The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Youth's Coronal, by Hannah Flagg Gould
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THE YOUTH'S CORONAL.
BY HANNAH FLAGG GOULD
AUTHOR OF "POEMS," ETC., ETC.
Whate'er the good instruction may reveal,
The head must take, before the heart can feel.
THE MORALIZER.
1851
ADDRESS
TO THE YOUTH OF MY COUNTRY.
In preparing the following pages, my aim has been, to produce a book
alike entertaining and instructive;—one which, in the reading, should
afford an amusement to the mind, pleasant as the spring-blossoms on the
tree; and, in its influences on the heart in after life, be like the
good fruits that succeed and ripen, to refresh and nourish us, when the
vernal season is over and gone, and the voices of the singing-birds are
lost in the distance.
Choosing an appropriate title for such a presentation, I have borrowed
my idea from the words of the wise king of Israel:—"Hear the
instruction of thy father, and forsake not the law of thy mother; for
they shall be an ornament of grace unto thy head," &c., and other
Scripture passages of similar figurative meaning; for, though often
given in a sportive way, it is my design that no moral shall be
conveyed in the volume, but such as a good and judicious parent would
wish a child to imbibe.
Accept, then, my young Friends, this new CORONAL of the little flowers
of poesy which I have woven for you. When you shall have examined and
scented it, and found no thorn to pierce—no juice or odor to poison you
in its whole circle, wear it for the giver's sake; and enjoy it and
profit by its healthful influences, for your own.
Gladly would I feel assured that, in some future years,—when I shall
have done with earthly flowers, and you will be engaged in the busy
scenes and arduous duties of mature life,—the import of these leaves
may from time to time arise to your memory, in all its dewy freshness,
like the fragrance which the summer-breeze wafts after us, from the
lilies and violets we have passed and left far behind us, in our morning
rambles. Then, if not to-day, you will be convinced that I was—as now I
am,
Your true Friend,
H. F. GOULD.
Newburyport, Mass., August, 1850.
CONTENTS
The Sale of the Water-Lily
The widow with a song,
And wing an hour along.
With lilies bordered round,
That blessed the widow's ground.
That wound the meadow through,
And had its treasures too.
For, children she had three;
Her hope for days to be.
If, from the tender shoot,
Or, by the flower, the fruit.
His temper smooth and mild:
A good and pleasant child.
The winter fire to make;
Or tend the baking cake.
His little sisters out,
And fish the brook for trout.
Some little gain; and hence,
In part, to silver pence.
So spicy sweet to smell,
He plucked them up to sell.
He had too young a head,
The route he could not tread.
To pass his humble cot,
Was ready on the spot.
His treasures up to show,
Just set in leaves of snow.
"You'll find them new and sweet:
I haven't dried my feet!"
Upon his garment's hem,
When he had gathered them.
To take the lilies in,
Some bright return would win.
With open purse, was seen,
Or on the sloping green.
The child a silver piece;
He saw his wealth increase.
Was gathered by their sale,
Would never wholly fail.
Her little children fed.
And answered it with bread.
Who made the lily fair,
Grew up in beauty there.
Who wisely thus began,
And lived an honored man.
"The LILY" as a name,
And how his fortune came.'
Her emblem, on her stem;
A beauteous ocean gem.
And, on the waters wide,
Her name was well applied.
The presence of the poor;
In blessings rich and sure.
Had drawn his heart above,
Of grateful, holy love.
The Humming-Bird's Anger
"Small as the humming-bird is, it has great courage and violent
passions. If it find a flower that has been deprived of its honey, it
will pluck it off, throw it on the ground, and sometimes tear it to
pieces." BUFFON.
The Butterfly's Dream
A butterfly gaudy and gay;
The careless young slumberer lay.
At ease, and reclining on flowers;—
The best of their mid-summer hours!
With indolent lovers of change,
Give fancy permission to range.
The swarm from a neighboring hive;
Had made the whole garden alive.
On the diligent movements of those,
Improve every hour as it goes.
With anger the butterfly swelled;
To come near the station he held.
"Ye humble plebeians! nor dare
The king of this brilliant parterre!"
And, facing about, made a stand;
And fenced him on every hand.
Seemed spreading to measureless size:
And stretched like a veil o'er the skies.
Their hum, to a cannon-peal grown,—
And, he thought, hurled at him and his throne.
His head ached—his throne reeled and fell;
And cried, "King Papilio, farewell!"
The wonderful dream to expound;
And hail-stones were rattling around.
The tempest's artillery rolled;
And borne off its crimson and gold.
With suppressed ebullitions of pride.
But he crept under covert and died!
The Boy and the Cricket
sings
plays
Spring!
Summer
Crickets!
Autumn's
Winter
Fanny Spy
Never climb for things so high.
What fell out with Fanny Spy?
Wisely set above her reach;
In its tempting side a breach.
Out of sight and hearing too,
Quickly to the closet drew.
Then the table—then a shelf;
Might, unnoticed, help herself.
Leaving in the loaf a cleft
Feasted there all night, had left.
On the table's polished face:—
Silver—glass—and china vase!
Father—mother—servants—all,
By the racket and the fall.
Fanny, in her shame and fright,
But to run and hide from sight.
Poor and worthless, is a wish.
Hide her shame, nor mend a dish.
For a tooth had made a pass
Clung a piece of shivered glass.
Rolling tears, and streaming gore;
Lay her cake upon the floor.
Fanny at his needle swooned,
And together stitched the wound.
Ever till her dying day!
What can blushing Fanny say?
Sudden Elevation; or The Empaled Butterfly
Up in the air, who used to lie
Flat on the ground, for the passers by
To treat with utter neglect!
But none will suspect that I am the same;
With a bright, new coat, and a different name;
In me they'll never detect.
Which brought me at length to a day like this,
In a form of beauty—a state of bliss,
Was little enough to give
For freedom to range from bower to bower,
To flirt with the buds, and flatter the flower,
And bask in the sunbeams hour by hour,
The envy of all that live.
Where those who crawl, and those that have wings,
Are ranked in the classes of beggars, and kings,
No matter how much the worth
May be on the side of those who creep,
Where the vain, the light, and the bold will sweep,
Others from notice, and proudly keep
Uppermost on the earth!
Of the piteous worm, will take delight
In welcoming me, as I look so bright
In my new and beautiful dress.
But some I shall pass with a scornful glance,
Some, with an elegant nonchalance;
And others will woo me, till I advance
To give them a slight caress."
Your form may be fairly shown.
And your beauty will all be known!"
The Stricken Bird
Take it, my suffering brood.
See, it is dripping with blood!
Enjoying its beauties with me.
While bright shone the earth and the sea.
Employing my earliest breath,
To pay me with arrows and death!
Helped me a moment to fly;
Under my murderer's eye.
Closing you under my breast!
And spoil the warm down of your nest.
All motionless, under the tree;
While you will be moaning for me!
The Young Sportsman
While he held the other,
Mindless of his mother.
And away would sidle.
It was hard to bridle.
Over hedge and brambles.
Coming from his rambles.
Down together tumbled.
Lying flat and humbled!
Noise like little thunder.
Dumb he stood with wonder!
There his balance losing,
Much against his choosing.
Given to disaster,
Fiercely at its master.
Grow, as age increases.
It was blown to pieces!
And the blood was running.
He was sick of gunning!
Faint and pale, before her,
There was no restorer!
The Pebble and the Acorn
thou
The Grasshopper and the Ant
And could o'er a thousand like you!
And always find something to do.
That comes from the warm, golden sun!
And work that you never get done.
Without the gross purpose of use
à la mode
By such a plebeian abuse!
With work that another might do?
Gay as a grasshopper, too!"
But these were her thoughts on the road.
To find a safe winter abode?
He'd never pity my lot!
When time, I am certain, would not.
So careless and lightly to-day?
a sad picture
Or quicken his pulse into play!
And I in the snow-storm should die.
Her stores for a future supply!"
The Rose-Bud of Autumn
Frost, the Winter-Sprite
I'll silently take my way.
But I'll be as busy as they!"
Of the quivering Lake he spread
Where a rock was rearing its head.
Most beautiful things were seen
All pictured in silvery sheen!
"Now, just to set them a-thinking,
Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking!"
Vivy Vain
She'd gad about town
Just to show a new gown,
With pride in her air,
She'd go round, here and there,
Than virtue or truth,
Or devoting her youth
Arrayed in bright hues,
And with new hat and shoes,
Who saw how she prinked,
And the bystanders winked.
With fence close and high;
And, as Vivy drew nigh,
And gave a loud bray
In her ear, when, away
And the terrible sound
Seemed to furrow the ground
To flee from the roar,
That continued to pour
The geese gave a shout,
And at length hissed her out
That mooed, while the cur,
At her heels, turned from her,
The children at play,
Paused to see one so gay,
Miss Vain carries marks
At which the dog barks,
She went, swift and straight
As a dart, through the gate,
The words, and the noise
Of the brutes and the boys
And thence, her desire
Was for modest attire,
In mind, and in mien,
And in dress, that were seen
The Lost Kite
A Summer-Morning Rumble
Sweetly singing;—
Honey bringing!
Gay and early.
Pure and pearly.
Full of beauty,
Grave and sooty.
Through the wicket,—
In the thicket.
In the hedges,
Through its edges.
In creation
At his station.
Ere the beaming
Sweetly dreaming.
Slowly closing:
Is reposing.
On his ramble.
He could scramble.
Seems as aiming
Home for taming.
Or unite them
To delight them.
Of its pleasure.
Of a treasure.
The Shoemaker
Act well your part:—there all the honor lies."
With lapstone over his knee;
A happy old man was he!
The worth of his time he knew.
Until he got round the shoe.
The closing was firm and fast.
Was perfect, and true to the last!
With gentle and skilful hand,
Or dubbing him lord of the land.
A fever, or cold or cough:
His shoeing would keep them off
With hope and a peaceful breast,
As high as a king to rest!
The Snow-Storm
The Whirlwind
Snapping off the flowers young and fair;—
Tossing up the dust in the air?
Give me up your cap, my little man;
While you run to catch them, if you can!
I am coming, ere I shall be there.
Seize her hat, and snarl her glossy hair!"
One would hardly deem it meet to tell;—
Discomposing matron, beau and belle.
Round the head of old Chanticleer:—
In a way they wouldn't like to hear.
Calmly o'er the philosophic page:
Cutting short the lecture of the sage.
Rather too much liberty with me!
Use of every thing I hear and see.
When as little cause as this, they find
Is profitless as quarrels with the wind.
He is all alive to get it done;—
But is ever up, and on the run.
Motion gives him buoyancy and power.
Doing much in half a fleeting hour.
Like despatch; for, while our time is brief,
Lose our place, and turn another leaf!
And so odd the business you pursue;—
I have caught a hint; and now adieu!"
The Disobedient Skater Boys
We'll off for a frolic and slide,
Then over the ice we'll glide."
Unconscious of danger near.
Their faces are pale with fear.
Now hastens to give them aid.
Their parents were disobeyed!
Winter and Spring
To the world, when about withdrawing,
And his icicle fingers thawing;—
And must leave all here behind me;
So deep that none can find me."
Said the gay young Spring, advancing;
While I o'er the earth am dancing.
You hard, old clumsy fellow,—
But I must make haste to mellow.
To look so bright and cheering,
Far out of sight and hearing.
When I shall give them a sunning,
And the streams set off to running.
That under your reign was sleeping;
And draw out the vine to creeping.
It was chilling e'en to behold them,
My breath can alone unfold them.
The bird, with her song so merry,
With a view to the future cherry.
The wonders that I am doing;
The way that I'm pursuing!"
By me, my gay new-comer,
And yield your place to Summer!"
Tom Tar
The sailor stout and bold,
To countries new and old.
Would ne'er complain nor frown,
Might toss him up and down.
He had the happy art,
Fair weather in his heart.
He'd always cast about,
To stand the storms without.
By sighs for what we lack;
To let our temper crack.
That any man should dread,
And musters to the head."
His mess-mates he would cheer,
When dangers gathered near.
And surges swept the deck,
Who would forsake the wreck.
The waters plucked from him,
Could he keep up and swim!
That rose on every hand,
Of getting safe to land.
Of Heaven had filled his soul:
Howe'er the seas might roll.
And many a wonder seen:
Than fill a magazine.
Almost, that man can know;
Nor scorned the poor and low.
Superb, in glittering vest;
In skins and feathers dressed.
And beasts, and birds, and flowers,
In lands remote from ours.
Her breast in ocean lave;
Their heads above the wave.
Went flashing to the sun,
And swallow every one!
Had sported in his view;
As if they'd eat the crew.
The children, at their play,
And greet them by the way.
The laughing girls and boys
To put among their toys.
Where gloomy waters roar:
Rough surges washed ashore.
'Tis made and marked by One,
Of yon great shining sun.
Along the ocean strand,
Their Maker's perfect hand.
And far from human eye,
And shell, and sea, and sky.
Though strong and cold the blast,
Where'er my lot is cast."
"These treasures from afar
For he's a good Tom Tar!"
The Envious Lobster
A FABLE
boiled
The Crocus' Soliloquy
Where nothing cheering can reach me—
I trust to nature to teach me.
Though locked in so gloomy a dwelling!
And the bud in my bosom is swelling.
From this cold dungeon to free me,
All will be joyful to see me!
Like rays of the sun from their focus;
All complete, as a beautiful CROCUS!
When to their view I have risen;
Came from so dismal a prison?
A wise little lesson may borrow:—
We shall come out the brighter to-morrow!
The Bee, Clover, and Thistle
A tune to the daylight humming;
And the gold of the sun was coming.
Was a head of the crimson clover.
If I travelled the field all over.
There is not a thing in twenty,
With so many horns of plenty!"
As the plumes in the helm of Hector;
One drop of its precious nectar.
And her pipe she began to measure;
To the place of the envied treasure.[1]
As she rose, and in haste departed,
greatest show,
Or that prove most generous-hearted!"
When one of its members followed
And then in a moment swallowed.
"Her fortune's smile was fickle!
And even with scale and prickle!"
Was shunned for its stinging bristle;
From the bloom of the purple Thistle.
In the home where the Bee first found her,
As they shone where the sun beamed round her.
The clover-floret is so small and deep in its tube,
that the bee cannot reach the honey at the bottom.
Poor Old Paul
And see him go hobbling along,
Before the gathering throng!
And suffer the gaze of all,
'Twere something for poor old Paul.
His eye is sunken and dim;
Making sad work with him.
Mark how his looks will fall!
With poor, old, hungry Paul.
Is morsels of bread and meat,—
Which others refused to eat.
To part with a sum so small
To comfort him—Poor old Paul!
The Sea-Eagle's Fall
Hung o'er the summer sea;
Look prouder there than he.
Amid the limpid brine;
Whereon he was to dine.
So near the surface swim,
To make a feast of him.
A sudden plunge he gave;
His tempter in the wave.
Within the slippery prize,
And high and dry to rise.
As ever monarch made;
He soon most dearly paid!
To yield to this attack.
From off the scaly back.
His mastery now was gone!
And downward, he was drawn.
Where he could move with grace;
In ocean's wrinkled face.
His forfeit life to save;
Upon his gaping grave.
To bid adieu to light:
He sank from human sight!
The foreigner to view.
To them was something new
And darted swift away;
And nibbled him for prey.
So high and proudly soar,
He'd fall to rise no more?
Were his an hour ago,
For stooping once too low!
Of biped, from his sphere
To buy a fish so dear?
The Two Thieves
In a slate-colored dress, like a Quaker,
Of which she herself was the maker.
A dame, whom they called Lady Kitty;
Miss Mouse often thought a great pity.
And never inclined to ill-speaking,
Or more than her own might be seeking.
Or questioned respecting her duty,
Or seen coming home with her booty.
Although an inveterate sinner,
Before it was brought up to dinner.
For what her own wits would allow her;
She helped herself well to the flour.
And, mischievous in her invention,
Which I, as her friend, cannot mention.
And yet, she was so above toiling,
When the cook had prepared it for broiling.
She often most patiently lingered,
That none ever called her light-fingered.
She thought would be quite too much labor,
To spy out the faults of her neighbor.
While Kit would watch close to waylay her;
Up bounded Miss Kitty to slay her!
As ever Kit made, with the clatter
Which she got, as she threw down the platter.
Escaping the mortal disaster,
The breakfast elect for her master.
This rarity, fresh from the water,
And me from the trouble of slaughter!"
The plot had most fatally thickened;
As Jack's coming footstep was quickened.
Declared he could never forgive her;
With a stone at her neck, in the river!
And often, alone in her dwelling,
At the scene in the tale I've been telling—
The little unfortunate rover
And felt that her race was now over.
And thus, in the midst of her terrors,
Began her confession of errors:—
Whom hope has for ever forsaken,
Which I have unlawfully taken:
Which I nibbled until I was merry;
The skin and the stone of a cherry:—
And found most deliriously tasted,
Its owner complain that 'twas wasted:—
Which I thought, if they could but be hollowed,
So the inside of all I have swallowed:—
Which I thought might a long time supply me
Which seemed well prepared to keep by me:—
At night from a young lady's toilet,
As tearing it open would spoil it;—
I'd time both or reading and spelling,
And carried it home to my dwelling.
