Poems Every Child Should Know: The What-Every-Child-Should-Know-Library | Page 9

and fight.
ISAAC WATTS.
THE BLUEBELL OF SCOTLAND.
Oh where! and oh where! is your Highland laddie gone??He's gone to fight the French for King George upon the throne; And it's oh! in my heart how I wish him safe at home.
Oh where! and oh where! does your Highland laddie dwell? He dwells in merry Scotland at the sign of the Bluebell; And it's oh! in my heart that I love my laddie well.
IF I HAD BUT TWO LITTLE WINGS.
"If I Had But Two Little Wings," by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834), is recommended by a number of teachers and school-girls.
If I had but two little wings?And were a little feathery bird,?To you I'd fly, my dear!?But thoughts like these are idle things
And I stay here.
But in my sleep to you I fly:?I'm always with you in my sleep!?The world is all one's own.?And then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.
SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE.
A FAREWELL.
"A Farewell," by Charles Kingsley (1819-75), makes it seem worth while to be good.
My fairest child, I have no song to give you;?No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray;?Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day.
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;?Do noble things, not dream them all day long:?And so make life, death, and that vast forever
One grand, sweet song.
CHARLES KINGSLEY.
CASABIANCA.
"Casabianca," by Felicia Hemans (1793-1835), is the portrait of a faithful heart, an example of unreasoning obedience. It is right that a child should obey even to the death the commands of a loving parent.
The boy stood on the burning deck,?Whence all but him had fled;?The flame that lit the battle's wreck?Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,?As born to rule the storm;?A creature of heroic blood,?A proud though childlike form.
The flames rolled 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 rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,?And in his waving hair;?And looked 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 ship 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 strew the sea;
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair.?That well had borne their part--?But the noblest thing that perished there?Was that young, faithful heart.
FELICIA HEMANS.
THE CAPTAIN'S DAUGHTER.
"The Captain's Daughter," by James T. Fields (1816-81), carries weight with every young audience. It is pointed to an end that children love--viz., trust in a higher power.
We were crowded in the cabin,?Not a soul would dare to sleep,--?It was midnight on the waters,?And a storm was on the deep.
'Tis a fearful thing in winter
To be shattered by the blast,?And to hear the rattling trumpet?Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"
So we shuddered there in silence,--?For the stoutest held his breath,?While the hungry sea was roaring?And the breakers talked with Death.
As thus we sat in darkness,?Each one busy with his prayers,?"We are lost!" the captain shouted
As he staggered down the stairs.
But his little daughter whispered,?As she took his icy hand,?"Isn't God upon the ocean,
Just the same as on the land?"
Then we kissed the little maiden.?And we spoke in better cheer,?And we anchored safe in harbour?When the morn was shining clear.
JAMES T. FIELDS.
["The 'village smithy' stood in Brattle Street, Cambridge. There came a time when the chestnut-tree that shaded it was cut down, and then the children of the place put their pence together and had a chair made for the poet from its wood."]
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH.
Longfellow (1807-82) is truly the children's poet. His poems are as simple, pathetic, artistic, and philosophical as if they were intended to tell the plain everyday story of life to older people. "The Village Blacksmith" has been learned by thousands of children, and there is no criticism to be put upon it. The age of the child has nothing whatever to do with his learning it. Age does not grade children nor is poetry wholly to be so graded. "Time is the false reply."
Under a spreading chestnut-tree?The village smithy stands;?The smith, a mighty man is he,?With large and sinewy hands,?And the muscles of his brawny arms?Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long;?His face is like the tan;?His brow is wet with honest sweat,?He earns whate'er he can,?And looks the whole world in the face,?For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn