Chapter 3

Sing a song of seasons! Something bright in all! Flowers in the summer, Fires in the fall!

THE GARDENER

The gardener does not love to talk, He makes me keep the gravel walk; And when he puts his tools away, He locks the door and takes the key.

Away behind the currant row, Where no one else but cook may go, Far in the plots, I see him dig, Old and serious, brown and big.

He digs the flowers, green, red, and blue, Nor wishes to be spoken to. He digs the flowers and cuts the hay, And never seems to want to play.

Silly gardener! summer goes, And winter comes with pinching toes, When in the garden bare and brown You must lay your barrow down.

Well now, and while the summer stays, To profit by these garden days O how much wiser you would be To play at Indian wars with me!

HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS

Dear Uncle Jim, this garden ground That now you smoke your pipe around. Has seen immortal actions done And valiant battles lost and won.

Here we had best on tip-toe tread, While I for safety march ahead, For this is that enchanted ground Where all who loiter slumber sound.

Here is the sea, here is the sand, Here is simple Shepherd's Land, Here are the fairy hollyhocks, And there are Ali Baba's rocks.

But yonder, see! apart and high, Frozen Siberia lies; where I, With Robert Bruce and William Tell, Was bound by an enchanter's spell.

ENVOYS

TO WILLIE AND HENRIETTA

If two may read aright These rhymes of old delight And house and garden play, You too, my cousins, and you only, may.

You in a garden green With me were king and queen, Were hunter, soldier, tar, And all the thousand things that children are.

Now in the elders' seat We rest with quiet feet, And from the window-bay We watch the children, our successors, play.

"Time was," the golden head Irrevocably said; But time which none can bind, While flowing fast away, leaves love behind.

TO MY MOTHER

You too, my mother, read my rhymes For love of unforgotten times, And you may chance to hear once more The little feet along the floor.

TO AUNTIE

_Chief of our aunts_--not only I, But all your dozen of nurselings cry-- _What did the other children do?_ _And what were childhood, wanting you?_

TO MINNIE

The red room with the giant bed Where none but elders laid their head; The little room where you and I Did for awhile together lie And, simple suitor, I your hand In decent marriage did demand; The great day nursery, best of all, With pictures pasted on the wall And leaves upon the blind A pleasant room wherein to wake And hear the leafy garden shake And rustle in the wind-- And pleasant there to lie in bed And see the pictures overhead-- The wars about Sebastopol, The grinning guns along the wall, The daring escalade, The plunging ships, the bleating sheep, The happy children ankle-deep And laughing as they wade; All these are vanished clean away, And the old manse is changed to-day; It wears an altered face And shields a stranger race. The river, on from mill to mill, Flows past our childhood's garden still; But ah! we children never more Shall watch it from the water-door. Below the yew--it still is there-- Our phantom voices haunt the air As we were still at play, And I can hear them call and say: "_How far is it to Babylon?_"

Ah, far enough, my dear, Far, far enough from here-- Yet you have farther gone! "_Can I get there by candlelight?_" So goes the old refrain. I do not know--perchance you might-- But only, children, hear it right, Ah, never to return again! The eternal dawn, beyond a doubt, Shall break on hill and plain, And put all stars and candles out Ere we be young again.

To you in distant India, these I send across the seas, Nor count it far across. For which of us forgets The Indian cabinets, The bones of antelope, the wings of albatross, The pied and painted birds and beans, The junks and bangles, beads and screens, The gods and sacred bells, And the loud-humming, twisting shells! The level of the parlour floor Was honest, homely, Scottish shore; But when we climbed upon a chair, Behold the gorgeous East was there! Be this a fable; and behold Me in the parlour as of old, And Minnie just above me set In the quaint Indian cabinet! Smiling and kind, you grace a shelf Too high for me to reach myself. Reach down a hand, my dear, and take These rhymes for old acquaintance' sake!

TO MY NAME-CHILD

1

Some day soon this rhyming volume, if you learn with proper speed, Little Louis Sanchez, will be given you to read. Then shall you discover, that your name was printed down By the English printers, long before, in London town.

In the great and busy city where the East and West are met, All the little letters did the English printer set; While you thought of nothing, and were still too young to play, Foreign people thought of you in places far away.