And pray you at once to despatch me,
In the form of Miss Kitty, may catch me!"
Although for a while it be hidden;
Will do what they know is forbidden.
Jemmy String
A child that seldom cared,
How other matters fared.
A signal of the thing,
The name of Jemmy String.
He had no fault beside,
To keep his shoe-strings tied.
To chase the geese about,
With one end slipping out.
And all around would ring
That came from Jemmy String.
Would Jemmy catch a hurt;
His clothes would catch the dirt!
To tell about his fall;
The cause was plain to all.
Complaining of the bruise,
From both his loosened shoes.
Would do his children good;
And on the stairs he stood.
Upon the carriage seat,
Nor could he keep his feet.
And bump! bump! went his head;—
And tears and blood were shed.
But with a swelling heart
With all but him, depart.
And gave his mind a spring;
The name of JEMMY STRING!
The Caterpillar
As Charles had raised his heel
As though it could not feel.
To hide awhile, and try
More pleasing to your eye.
Uncomely to your sight;
You'll see me high and light!
To watch me on the flower;
To-day within your power!"
In some secreted place,
To change his form and face.
Forgotten what I've told,
Most beauteous to behold.
And many a brilliant dye
To charm the gazing eye!
To Charles's ear he drew
My form and name are new!
Your ready foot to kill!
And love and praise you still.
When power is not abused,
By being kindly used!"
The Mocking Bird
A Mocking Bird was he,
In a bushy, blooming tree,
And there he sat and sang,
Till all around him rang,
The little satirist
Piped, chattered, shrieked, and hissed;
Then, carol, drawl, and croak,
As if he'd pass a joke
Together he would catch
A gay and plaintive snatch,
For well the mocker knew,
Of every thing that flew,
The other birds drew near,
And paused awhile to hear
And some became amused;
While some, disturbed, refused
The sensitive were shocked,
To find their honors mocked
They knew not if 't was done
In earnest or in fun;
The silliest grew vain,
To think a song or strain
Was worthy to be heard
Repeated by the bird;
The charitable said,
"Poor fellow! if his head
But feels the want of powers,
And plumes itself from ours,
The haughty said, "He thus.
It seems, would mimic us,
But if he only quotes
In honor of our notes,
The wisest said, "If foe
Or friend, we still may know
So, let us not be moved,
Since first to be improved
The Silk-Worm's Will
crawling worm
crawling worm
Dame Biddy
Because it so chanced that dame Biddy
Of chicks, young, and helpless, and giddy.
She fancied the life of a ranger;
To fall into mischief or danger.
And call all her children to follow;
Then, lie in their places and wallow.
Its first little blade had been shooting,
To learn if the kernel was rooting.
Of pleasure, through thicket and brambles,
Delighted in marking her rambles.
"A prize of which I'll be the winner!"
And bear off a chicken for dinner.
The cry of her youngling in dying,
That high with his booty was flying.
Nor grief her lost darling recover.
For acting the part of a rover.
And flying one way and another,
Had she been more wise as a mother.
Dame Biddy a little subjection;
Of hawking, with time for reflection.
Of brush-wood that near her was lying,
The fowler, that o'er her was flying.
And having a taste to renew it,
With cruel intention, to view it.
If you love my chickens so dearly,
That you may address them more nearly."
Of Biddy, "my circuit is higher!
'Twill be when I see he's not nigh her."
The chickens the brush to run under,
Thus tempted, came near for his plunder.
With appetite stronger and stronger,
And plunged, to defer it no longer.
At once in the net-work entangled,
In hopeless vacuity dangled.
Where they for their barley had huddled;
And soon through the coop holes had scuddled.
He saw the bold captive was in it;
Remember, I did not begin it!"
The airy assassin disarming,
By blunting each talent for harming.
The chickens hid under their mother,
As he, who had murdered their brother
Determined to show him no quarter,
As motherly tenderness taught her.
Attacked the poor captive unfriended;
In anger,) may guess how it ended.
If pecking and scratching could do it;
He perished before she got through it.
A thought like approving the fury,
Punition without judge or jury.
To lessen the angry bestower.
fowl
But the featherless biped, still lower.
