A Child-World | Page 7

the Child-World while the heart beats young....
While the heart beats young!--O the splendor of the Spring, With all her dewy jewels on, is not so fair a thing!?The fairest, rarest morning of the blossom-time of May?Is not so sweet a season as the season of to-day?While Youth's diviner climate folds and holds us, close caressed, As we feel our mothers with us by the touch of face and breast;-- Our bare feet in the meadows, and our fancies up among?The airy clouds of morning--while the heart beats young.
While the heart beats young and our pulses leap and dance. With every day a holiday and life a glad romance,--?We hear the birds with wonder, and with wonder watch their flight-- Standing still the more enchanted, both of hearing and of sight, When they have vanished wholly,--for, in fancy, wing-to-wing We fly to Heaven with them; and, returning, still we sing The praises of this lower Heaven with tireless voice and tongue, Even as the Master sanctions--while the heart beats young.
While the heart beats young!--While the heart beats young! O green and gold old Earth of ours, with azure overhung And looped with rainbows!--grant us yet this grassy lap of thine-- We would be still thy children, through the shower and the shine! So pray we, lisping, whispering, in childish love and trust With our beseeching hands and faces lifted from the dust By fervor of the poem, all unwritten and unsung,?Thou givest us in answer, while the heart beats young.
NOEY BIXLER
Another hero of those youthful years?Returns, as Noey Bixler's name appears.?And Noey--if in any special way--?Was notably good-natured.--Work or play?He entered into with selfsame delight--?A wholesome interest that made him quite?As many friends among the old as young,--?So everywhere were Noey's praises sung.
And he was awkward, fat and overgrown,?With a round full-moon face, that fairly shone?As though to meet the simile's demand.?And, cumbrous though he seemed, both eye and hand?Were dowered with the discernment and deft skill?Of the true artisan: He shaped at will,?In his old father's shop, on rainy days,?Little toy-wagons, and curved-runner sleighs;?The trimmest bows and arrows--fashioned, too.?Of "seasoned timber," such as Noey knew?How to select, prepare, and then complete,?And call his little friends in from the street.?"The very best bow," Noey used to say,?"Haint made o' ash ner hick'ry thataway!--?But you git mulberry_--the _bearin'-tree,?Now mind ye! and you fetch the piece to me,?And lem me git it seasoned; then, i gum!?I'll make a bow 'at you kin brag on some!?Er--ef you can't git mulberry,--you bring?Me a' old locus' hitch-post, and i jing!?I'll make a bow o' that_ 'at _common bows?Won't dast to pick on ner turn up their nose!"?And Noey knew the woods, and all the trees,?And thickets, plants and myriad mysteries?Of swamp and bottom-land. And he knew where?The ground-hog hid, and why located there.--?He knew all animals that burrowed, swam,?Or lived in tree-tops: And, by race and dam,?He knew the choicest, safest deeps wherein?Fish-traps might flourish nor provoke the sin?Of theft in some chance peeking, prying sneak,?Or town-boy, prowling up and down the creek.?All four-pawed creatures tamable--he knew?Their outer and their inner natures too;?While they, in turn, were drawn to him as by?Some subtle recognition of a tie?Of love, as true as truth from end to end,?Between themselves and this strange human friend.?The same with birds--he knew them every one,?And he could "name them, too, without a gun."?No wonder Johnty loved him, even to?The verge of worship.--Noey led him through?The art of trapping redbirds--yes, and taught?Him how to keep them when he had them caught--?What food they needed, and just where to swing?The cage, if he expected them to sing.
And Bud loved Noey, for the little pair?Of stilts he made him; or the stout old hair?Trunk Noey put on wheels, and laid a track?Of scantling-railroad for it in the back?Part of the barn-lot; or the cross-bow, made?Just like a gun, which deadly weapon laid?Against his shoulder as he aimed, and--"Sping!"?He'd hear the rusty old nail zoon and sing--?And zip! your Mr. Bluejay's wing would drop?A farewell-feather from the old tree-top!?And Maymie loved him, for the very small?But perfect carriage for her favorite doll--?A lady's_ carriage--not a _baby-cab,--?But oilcloth top, and two seats, lined with drab?And trimmed with white lace-paper from a case?Of shaving-soap his uncle bought some place?At auction once.
And Alex loved him yet?The best, when Noey brought him, for a pet,?A little flying-squirrel, with great eyes--?Big as a child's: And, childlike otherwise,?It was at first a timid, tremulous, coy,?Retiring little thing that dodged the boy?And tried to keep in Noey's pocket;--till,?In time, responsive to his patient will,?It became wholly docile, and content?With its new master, as he came and went,--?The squirrel clinging flatly to his breast,?Or sometimes scampering its craziest?Around his body spirally, and then?Down to his very heels and up again.
And Little Lizzie loved him,