The Youth's Coronal Part 3

=The Pebble and the Acorn=

"I am a Pebble! I yield to none!"

Were the swelling words of a tiny stone, "Nor time nor season can alter me; I am abiding, while ages flee.

The pelting hail and the drizzling rain Have tried to soften me, long, in vain; And the dew has tenderly sought to melt, Or touch my heart; but it was not felt.

There's none to tell you about my birth, For I am as old as the big, round earth.

The children of men arise, and pa.s.s Out of the world, like blades of gra.s.s; And many foot that on me has trod Is gone from sight, and under the sod!

I am a Pebble! but who art _thou_, Rattling along from the restless bough?"

The Acorn was shocked at this rude salute, And lay for a moment abashed and mute: She never before had been so near This gravelly ball, the mundane sphere; And she felt for a time at loss to know How to answer a thing so coa.r.s.e and low.

But to give reproof of a n.o.bler sort Than the angry look, or the keen retort, At length she said, in a gentle tone, "Since it has happened that I am thrown, From the lighter element where I grew, Down to another, so hard and new, And beside a personage so august, Abased, I'll cover my head with dust, And quick retire from the sight of one Whom time, nor season, nor storm, nor sun, Nor the gentle dew, nor the grinding heel Has ever subdued, or made to feel!"

And soon in the earth she sank away From the cheerless spot where the Pebble lay.

But 'twas not long ere the soil was broke By the jeering head of an infant oak!

As it arose, and its branches spread, The Pebble looked up, and, wondering, said, "Ah, modest Acorn! never to tell What was enclosed in its simple sh.e.l.l;-- That the pride of the forest was folded up In the narrow s.p.a.ce of its little cup!-- And meekly to sink in the darksome earth, Which proves that nothing could hide her worth!

And O, how many will tread on me, To come and admire the beautiful tree, Whose head is towering towards the sky, Above such a worthless thing as I!

Useless and vain, a c.u.mberer here, Have I been idling from year to year.

But never, from this, shall a vaunting word From the humbled Pebble again be heard, Till something without me or within Shall show the purpose for which I've been!"

The Pebble could ne'er its vow forget, And it lies there wrapt in silence yet.

=The Gra.s.shopper and the Ant=

"Ant, look at me!" a young gra.s.shopper said, As nimbly he sprang from his green, summer-bed, "See how I'm going to skip over your head, And could o'er a thousand like you!

Ant, by your motion alone, I should judge That Nature ordained you a slave and a drudge, For ever and ever to keep on the trudge, And always find something to do.

"Oh! there is nothing like having our day-- Taking our pleasure and ease while we may-- Bathing ourselves in the bright, mellow ray That comes from the warm, golden sun!

Whilst I am up in the light and the air, You, a sad picture of labor and care, Still have some hard, heavy burden to bear, And work that you never get done.

"I have an exercise healthful and good, For tuning the nerves and digesting the food-- Graceful gymnastics for stirring the blood Without the _gross purpose of use_ Ant, let me tell you 'tis not _a la mode_ To plod like a pilgrim, and carry a load, Perverting the limbs that for grace were bestowed, By such a plebeian abuse!

"While the whole world with provisions is filled, Who would keep toiling and toiling, to build And lay in a store for himself, till he's killed With work that another might do?

Come! drop your budget, and just give a spring; Jump on a gra.s.s-blade, and balance and swing; Soon you'll be light as a gnat on the wing, Gay as a gra.s.shopper, too!"

Ant trudged along, while the gra.s.shopper sung, Minding her business and holding her tongue, Until she got home her own people among; But these were her thoughts on the road.

"What will become of that poor, idle one When the light sports of the summer are done?

And, where is the covert to which he may run To find a safe winter abode?

"Oh! if I only could tell him how sweet Toil makes my rest and the morsel I eat, While hope gives a spur to my little black feet, He'd never pity my lot!

He'd never ask me my burden to drop, To join in his folly--to spring, and to hop; And thus make the ant and her labor to stop, When time, I am certain, would not.

"When the cold frost all the herbage has nipped, When the bare branches with ice-drops are tipped, Where will the gra.s.shopper then be, that skipped So careless and lightly to-day?

Frozen to death! '_a sad picture_,' indeed, Of reckless indulgence and what must succeed, That all his gymnastics can't shelter or feed, Or quicken his pulse into play!

"I must prepare for a winter to come, I shall be glad of a home and a crumb, When my frail form out of doors would be numb, And I in the snow-storm should die.

Summer is lovely, but soon will be past.

Summer has plenty not always to last.

Summer's the time for the ant to make fast Her stores for a future supply!"

=The Rose-Bud of Autumn=

Come out--pretty Rose-Bud,--my lone, timid one!

Come forth from thy green leaves, and peep at the sun!

For little he does, in these dull autumn hours, At height'ning of beauty, or laughing with flowers.

His beams, on thy tender young cheek as he plays, Will give it a blush that no other could raise: Thy fine silken petals they'll softly unfold, Thy pure bosom filling with spices and gold!

I would not instruct thee in coveting wealth; Yet beauty, we know, is the offspring of health; And health, the fair daughter of freedom! is bright From drinking the breezes, and feasting on light.

Then, come, little gem, from thy covert look out; And see what the glad, golden sun is about!

His shafts, do they strike thee, new charms will impart, Thy form making fairer, and richer, thy heart.

Occasion, sweet Bud, is for thee and for me: This hour it may give what again ne'er shall be.

O, let not the suns.h.i.+ne of life pa.s.s away, Nor touch both our eye and our heart with its ray!

=Frost, the Winter-Sprite=

The Frost looked forth on a still, clear night, And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight; So through the valley, and over the height I'll silently take my way.

I will not go on like that bl.u.s.tering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, That make so much bustle and noise in vain.

But I'll be as busy as they!"

He flew up, and powdered the mountain's crest; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest With diamonds and pearls;--and over the breast Of the quivering Lake he spread A bright coat of mail that it need not fear The glittering point of many a spear That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock was rearing its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane, like a fairy crept; Wherever he breathed--wherever he stepped-- Most beautiful things were seen By morning's first light!--there flowers and trees, With bevies of birds, and swarms of bright bees;-- There were cities--temples, and towers; and these, All pictured in silvery sheen!

But one thing he did that was hardly fair-- He peeped in the cupboard, and, finding there That none had remembered for him to prepare, "Now, just to set them a-thinking, I'll bite their rich basket of fruit," said he, "This burly old pitcher--I'll burst it in three!

And the gla.s.s with the water they've left for me Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking!"

=Vivy Vain=

Miss Vain was all given to dress-- Too fond of gay clothing; and so, She'd gad about town Just to show a new gown, As a train-band their color to show.

Her head being empty and light, Whene'er she obtained a new hat, With pride in her air, She'd go round, here and there, For all whom she knew to see that.

Her folly was chiefly in this: More highly she valued fine looks, Than virtue or truth, Or devoting her youth To usefulness, friends.h.i.+p, or books.

Her pa.s.sion for show was unchecked; And therefore, it happened one day, Arrayed in bright hues, And with new hat and shoes, Miss Vain walked abroad for display.

She took the most populous streets.