Kit With the Rose
When Kit came frolicking by;
To a rose that had caught her eye.
Beneath her ominous paw;
She coveted what she saw.
If I could but give it a snap,
Their rose, or the least mishap!"
And seizing the flower it bore,
A leap to the parlor-floor.
All fresh in its morning bloom,
To every side of the room.
She laid herself down to sun,
And the mischief she'd slily done.
And uttered a piteous cry,
Delighted her watchful eye.
Concealing his guilty face?
The rogue to his lurking-place!
And none will suspect it was I."
And she well understood the cry.
Kit's mouth confessed the whole truth:
A rose-leaf pierced by her tooth!
All covered with shame! And those
Should remember Kit with the Rose.
The Captive Butterfly
How have you passed the night?
To see the morning light.
You're in a sober mood.
And what you take for food.
To let your winglets rest.
To see your velvet vest.
To find your breathing-place,
Each side your pretty face.
With streaks and spots and rings;
Your shining, rainbow wings.
"For want of food or drink,
I could not sleep a wink.
My lungs, for want of air.
And meet the morning's glare.
So close, and yet so clear,
While I'm a captive here.
Until they're full of pain.
Which I cannot regain.
Who've ever acted well,
And fluttered from my shell?
Or man, or bird, or beast;
Of going free, at least.
My prison-house, the cup,
And make my wings go up!"
"Behold my airy play!"
Away, away, away!
To cool his aching feet,
Where liberty was sweet!
The Dissatisfied Angler Boy
I'm sure 'twas no pleasure to see
In torture,—and all for me!
It made me shivering cold,
May I such a sight behold!
Unhurt, in his native brook!
With sister, and read my book.
The Stove and the Grate-Setter
To make your ears tingle—your fingers to numb!
To guard you against him, already am come.
Is worth pounds of remedy taken too late!
Will shine where I fasten stove, furnace or grate.
By Autumn's chill blast are tossed yellow and sere;
Each thing he can puff at, will Winter be here!
Your elbows to bite with his keen cutting air,
To set the defence I to-day can prepare.
To give you blue faces, and shakes by the chin,
As you from abroad to your parlor step in!
Your hearth bright and cheering—your coal in a glow;
To sift o'er your dwellings its clouds full of snow!
The cold stone and iron—the brick and the lime:
For comfort to give in the drear winter time.
To make him, at least, keep himself out of doors!
When loud for admission he threatens and roars.
heart
As peaceful you sit by your warm fireside;
To those, where the gifts you enjoy are denied.
And out of whose kingdom no treasure is sure,
His charge to his friends is "Remember the poor."
Who once on the dwellings of men, for his bread,
Will work by the light that our Master has shed.
Song of the Bees
And color the eastern sky
And our bread for a long supply!"
To the field, the meadow, and bower:
The mint, and rosemary flower.
Of the pointed thistle and brier;
And reach for a state still higher.
Is busy, and cares for all,
And a harvest that's past recall!
The Summer is Come
CHILDHOOD'S RURAL SONG.
The Summer is come
With the insect's hum,
And sweet are the hours,
And the fruits and flowers,
All nature is glad,
And the earth is clad
So, we with delight
Will our songs unite,
The swallow is out,
And she sails about
Then she takes a sip
With her horny lip
And the lamb bounds light
In his fleece of white,
In the streamlet clear,
Where he sees appear
For, never before
Has he gambolled o'er
And he skips in play,
As he fain would say
And we have to-day
Been rambling away
Which we sat beneath
An old oak to wreath
Now the sun goes down
Like a golden crown
So we dance the while
To his farewell smile;
Then, we'll dance to-night
While the fire-fly's light
And we'll step our tune
To the silver moon,
O, Summer is sweet!
But her joys are fleet;
Yet never the less
Would our hearts confess
The Morning-Glory
Though simple is the story.
An airy Morning-Glory.
Its species or its genus.
And form a bower, between us.
His vine, his pride and pleasure,
The growing floral treasure.
As if the rainbow dyed it.
Impatient close beside it.
As if some little fairy,
Of purple, high and airy.
Where'er the vine was clinging.
And round it birds were singing.
Like one two-thirds demented.
And I'll go off contented."
"Not one of you shall sever
And keep them mine for ever!"
As mute he stood and eyed it?
As if a fire had dried it.
Aggrieved! for I've abused them.
Which rudely I refused them!"
The Old Cotter and his Cow
My good old Cow,
I scarce know how
With my scant fare,
And thine so spare—
We both were old,
And keen the cold;
And by the blast
That, whistling, passed,
While, many a day.
Few locks of hay
A patient Cow,
And kind wast thou,
But though the storms
Have chilled our forms,
The dark, blue day
Is passed away;
The bounteous earth
Is shooting forth
Thou now canst feed
Along the mead,
The soft, sweet breeze
Through budding trees
And these old eyes
Find new supplies
Though poor my cot,
And low my lot,
I take my cup,
And looking up,
The Speckled One
To waft thy name around;
To give it air and sound.
For these are oft the things
Its gorgeous plumes and wings.
Affrighted from my way!
And hear what I may say.
This truly should not be.
My Maker's work in thee.
We're fellow-creatures here;
Nor weakness filled with fear.
To burrow in a hole—
And that without a soul.
I see thee void of grace;
Reigns o'er thy solemn face.
Nor should it make us load
The honest name of TOAD.
In presence so uncouth,
Of falsehood, or of truth.
Nor hands to mischief prone;
Though spurned, and poor and lone.
In thy bright golden eye,
On all below the sky.
No words of folly pass,
The madness of the glass.
From earth, and wood, and stone;
Thou seem'st to live on none.
Sealed close, shut up alive,
Thou'lt live and even thrive:—
Will issue from the lid
When it is deeply hid.
Whereon is a supply
Concealed from mortal eye.
'Twere well for us to know,
When outer means grow low.
On such mysterious shelves,
Unless we lost ourselves!
With every human breast—
And yet be self-possessed!
Beyond our tub, to show
Is one great thing to know.
To let no murmur through,
Is greater still to do.
Amid thy low estate;
For victory over fate.
The lot we cannot shape;
From which there's no escape.
The Blind Musician
The Lame Horse
Humility; or, The Mushroom's Soliloquy
The Lost Nestlings
And the rolling stream beside;
I'm afraid they all have died!"
Said a little wanton boy
Your nestlings to destroy.
Her little ones would miss;
With a wailing sound, like this.
Was formed to suffer woe,
Or I had not grieved you so.
The lives I can't restore;
To do the like no more.
The Bat's Flight By Daylight An Allegory
that
select circle
monster
bird four-footed, and clothed with hair
heathen god
low, mean beast:
plumed
hair
Two ears
doubtful phiz;
bark
prudent Mole
Idle Jack
The wicked flee when none pursue.
David and Goliath
With silken, sunny locks,
He kept his father's flocks.
A giant, huge and high;
His head towards the sky.
A mighty warrior, too;
And many a man he slew.
Proclaimed it to and fro,
The one, who'd kill the foe.
Would feel their courage fail;
Could pierce the giant's mail.
That would deliverance bring;
And thus relieve the king.
Upon a grassy bank;
From which the lambkins drank.
Five pebbles, smooth and round;
The giant to the ground.
Said he, "and now I'll slay
I'll bring his head away!"
The youthful hero sped;
And by his towering head.
The giant saw him come,
Yet David struck him dumb.
That caused his overthrow!
A pebble laid him low.
He rolled, and writhed, and roared:
And drew his ponderous sword.
He held the gleaming point
Then severed cord and joint.
And laid it down by Saul;
That caused the giant's fall.
With pebbles and a sling,
As Israel's second king!
Which David had, alone,
And conquer, with a stone.
The giant thus to kill,
His purpose to fulfil!
Escape of the Doves
You bright little fugitive things!
In using your beautiful wings.
To see if you knew how to fly,
The basket for ever good-by!
You sha'nt have occasion to roam—
To make it contented at home.
And don't keep away from us thus;
'Twill be a sad moment for us!
A long time in waiting; for now
Is worth, at least, two on the bough.
By experience taught to be sage,—
Are worth two or three in the cage!
The work you have just been about,
And spare you for letting us out.
And all the good things you would give;
Where nature designed us to live.
On which from your reach we have flown,
In future, that are not your own."
Edward and Charles
So lately were blooming and fair;
And nothing but ruin was there.
With leaves that are faded and dead!
That the beautiful birds have all fled."
Which used to appear to the eye;
And now our Thanksgiving is nigh!
To Grandpa's; and there find enough
And at night we'll all play blind-man's-buff.
Whigs
Tories
And what sort of men they could be;
Which they took for their coffee and tea.
At least it was nothing uncommon,
pillion
Up mounted a man and a woman!
Or perhaps to a great country marriage,—
Their rides, on an animal carriage!
huskings
quiltings
Some things she has long laid away:—
Which they wore in her grandparent's day.
And then, there's a droll sort of hat,
three-cornered scraper
Perhaps, too, she'll let us see that.
But I have heard somebody say,
Bumpkins,
And have our good Thanksgiving-day."
For to me it is much the best part,
It is feasting the ear and the heart.
Their gratitude who can withhold?
Their fuel, and clothes for the cold!"
Or clothe them, or build them a fire.
To spend in the way you desire."
In something for clothing or food:
Where she thought it would do the most good.
The Mountain Minstrel
In the shadow of a rock,
Watching o'er my father's flock.
Peaceful as the sparrow's nest,
From our roamings to our rest.
I could whistle, pipe and sing,
Music stir in every thing.
Swift upon my father rushed;
At a stroke our peace was crushed.
In the sudden overthrow,
My white cosset, too, must go.
Where I'd once a flock to feed;
Was my simple pipe of reed.
Who had seen me sadly stray,
And he taught me how to play.
And abroad he bade me roam,
Would redeem our cottage-home.
I received his gift with joy;
And became a minstrel-boy.
Forward then I roamed afar,
Groups would gather—music-bound:
List'ners till my hopes were crowned.
I of one dear object dreamed;
And our cottage-home redeemed.
Here we dwell together blest;
I have played and sung to rest.
Free from want, and toil, and cares;
Deem they in this home of theirs.
All their wrongs have been forgiven—
In their cot, to wake in heaven.
What's the lineage whence I came?
David-Jesse is my name!
The Veteran and the Child
Captain Kidd
The name of Robert Kidd,
Of him, or what he did.
And lived not in his day;
To what it paved the way.
And there he left his wife
And lead a seaman's life.
A heart as stern and brave,
Or on the briny wave.
When many a pirate bold
Of shedding blood for gold.
As one devoid of fears,
Against the Bucaniers.
And manned with many a man,
To foil the pirate's plan.
Without success had sailed,
Her master's patience failed.
He found he sought in vain;
Came into Robert's brain!
And found his guilty crew
Would all turn pirates too!
Defied its Author's will;
Began to rob and kill.
A tyrant on the waves;
Went down to watery graves.
Which he would not annoy;
And seeking to destroy.
Within the seamen's breast:
His evil gains possessed.
And go at night by stealth,
His last ill-gotten wealth.
This modern Achan hid;
About the pirate, Kidd.
If slow, she's ever sure.
For her to make secure!
The pirate boldly went,
And chains, to England sent.
A solemn, fearful sight;
E'en at the gibbet's height!
Along the river side;
How they had lived and died.
Though often sought of men.
Till they should come again!
The treasures to withhold
Or used the pirate's gold!
The Dying Storm
And my wings are nearly furled.
I am glad to quit the world.
On the evil I have done,
From the coming of the sun.
In that pure and holy light,
With an everlasting blight!
Have I poured abroad my wrath,
And with ruins strewed my path.
She my power in silence owns;
O'er my deeds of horror moans.
I've destroyed the fairest form:
And I'm now a dying Storm!
With my final gasp and sigh,
Fain would serve him while I die.
Swift to death, from being cease.
To eternal pain or peace!
The Little Traveller
But still, I would like to be known to fame;
And lowest of all in my lowly name.
This I can say, in family pride—
And made by the Maker of all beside.
Still I'm so little I can't be lost!
And those who carry me bear the cost.
I often cling to my deadly foe;
Arise by the force that has cast me low.
I've quietly risen, her face to seek,—
Myself to rest in her dimpled cheek.
But startled and sprung, at the wild affray,—
And fled on the wings of the wind away.
By the proudest guest of the stately scene;
And the nuptial ring of his lofty queen.
I've oft been one familiar and free:
Her delicate, gloveless hand on me.
Never declines a call from me;
Admit me into their coteri.
If human, or brute, and can testify
To wonders none ever beheld but I!
Forgetting my name, my rank and birth,
Of the great and manifold things of earth.
Which modesty bids me here withhold;
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
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Voices, or the Shadow and the Shadowless,"—is a sweet thing, as is also
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there are ten, will be read with avidity. Their moral is as pure as
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