The Emigrant Mechanic and Other Tales in Verse Part 62

Then stay, my dear, till thou hast done All that thy mother needed; Yet just remember there is one Who will be sadly woe-begone, His loneliness unheeded.

For well I know that such a wife Is better far than gold; And all the joys of bachelor life, However free from care and strife, On my mind take no hold.

Just now her brother brings me word That I must go and see her.

For all the joys this will afford May I be thankful to the Lord, And go from care to free her.

Within an hour I see her face Bedecked with smiles to greet me, But yet she seems in woeful case, For marks of _toothache_ I can trace As she comes forth to meet me.

We spend the night with th' dear old folk, The moments quickly fly, While we link-armed start on a walk, But soon return to sing and talk-- The fire all sitting by.

Upon the morrow then return To home, "sweet home," again.

Our hearts afresh with love do burn, As we at hand our house discern, And all it does contain.

TO MY DEAR LITTLE BOYS, JAMES, CHRISTOPHER AND ALFRED.

Three lovely boys who bear my name, Have all upon me equal claim, And seem to ask a rhyme from me-- A humble poet as you see.

James, Christopher and Alfred, dear, You often do my spirit cheer, Each in his own most charming way, From hour to hour, from day to day.

James by his often tuneful mood, And other things best understood By a fond parent, at the time, To he as sweet as music's chime.

In him, though young, my eye can trace A something in his pretty face Which shows strong pa.s.sion lurks within That childish breast--the fruit of sin.

I also think I truly see A trait somewhat too miserly.

I may be wrong--I hope I am, For 'twould be sad in my sweet lamb.

Then Chris, what must I say of him, Who shows us many a little whim?

But with it all displays affection For one so young in much perfection, And can forget his sorrows all, Though his young heart he filled with gall.

If but his mother seem to cry he upward turns his bright brown eye, And asks so earnestly a kiss That we're compelled to love our Chris.

Once, dear child, O strange to tell, From brother Willie's knee he fell And sadly burned his little arm, Which greatly filled us with alarm.

He cried, as might have been expected, And quick relief was not neglected.

But while his heart was fit to burst, He spied a wound on Mamma's hand, And though his own w as far the worst, The sight of Hers he could not stand.

He ceased his crying, gave a sigh, "Poor Mamma's sore," [Footnote: A literal fact] became his cry.

My darling child, this act of thine Makes me right glad to call thee mine.

But I must hasten; one remains Who well deserves my ablest strains.

This is my Alfred--lovely babe A smiling cherub sure art thou, How can I best describe thy charms?

How can I write about thee now?

Nearly four months have pa.s.sed away Since thou first saw the light of day; And in that time we've hardly had One tedious night with thee, my lad.

By day thy chirruping and smiles Thy own dear mother's heart beguiles, And makes me run a dreadful risk Of falling to idolatry!

But let me tell thee, little _Frisk_, This will not do for thee or me!

'Tis time to quit; I cease to write, And bid my precious babes good night!

TO ALFRED, JUST LEARNING TO WALK

1854

O, Alfred dear, thou wilt, I fear, Get burned before 'tis long; Thy little tricks with fiery sticks Have called forth this my song.

That roguish eye seems to defy All I can say or do.

Thy chubby face does not disgrace The food thou art used to.

Come now, my boy, thy skill employ In walking to Papa; Well, now, my child, I own I smiled To see thee choose thy _Ma_.

But still I will that thou fulfill My just commands to thee; Sometime I shall soon make thee squall For disobeying me!

And now a walk or else some talk I do insist upon; But mind that chair or thou wilt fare Not cry well, my son!

Thy limbs are strong, so don't be long, Nor mind that little mountain; Ah, down he goes! and out there flows Big tear-drops from their fountain.

Fear not, my son, thou hast well done; I'll wipe thy tears away, And lie in hopes on Life's rough slopes Thou wilt not go astray.

Now come again, I can't refrain From tuning one more trial; Don't stagger on so woe-begone, But use some self-denial.

Thou wilt have need if thou succeed In life, to use it often, And I have found in moving round It does life's trials soften.

Mind thou the stove! nor further rove, For fear thou get a burning Let not thine eyes in such surprise Upon thy Pa be turning.

See, there at last thou hast got past The dangers which beset thee, So in my arms, proud of thy charms, I'll hug thee if thou let me.

I fain would hope that thou wilt cope With ills besetting mortals, Depending on G.o.d's Arm alone, And so reach Heaven's portals.

TO AMELIA MY LAST INFANT DAUGHTER

1854

On the fifth of chill November Came my Amie unto me, Adding one more lovely member To my numerous family.

Daughter, thou art welcome truly To the care we can bestow; May we do our duty duly While we stay with thee below.

Think not, daughter, we will slight thee, Since so many claim our love; Gladly--wish we to delight thee, As we look for help Above.

Thou art to us, little charmer, Dear as any child we own; And our love to each grows warmer For the sorrows we have known.

Take then, daughter, take our blessing, It comes forth from loving hearts; Though we shrink hot from confessing Oft we fail to act our parts.

TO FREDRIC

Fred, thou art six months old This very day!

And I no more withold From thee a lay.

That rosy, smiling face-- Thou need not fear-- Has weeks since claimed a place 'Midst "rhyming gear."

Thy winning, childish pranks Make further claim To set thee in the ranks Of infant fame.

But when I think what troubles Thou hast pa.s.sed through, The obligation doubles What I've to do--

In rhyming for thee, Fred, My dark-eyed boy; And I have left my bed To sing the joy.