The Youths Coronal | Page 8

has leaped the hedge and rill,--?He has clambered up the hill,
Ere the beaming?Of the rising sun, to sweep?With its golden rays the steep,?Till he's tired, and dropped asleep,
Sweetly dreaming.
See, he threw aside his cap,?And the roses from his lap,?When his eyes were, for the nap,
Slowly closing:?Wit his sunny curls outspread,?On its fragrant mossy bed,?Now his precious infant head
Is reposing.
He is dreaming of his play--?How he rose at break of day,?And he frolicked all the way
On his ramble.?And before his fancy's eye,?He has still the butterfly?Mocking him, where not so high
He could scramble.
In his cheek the dimples dip,?And a smile is on his lip,?While his tender finger-tip
Seems as aiming?At some wild and lovely thing?That is out upon the wing,?Which he longs to catch and bring
Home for taming.
While he thus at rest is laid?In the old oak's quiet shade,?Let's cull our flowers to braid,
Or unite them?In bunches trim and neat,?That for every friend we meet,?We may have a token sweet
To delight them.
'Tis the very crowning art?Of a happy, grateful heart?To others to impart
Of its pleasure.?Thus its joys can never cease,?For it brings an inward peace,?Like an every day increase
Of a treasure.
=The Shoemaker=
"Honor and shame from no condition rise.?Act well your part:--there all the honor lies."
The shoemaker sat amid wax and leather,?With lapstone over his knee;?Where, snug in his shop, he defied all weather,?A-drawing his quarters and sole together:?A happy old man was he!
This happy old man was so wise and knowing,?The worth of his time he knew.?He bristled his ends, and he kept them going;?And felt to each moment a stitch was owing,?Until he got round the shoe.
Of every deed that his wax was sealing,?The closing was firm and fast.?The prick of his steel never caused a feeling?Of pain to the toe, and his skill in heeling?Was perfect, and true to the last!
Whenever you gave him a foot to measure.?With gentle and skilful hand,?He took its proportions, with looks of pleasure,?As if you were giving the costliest treasure,?Or dubbing him lord of the land.
And many a one did he save from getting?A fever, or cold or cough:?For many a sole did he save from wetting,?When, whether in water or snow 'twas setting,?His shoeing would keep them off
And when he had done with his making and mending,?With hope and a peaceful breast,?Resigning his awl, as his thread was ending,?He slid from his bench, to the grave descending,?As high as a king to rest!
=The Snow-Storm=
It snows! it snows! from out the sky?The feathered flakes, how fast they fly,?Like little birds, that don't know why?They're on the chase, from place to place,?While neither can the other trace!?It snows, it snows! a merry play?Is o'er us, on this sombre day.
As dancers in time's airy hall,?That not a moment holds them all,?While some keep up, and others fall,?The atoms shift; then, thick and swift,?They drive along to form the drift,?That weaving up, so dazzling white,?Is rising like a wall of light.
But now the wind comes, whistling loud,?To snatch and waft it, as a cloud,?Or giant phantom in a shroud.?It spreads,--it curls,--it mounts and whirls;?At length a mighty wing unfurls;?And then, away!--but where, none knows,?Or ever will.--It snows! it snows!
To-morrow will the storm be done;?Then out will come the golden sun!?And we shall, we shall see, upon the run?Before his beams, in sparkling streams,?What now a curtain o'er him seems.?And thus, with life it ever goes;--?'Tis shade and shine! It snows, it snows!
=The Whirlwind=
Whirlwind, Whirlwind, whither art thou hieing,?Snapping off the flowers young and fair;--?Setting all the chaff and the withered leaves a-flying,--?Tossing up the dust in the air?
"I," said the Whirlwind, "cannot stop for talking!?Give me up your cap, my little man;?And the polished stick, that you will not need for walking. While you run to catch them, if you can!
"You, pretty maiden--none has time to tell her?I am coming, ere I shall be there.?I will twirl her zephyr--snatch her light umbrella,?Seize her hat, and snarl her glossy hair!"
On went the Whirlwind, showing many capers?One would hardly deem it meet to tell;--?Dusting Judge and Parson--flirting gown and papers,--?Discomposing matron, beau and belle.
"Whisk!" from behind came the long and sweeping feather,?Round the head of old Chanticleer:--?Plumed and plumeless biped felt gust together,?In a way they wouldn't like to hear.
Snug in his arbor sat a scholar, musing?Calmly o'er the philosophic page:?"Flap!" went the leaves of the volume he was using,?Cutting short the lecture of the sage.
"Hey!" said the bookworm, "this I think is taking?Rather too much liberty with me!?Yet I'll not resent it; being bent on making?Use of every thing I hear and see.
"Many, I know, will not their anger stifle,?When as little cause as this, they find?To let it kindle up; but minding every trifle?Is profitless as quarrels with the wind.
"Forth to his business when the Whirlwind sallies,?He is all alive to get it done;--?He on his pathway