Ay, and while you slept, a baby, over all the English lands Other little children took the volume in their hands; Other children questioned, in their homes across the seas: Who was little Louis, won't you tell us, mother, please?

2

Now that you have spelt your lesson, lay it down and go and play, Seeking shells and seaweed on the sands of Monterey, Watching all the mighty whalebones, lying buried by the breeze, Tiny sandpipers, and the huge Pacific seas.

And remember in your playing, as the sea-fog rolls to you, Long ere you could read it, how I told you what to do; And that while you thought of no one, nearly half the world away Some one thought of Louis on the beach of Monterey!

TO ANY READER

As from the house your mother sees You playing round the garden trees, So you may see, if you will look Through the windows of this book, Another child, far, far away, And in another garden, play. But do not think you can at all, By knocking on the window, call That child to hear you. He intent Is all on his play-business bent. He does not hear; he will not look, Nor yet be lured out of this book. For, long ago, the truth to say, He has grown up and gone away, And it is but a child of air That lingers in the garden there.

THE SCRIBNER ILLUSTRATED CLASSICS

THE ARABIAN NIGHTS Edited by KATE DOUGLAS WIGGIN _Illustrated by Maxfield Parrish_

THE STORY OF ROLAND by JAMES BALDWIN _Illustrated by Peter Hurd_

THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED by JAMES BALDWIN _Illustrated by Peter Hurd_

DRUMS by JAMES BOYD _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

A LITTLE PRINCESS by FRANCES HODGSON BURNETT _Illustrated by Ethel Franklin Betts_

THE DEERSLAYER by JAMES FENIMORE COOPER _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS by JAMES FENIMORE COOPER _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

ROBIN HOOD by PAUL CRESWICK _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

THE ENCHANTED BOOK Edited by ALICE DALGLIESH _Illustrated by Concetta Cacciola_

ROBINSON CRUSOE by DANIEL DEFOE _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

THE CHILDREN OF DICKENS by CHARLES DICKENS Edited by Samuel McChord Crothers _Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith_

HANS BRINKER by MARY MAPES DODGE _Illustrated by George W. Edwards_

POEMS OF CHILDHOOD by EUGENE FIELD _Illustrated by Maxfield Parrish_

THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME by JOHN FOX, JR. _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

GRIMM'S FAIRY TALES _Illustrated by Elenore Abbott_

LONE COWBOY by WILL JAMES _Illustrated by the author_

SMOKY by WILL JAMES _Illustrated by the author_

WESTWARD HO! by CHARLES KINGSLEY _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

THE BOY'S KING ARTHUR by SIDNEY LANIER _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS by JANE PORTER _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

THE YEARLING by MARJORIE KINNAN RAWLINGS _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

QUENTIN DURWARD by SIR WALTER SCOTT _Illustrated by C. B. Chambers_

THE CHILDREN'S BIBLE by HENRY SHERMAN AND CHARLES KENT _Illustrated by various artists_

HEIDI by JOHANNA SPYRI _Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith_

A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON _Illustrated by Jessie Willcox Smith_

THE BLACK ARROW by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

DAVID BALFOUR by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

KIDNAPPED by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

TREASURE ISLAND by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

THE MYSTERIOUS ISLAND by JULES VERNE _Illustrated by N. C. Wyeth_

TWENTY THOUSAND LEAGUES UNDER THE SEA by JULES VERNE _Illustrated by W. J. Aylward_

Transcriber's note

These last verses of HISTORICAL ASSOCIATIONS as found in some other editions of this book were not printed in this edition. They don't appear to be missing scans, as the page numbering remains sequential.

There, then, awhile in chains we lay, In wintry dungeons, far from day; But ris'n at length, with might and main, Our iron fetters burst in twain.

Then all the horns were blown in town; And to the ramparts clanging down, All the giants leaped to horse And charged behind us through the gorse.

On we rode, the others and I, Over the mountains blue, and by The Silver River, the sounding sea, And the robber woods of Tartary.

A thousand miles we galloped fast, And down the witches' lane we passed, And rode amain, with brandished sword, Up to the middle, through the ford.

Last we drew rein--a weary three-- Upon the lawn, in time for tea, And from our steeds alighted down Before the gates of Babylon.