Poems Every Child Should Know Part 24

THOMAS HOOD.

DRIVING HOME THE COWS.

Out of the clover and blue-eyed gra.s.s He turned them into the river lane; One after another he let them pa.s.s, Then fastened the meadow bars again.

Under the willows and over the hill, He patiently followed their sober pace; The merry whistle for once was still, And something shadowed the sunny face.

Only a boy! and his father had said He never could let his youngest go: Two already were lying dead, Under the feet of the trampling foe.

But after the evening work was done, And the frogs were loud in the meadow-swamp, Over his shoulder he slung his gun, And stealthily followed the footpath damp.

Across the clover, and through the wheat, With resolute heart and purpose grim: Though the dew was on his hurrying feet, And the blind bat's flitting startled him.

Thrice since then had the lanes been white, And the orchards sweet with apple-bloom; And now, when the cows came back at night, The feeble father drove them home.

For news had come to the lonely farm That three were lying where two had lain; And the old man's tremulous, palsied arm Could never lean on a son's again.

The summer day grew cool and late: He went for the cows when the work was done; But down the lane, as he opened the gate, He saw them coming one by one:

Brindle, Ebony, Speckle, and Bess, Shaking their horns in the evening wind; Cropping the b.u.t.tercups out of the gra.s.s, But who was it following close behind?

Loosely swung in the idle air The empty sleeve of army blue; And worn and pale, from the crisping hair, Looked out a face that the father knew.

For close-barred prisons will sometimes yawn, And yield their dead unto life again; And the day that comes with a cloudy dawn, In golden glory at last may wane.

The great tears sprang to their meeting eyes; For the heart must speak when the lips are dumb, And under the silent evening skies Together they followed the cattle home.

KATE PUTNAM OSGOOD.

KRINKEN.

"Krinken" is the dearest of poems.

"Krinken was a little child.

It was summer when he smiled!"

Eugene Field, above all other poets, paid the finest tribute to children. This poet only, could make the whole ocean warm because a child's heart was there to warm it.

Krinken was a little child,-- It was summer when he smiled.

Oft the h.o.a.ry sea and grim Stretched its white arms out to him, Calling, "Sun-child, come to me; Let me warm my heart with thee!"

But the child heard not the sea Calling, yearning evermore For the summer on the sh.o.r.e.

Krinken on the beach one day Saw a maiden Nis at play; On the pebbly beach she played In the summer Krinken made.

Fair, and very fair, was she, Just a little child was he.

"Krinken," said the maiden Nis, "Let me have a little kiss,-- Just a kiss, and go with me To the summer-lands that be Down within the silver sea."

Krinken was a little child-- By the maiden Nis beguiled, Hand in hand with her went he And 'twas summer in the sea.

And the h.o.a.ry sea and grim To its bosom folded him-- Clasped and kissed the little form, And the ocean's heart was warm.

Now the sea calls out no more; It is winter on the sh.o.r.e,-- Winter where that little child Made sweet summer when he smiled; Though 'tis summer on the sea Where with maiden Nis went he,-- It is winter on the sh.o.r.e, Winter, winter evermore.

Of the summer on the deep Come sweet visions in my sleep; _His_ fair face lifts from the sea, _His_ dear voice calls out to me,-- These my dreams of summer be.

Krinken was a little child, By the maiden Nis beguiled; Oft the h.o.a.ry sea and grim Reached its longing arms to him, Crying, "Sim-child, come to me; Let me warm my heart with thee!"

But the sea calls out no more; It is winter on the sh.o.r.e,-- Winter, cold and dark and wild.

Krinken was a little child,-- It was summer when he smiled; Down he went into the sea, And the winter bides with me, Just a little child was he.

EUGENE FIELD.

STEVENSON'S BIRTHDAY.

"How I should like a birthday!" said the child, "I have so few, and they so far apart."

She spoke to Stevenson--the Master smiled-- "Mine is to-day; I would with all my heart That it were yours; too many years have I!

Too swift they come, and all too swiftly fly"

So by a formal deed he there conveyed All right and t.i.tle in his natal day, To have and hold, to sell or give away,-- Then signed, and gave it to the little maid.

Joyful, yet fearing to believe too much, She took the deed, but scarcely dared unfold.

Ah, liberal Genius! at whose potent touch All common things s.h.i.+ne with trans.m.u.ted gold!

A day of Stevenson's will prove to be Not part of Time, but Immortality.

KATHERINE MILLER.

A MODEST WIT.

I learned "A Modest Wit" as a reading-lesson when I was a child. It has clung to me and so I cling to it. It is just as good as it ever was. It is a sharp thrust at power that depends on externalities. Selleck Osborne. (----.)

A supercilious nabob of the East-- Haughty, being great--purse-proud, being rich-- A governor, or general, at the least, I have forgotten which-- Had in his family a humble youth, Who went from England in his patron's suit, An una.s.suming boy, in truth A lad of decent parts, and good repute.

This youth had sense and spirit; But yet with all his sense, Excessive diffidence Obscured his merit.

One day, at table, flushed with pride and wine, His honour, proudly free, severely merry, Conceived it would be vastly fine To crack a joke upon his secretary.

"Young man," he said, "by what art, craft, or trade, Did your good father gain a livelihood?"-- "He was a saddler, sir," Modestus said, "And in his time was reckon'd good."

"A saddler, eh! and taught you Greek, Instead of teaching you to sew!

Pray, why did not your father make A saddler, sir, of you?"

Each parasite, then, as in duty bound, The joke applauded, and the laugh went round.

At length Modestus, bowing low, Said (craving pardon, if too free he made), "Sir, by your leave, I fain would know Your father's trade!"

"My father's trade! by heaven, that's too bad!

My father's trade? Why, blockhead, are you mad?

My father, sir, did never stoop so low-- He was a gentleman, I'd have you know."