arise by the force that has cast me low.
When beauty has trodden me under foot,
I've quietly risen, her face to seek,--
Embraced her forehead, and calmly put
Myself to rest in her dimpled cheek.
I've ridden to war on the soldier's plume;
But startled and sprung, at the wild affray,--
The sights of horror--of fire and fume;
And fled on the wings of the wind away.
I've visited courts, and been ushered in
By the proudest guest of the stately scene;
I've touched his majesty's bosom-pin,
And the nuptial ring of his lofty queen.
At the royal board, in the grand parade,
I've oft been one familiar and free:
The fairest lady has smiled, and laid
Her delicate, gloveless hand on me.
Philosopher, poet, the learned, the sage,
Never declines a call from me;
And all, of every rank and age.
Admit me into their _coteri_.
I visit the lions of every where,
If human, or brute, and can testify
To what they do, to what they wear,
To wonders none ever beheld but I!
And now, reviewing the things I've done,
Forgetting my name, my rank and birth,
I begin to think I am number ONE,
Of the great and manifold things of earth.
I've still much more, I yet might tell,
Which modesty bids me here withhold;
For fear with my travels I seem to swell,
Or grow, for an ATOM OF DUST, too bold!
THE END.
BY SUSAN PINDAR. =Now ready, a New Edition=.
=FIRESIDE FAIRIES; OR, CHRISTMAS AT AUNT ELSIE'S.=
Beautifully illustrated, with Original Designs. 1 vol. 12mo. 75 cts.,
gilt ed. $1.
_Contents_.
The Two Voices, or the Shadow and the Shadowless. The Minute Fairies. I
Have and O Had I. The Hump and Long Nose. The Lily Fairy and the Silver
Beam. The Wonderful Watch. The Red and White Rose Trees. The Diamond
Fountain. The Magical Key.
Though this is a small book, it is, mechanically, exceedingly beautiful,
being illustrated with spirited woodcuts from Original Designs. But that
is its least merit. It is one of the most entertaining, and decidedly
one of the best juveniles that have issued from the prolific press of
this city. We speak advisedly. It is long since we found time to read
through a juvenile book, so near Christmas, when the name of this class
of volumes is legion; but this charmed us so much that we were unwilling
to lay it down after once commencing it. The first story,--"The Two
Voices, or the Shadow and the Shadowless,"--is a sweet thing, as is also
the one entitled, "The Diamond Fountain." Indeed, the whole number, and
there are ten, will be read with avidity. Their moral is as pure as
their style is enchanting.--_Com. Adv_.
* * * * *
D. Appleton & Co. have just ready,
A NEW UNIFORM SERIES FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. BY AMEREL.
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LIBRARY FOR MY YOUNG COUNTRYMEN.
ADVENTURES of Captain John Smith. By the Author of Uncle Philip 38
ADVENTURES of Daniel Boon. By do. 38
DAWNINGS of Genius. By Anne Pratt. 38
LIFE and Adventures of Henry Hudson. By the Author of Uncle Philip. 38
LIFE and Adventures of Herman Cortez. By do. 38
PHILIP RANDOLPH. A Tale of Virginia. By Mary Gertrude. 38
ROWAN'S History of the French Revolution. 2 vols. 75
SOUTHEY'S Life of Cromwell. 38
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ALICE FRANKLIN. By Mary Howitt. 38
LOVE AND MONEY. By do. 38
HOPE ON, HOPE EVER! Do. 38
LITTLE COIN, MUCH CARE. By do. 38
MY OWN STORY. By do. 38
MY UNCLE, THE CLOCKMAKER. By do. 38
NO SENSE LIKE COMMON SENSE. By do. 38
SOWING AND REAPING. Do. 38
STRIVE AND THRIVE. By do. 38
THE TWO APPRENTICES. By do. 38
WHICH IS THE WISER? Do. 38
WHO SHALL BE GREATEST? By do. 38
WORK AND WAGES. By do. 38
CROFTON BOYS, The. By Harriet Martineau. 38
DANGERS OF DINING OUT By Mrs. Ellis. 38
FIRST IMPRESSIONS. By do. 38
MINISTER'S FAMILY. By do. 38
SOMMERVILLE HALL. By do. 38
DOMESTIC TALES. By Hannah More. 2 vols.... 75
EARLY FRIENDSHIP. By Mrs. Copley. 38
FARMER'S DAUGHTER, The By Mrs. Cameron. 38
LOOKING-GLASS FOR THE MIND. Many plates. 45
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POPLAR GROVE. By Mrs. Copley. 38
SETTLERS IN CANADA. By Capt. Marryatt. 2 vols. 75
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