Chapter 1
Produced by Emmy, Juliet Sutherland and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
GRADED POETRY
THIRD YEAR
EDITED BY
KATHERINE D. BLAKE
PRINCIPAL GIRLS' DEPARTMENT PUBLIC SCHOOL NO. 6, NEW YORK CITY
AND
GEORGIA ALEXANDER
SUPERVISING PRINCIPAL, INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA
NEW YORK MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO. 1906
COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO.
INTRODUCTION
POETRY is the chosen language of childhood and youth. The baby repeats words again and again for the mere joy of their sound: the melody of nursery rhymes gives a delight which is quite independent of the meaning of the words. Not until youth approaches maturity is there an equal pleasure in the rounded periods of elegant prose. It is in childhood therefore that the young mind should be stored with poems whose rhythm will be a present delight and whose beautiful thoughts will not lose their charm in later years.
The selections for the lowest grades are addressed primarily to the feeling for verbal beauty, the recognition of which in the mind of the child is fundamental to the plan of this work. The editors have felt that the inclusion of critical notes in these little books intended for elementary school children would be not only superfluous, but, in the degree in which critical comment drew the child's attention from the text, subversive of the desired result. Nor are there any notes on methods. The best way to teach children to love a poem is to read it inspiringly to them. The French say: "The ear is the pathway to the heart." A poem should be so read that it will sing itself in the hearts of the listening children.
In the brief biographies appended to the later books the human element has been brought out. An effort has been made to call attention to the education of the poet and his equipment for his life work rather than to the literary qualities of his style.
CONTENTS
FIRST HALF YEAR
PAGE The Owl and the Pussy-cat. _Edward Lear_ 7 Wishing _William Allingham_ 9 The Piper _William Blake_ 10 A Year's Windfalls _Christina G. Rossetti_ 11 The Voice of Spring _Mary Howitt_ 16 The Spring Walk _Thomas Miller_ 18 "Over Hill, Over Dale" _William Shakespeare_ 21 The Throstle _Alfred Tennyson_ 22 The Violet _Jane Taylor_ 23 Bobolink _Clinton Scollard_ 24 The Four Winds _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 26 The Violet _Lucy Larcom_ 27 Pebbles _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 28 The Tree _Björnstjerne Björnson_ 29 September _Frank Dempster Sherman_ 30 The Swallow _Christina G. Rossetti_ 32 Thanksgiving Day _Lydia Maria Child_ 32 Hiawatha's Childhood _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 34 Hiawatha's Sailing _Henry Wadsworth Longfellow_ 39 Child's Evening Prayer _Sabine Baring-Gould_ 44
SECOND HALF YEAR
Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean 45 Corinna going a-Maying _Robert Herrick_ 47 Sweet Peas _John Keats_ 49 The Bluebird _Emily Huntington Miller_ 50 Where go the Boats? _Robert Louis Stevenson_ 51 The Magpie's Nest _Charles Lamb, Mary Lamb_ 52 The Sandman _Margaret Vandegrift_ 56 The Fairies of the Caldon-Low _Mary Howitt_ 58 Night-scented Flowers _Felicia Dorothea Hemans_ 63 Indian Summer _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 64 November _Alice Cary_ 65 The Frost Spirit _John Greenleaf Whittier_ 67 The Owl _Alfred Tennyson_ 69 The Wind and the Moon _George Macdonald_ 70 The Tempest _James T. Fields_ 74 A Visit from St. Nicholas _Clement C. Moore_ 76 Lucy Gray _William Wordsworth_ 81 The Wonderful World _William Brighty Rands_ 84 To a Child. Written in her Album _William Wordsworth_ 85 Consider _Christina G. Rossetti_ 86 Lullaby of an Infant Chief _Sir Walter Scott_ 87 Dutch Lullaby _Eugene Field_ 88 The Night Wind _Eugene Field_ 91 Marjorie's Almanac _Thomas Bailey Aldrich_ 93 A Child's Prayer _Betham Edwards_ 96
* * * * *
The poems by Longfellow, Whittier, Alice Cary, J. T. Fields, and Frank Dempster Sherman are published by special arrangement with the publishers, Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin, & Company.
