The Children's Garland from the Best Poets Part 6

But still, where general choice is good, There is a better and a best; And, among fairest objects, some Are fairer than the rest.

This, one of those small builders proved In a green covert, where from out The forehead of a pollard oak The leafy antlers sprout;

For she who planned the mossy lodge, Mistrusting her evasive skill, Had to a primrose looked for aid, Her wishes to fulfil.

High on the trunk's projecting brow, And fixed an infant's span above The budding flowers, peeped forth the nest, The prettiest of the grove!

The treasure proudly did I show To some whose minds without disdain Can turn to little things; but once Looked up for it in vain:

'Tis gone--a ruthless spoiler's prey, Who heeds not beauty, love, or song, 'Tis gone! (so seemed it) and we grieved, Indignant at the wrong.

Just three days after, pa.s.sing by In clearer light, the moss-built cell I saw, espied its shaded mouth; And felt that all was well.

The primrose for a veil had spread The largest of her upright leaves; And thus, for purposes benign, A simple flower deceives.

Concealed from friends who might disturb Thy quiet with no ill intent, Secure from evil eyes and hands On barbarous plunder bent,

Rest, mother-bird! and when thy young Take flight, and thou art free to roam, When withered is the guardian flower, And empty thy late home,

Think how ye prospered, thou and thine, Amid the unviolated grove, Housed near the growing primrose tuft In foresight, or in love.

_W. Wordsworth_

XXIV

_A FINE DAY_

Clear had the day been from the dawn, All chequer'd was the sky, Thin clouds like scarfs of cobweb lawn Veil'd heaven's most glorious eye.

The wind had no more strength than this, That leisurely it blew, To make one leaf the next to kiss That closely by it grew.

_M. Drayton_

XXV

_CASABIANCA_

_A True Story_

The boy stood on the burning deck Whence all but he had fled; The flame that lit the battle's wreck Shone round him o'er the dead.

The flames roll'd on. He would not go Without his father's word; That father faint in death below, His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud: 'Say, father, say If yet my task is done!'

He knew not that the chieftain lay Unconscious of his son.

'Speak, father!' once again he cried, 'If I may yet be gone!'

And but the booming shots replied, And fast the flames roll'd on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath, And in his waving hair, And look'd from that lone post of death In still, yet brave despair;

And shouted but once more aloud, 'My father! must I stay?'

While o'er him fast through sail and shroud, The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the s.h.i.+p in splendour wild, They caught the flag on high, And streamed above the gallant child Like banners in the sky.

Then came a burst of thunder-sound-- The boy--oh! where was he?

Ask of the winds that far around With fragments strewed the sea,

With mast, and helm, and pennon fair, That well had borne their part; But the n.o.blest thing that perished there Was that young faithful heart!

_F. Hemans_

XXVI

_SIGNS OF RAIN_

The hollow winds begin to blow, The clouds look black, the gla.s.s is low, The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep, The spiders from their cobwebs peep: Last night the sun went pale to bed, The moon in halos hid her head; The boding shepherd heaves a sigh, For, see, a rainbow spans the sky: The walls are damp, the ditches smell, Closed is the pink-eyed pimpernel.

Hark how the chairs and tables crack!

Old Betty's joints are on the rack; Loud quack the ducks, the peac.o.c.ks cry, The distant hills are seeming nigh.

How restless are the snorting swine; The busy flies disturb the kine; Low o'er the gra.s.s the swallow wings, The cricket too, how sharp he sings; Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws, Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws.

Through the clear stream the fishes rise, And nimbly catch the incautious flies.

The glow-worms, numerous and bright, Illumed the dewy dell last night.

At dusk the squalid toad was seen, Hopping and crawling o'er the green; The whirling wind the dust obeys, And in the rapid eddy plays; The frog has changed his yellow vest, And in a russet coat is dressed.

Though June, the air is cold and still, The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill.

My dog, so altered in his taste, Quits mutton-bones on gra.s.s to feast; And see yon rooks, how odd their flight, They imitate the gliding kite, And seem precipitate to fall, As if they felt the piercing ball.

'Twill surely rain, I see with sorrow, Our jaunt must be put off to-morrow.

_E. Jenner_

XXVII

_HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM GHENT TO AIX_