The Children's Garland from the Best Poets Part 46

Cx.x.xVI

_THE b.u.t.tERFLY AND THE SNAIL_

As in the suns.h.i.+ne of the morn A b.u.t.terfly (but newly born) Sat proudly perking on a rose, With pert conceit his bosom glows; His wings (all glorious to behold) Bedropt with azure, jet, and gold, Wide he displays; the spangled dew Reflects his eyes and various hue.

His now forgotten friend, a snail, Beneath his house, with slimy trail, Crawls o'er the gra.s.s, whom when he spies, In wrath he to the gardener cries: 'What means yon peasant's daily toil, From choking weeds to rid the soil?

Why wake you to the morning's care?

Why with new arts correct the year?

Why grows the peach's crimson hue?

And why the plum's inviting blue?

Were they to feast his taste design'd, That vermin of voracious kind!

Crush then the slow, the pilfering race, So purge thy garden from disgrace.'

'What arrogance!' the snail replied; 'How insolent is upstart pride!

Hadst thou not thus, with insult vain Provok'd my patience to complain, I had conceal'd thy meaner birth, Nor trac'd thee to the sc.u.m of earth; For scarce nine suns have wak'd the hours, To swell the fruit, and paint the flowers, Since I thy humbler life survey'd, In base, in sordid guise array'd.

I own my humble life, good friend; Snail was I born and snail shall end.

And what's a b.u.t.terfly? At best He's but a caterpillar drest; And all thy race (a numerous seed) Shall prove of caterpillar breed.'

_J. Gay_

Cx.x.xVII

_THE DaeMON LOVER_

'O where have you been, my long, long, love, This long seven years and more?'

'O I'm come to seek my former vows Ye granted me before.'

'O hold your tongue of your former vows, For they will breed sad strife; O hold your tongue of your former vows, For I am become a wife.'

He turn'd him right and round about, And the tear blinded his ee; 'I would never have trodden on Irish ground, If it had not been for thee.

'I might have had a king's daughter, Far, far beyond the sea; I might have had a king's daughter, Had it not been for love of thee.'

'If ye might have had a king's daughter, Yourself you had to blame; Ye might have taken the king's daughter, For ye knew that I was nane.'

'O false are the vows of womankind, But fair is their false bodie; I never would have trodden on Irish ground Had it not been for love of thee.'

'If I was to leave my husband dear, And my two babes also, O what have you to take me to, If with you I should go?'

'I have seven s.h.i.+ps upon the sea, The eighth brought me to land; With four and twenty bold mariners, And music on every hand.'

She has taken up her two little babes, Kiss'd them both cheek and chin; 'O fare ye well, my own two babes, For I'll never see you again.'

She set her foot upon the s.h.i.+p, No mariners could she behold; But the sails were of the taffetie, And the masts of the beaten gold.

She had not sail'd a league, a league, A league but barely three, When dismal grew his countenance, And drumlie grew his ee.

The masts that were like the beaten gold Bent not on the heaving seas; And the sails that were of the taffetie Fill'd not in the east land breeze.

They had not sail'd a league, a league, A league but barely three, Until she espied his cloven foot, And she wept right bitterly.

'O hold your tongue of your weeping,' says he, 'Of your weeping now let me be; I will show you how the lilies grow On the banks of Italy.'

'O what hills are yon, yon pleasant hills, That the sun s.h.i.+nes sweetly on?'

'O yon are the hills of heaven,' he said, 'Where you will never won.'

'O what a mountain is yon,' she said, 'All so dreary with frost and snow?'

'O yon is the mountain of h.e.l.l,' he cried, 'Where you and I will go.'

And aye when she turn'd her round about Aye taller he seem'd for to be; Until that the tops of that gallant s.h.i.+p No taller were than he.

The clouds grew dark and the wind grew loud, And the levin filled her ee; And waesome wail'd the snow-white sprites Upon the gurlie sea.

He struck the topmast with his hand, The foremast with his knee; And he brake that gallant s.h.i.+p in twain, And sank her in the sea.

_Old Ballad_

Cx.x.xVIII

_THE NIGHTINGALE AND THE GLOW-WORM_

A Nightingale that all day long Had cheer'd 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 appet.i.te; When looking eagerly around, He spied far off, upon the ground, A something s.h.i.+ning in the dark, And knew the Glowworm 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 s.h.i.+ne; That you with music, I with light, Might beautify and cheer the night.'

The songster heard this short oration, And warbling out his approbation, Released him, as my story tells, And found a supper somewhere else.

_W. Cowper_

Cx.x.xIX

_THE LADY TURNED SERVING-MAN_

You beauteous ladies great and small, I write unto you, one and all, Whereby that you may understand What I have suffer'd in this land.

I was by birth a lady fair, My father's chief and only heir, But when my good old father died, Then I was made a young knight's bride.

And then my love built me a bower, Bedeck'd with many a fragrant flower; A braver bower you ne'er did see Than my true love did build for me.