Literature for Children Part 11

(A Tynemouth s.h.i.+p)

The "Northern Star"

Sail'd over the bar Bound to the Baltic Sea; In the morning gray She stretch'd away:-- 'Twas a weary day to me!

For many an hour In sleet and shower By the lighthouse rock I stray; And watch till dark For the winged bark Of him that is far away.

The castle's bound I wander round, Amidst the gra.s.sy graves: But all I hear Is the north-wind drear, And all I see are the waves.

The "Northern Star"

Is set afar!

Set in the Baltic Sea: And the waves have spread The sandy bed That holds my Love from me.

--UNKNOWN.

THE FIRST SWALLOW

The gorse is yellow on the heath; The banks of speedwell flowers are gay; The oaks are budding, and beneath, The hawthorn soon will bear the wreath, The silver wreath of May.

The welcome guest of settled spring, The swallow, too, is come at last Just at sunset, when thrushes sing, I saw her dash with rapid wing, And hail'd her as she past.

Come, summer visitant, attach To my reed roof your nest of clay, And let my ear your music catch, Low twittering underneath the thatch, At the gray dawn of day.

--CHARLOTTE SMITH.

BLOW, BLOW, THOU WINTER WIND

Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingrat.i.tude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green holly: Most friends.h.i.+p is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then heigh ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not.

Heigh ho! sing, heigh ho! unto the green holly: Most friends.h.i.+p is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then heigh ho, the holly!

This life is most jolly.

--WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

THE DEATH OF THE FLOWERS

The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, and meadows brown and sear.

Heap'd in the hollows of the grove, the autumn leaves lie dead; They rustle to the eddying gust, and to the rabbit's tread.

The robin and the wren are flown, and from the shrubs the jay, And from the wood-top calls the crow through all the gloomy day.

The wind-flower and the violet, they perish'd long ago, And the brier-rose and the orchid died amid the summer glow; But on the hill the golden-rod, and the aster in the wood, And the yellow sun-flower by the brook in autumn beauty stood, Till fell the frost from the clear cold heaven, as falls the plague on men, And the brightness of their smile was gone, from upland, glade, and glen.

And now, when comes the calm mild day, as still such days will come, To call the squirrel and the bee from out their winter home; When the sound of dropping nuts is heard, though all the trees are still, And twinkle in the smoky light the waters of the rill, The south wind searches for the flowers whose fragrance late he bore, And sighs to find them in the wood and by the stream no more.

--WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS

It was the schooner Hesperus, That sail'd the wintry sea; And the skipper had taken his little daughter, To bear him company.

Blue were her eyes as the fairy flax, Her cheeks like the dawn of day, And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, That ope in the month of May.

The skipper he stood beside the helm, His pipe was in his mouth; And he watched how the veering flaw did blow The smoke now West, now South.

Then up and spake an old Sailr, Had sailed the Spanish Main: "I pray thee, put into yonder port, For I fear a hurricane.

"Last night, the moon had a golden ring, And to-night no moon we see!"

The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe, And a scornful laugh laughed he.

Colder and louder blew the wind, A gale from the North-east; The snow fell hissing in the brine, And the billows frothed like yeast.

Down came the storm, and smote amain The vessel in its strength; She shuddered and paused, like a frightened steed, Then leaped her cable's length.

"Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, And do not tremble so; For I can weather the roughest gale, That ever wind did blow."

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat, Against the stinging blast; He cut a rope from a broken spar, And bound her to a mast.

"O father! I hear the church bells ring.

O say, what may it be?"

"'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!"-- And he steered for the open sea.

"O father! I hear the sound of guns, O say, what may it be?"

"Some s.h.i.+p in distress, that cannot live In such an angry sea!"

"O father! I see a gleaming light, O say, what may it be?"

But the father answered never a word, A frozen corpse was he.

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, With his face turned to the skies; The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow On his fixed and gla.s.sy eyes.

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed That saved she might be; And she thought of Christ, who stilled the waves, On the Lake of Galilee.

And fast through the midnight dark and drear, Through the whistling sleet and snow, Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept Towards the reef of Norman's Woe.

And ever the fitful gusts between A sound came from the land; It was the sound of the trampling surf, On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.

The breakers were right beneath her bows, She drifted a weary wreck, And a whooping billow swept the crew Like icicles from her deck.

She struck where the white and fleecy waves Looked soft as carded wool, But the cruel rocks, they gored her side, Like the horns of an angry bull.

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, With the masts, went by the board; Like a vessel of gla.s.s, she stove and sank, Ho! ho! the breakers roared!

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, A fisherman stood aghast, To see the form of a maiden fair, Lashed close to a drifting mast.

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, The salt tears in her eyes; And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, On the billows fall and rise.

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, In the midnight and the snow!