THIRD YEAR--FIRST HALF
EDWARD LEAR
ENGLAND, 1812-1888
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat
The Owl and the Pussy-Cat went to sea In a beautiful pea-green boat. They took some honey, and plenty of money Wrapped up in a five-pound note. The Owl looked up to the moon above, 5 And sang to a small guitar, "O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love! What a beautiful Pussy you are,-- You are; What a beautiful Pussy you are!" 10
Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl! How wonderful sweet you sing! Oh let us be married,--too long we have tarried,-- But what shall we do for a ring?" They sailed away for a year and a day To the land where the Bong-tree grows, And there in a wood, a piggy-wig stood 5 With a ring in the end of his nose,-- His nose; With a ring in the end of his nose.
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling Your ring?" Said the piggy, "I will." 10 So they took it away, and were married next day By the turkey who lives on the hill. They dined upon mince and slices of quince, Which they ate with a runcible spoon, And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand, 15 They danced by the light of the moon,-- The moon; They danced by the light of the moon.
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM
IRELAND, 1828-1889
Wishing
Ring ting! I wish I were a Primrose, A bright yellow Primrose, blowing in the spring! The stooping bough above me, The wandering bee to love me, The fern and moss to creep across, 5 And the Elm-tree for our king!
Nay,--stay! I wish I were an Elm-tree, A great lofty Elm-tree, with green leaves gay! The winds would set them dancing, The sun and moonshine glance in, 10 And birds would house among the boughs, And sweetly sing.
Oh--no! I wish I were a Robin,-- A Robin, or a little Wren, everywhere to go, Through forest, field, or garden, 15 And ask no leave or pardon, Till winter comes with icy thumbs To ruffle up our wing!
Well,--tell! where should I fly to, Where go sleep in the dark wood or dell? Before the day was over, 5 Home must come the rover, For mother's kiss,--sweeter this Than any other thing.
WILLIAM BLAKE
ENGLAND, 1757-1827
The Piper
Piping down the valleys wild, Piping songs of pleasant glee, 10 On a cloud I saw a child, And he, laughing, said to me:
"Pipe a song about a lamb." So I piped with merry cheer, "Piper, pipe that song again." 15 So I piped; he wept to hear.
"Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe, Sing thy songs of happy cheer." So I sung the same again, While he wept with joy to hear.
"Piper, sit thee down and write 5 In a book that all may read." So he vanish'd from my sight; And I pluck'd a hollow reed,
And I made a rural pen, And I stain'd the water clear, 10 And I wrote my happy songs Every child may joy to hear.
CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI
ENGLAND, 1830-1894
A Year's Windfalls
On the wind of January Down flits the snow, Traveling from the frozen North 15 As cold as it can blow. Poor robin redbreast, Look where he comes; Let him in to feel your fire, And toss him of your crumbs.
On the wind in February 5 Snowflakes float still, Half inclined to turn to rain, Nipping, dripping, chill. Then the thaws swell the streams, And swollen rivers swell the sea:-- 10 If the winter ever ends How pleasant it will be.
In the wind of windy March The catkins drop down, Curly, caterpillar-like, 15 Curious green and brown. With concourse of nest-building birds And leaf-buds by the way, We begin to think of flower And life and nuts some day. 20
With the gusts of April Rich fruit-tree blossoms fall, On the hedged-in orchard-green, From the southern wall. Apple trees and pear trees Shed petals white or pink, Plum trees and peach trees; 5 While sharp showers sink and sink.
Little brings the May breeze Beside pure scent of flowers, While all things wax and nothing wanes In lengthening daylight hours. 10 Across the hyacinth beds The wind lags warm and sweet, Across the hawthorn tops, Across the blades of wheat.
In the wind of sunny June 15 Thrives the red rose crop, Every day fresh blossoms blow While the first leaves drop; White rose and yellow rose And moss rose choice to find, 20 And the cottage cabbage rose Not one whit behind.
On the blast of scorched July Drives the pelting hail, From thunderous lightning-clouds, that blot Blue heaven grown lurid-pale. Weedy waves are tossed ashore, 5 Sea-things strange to sight Gasp upon the barren shore And fade away in light.
In the parching August wind Cornfields bow the head, 10 Sheltered in round valley depths, On low hills outspread. Early leaves drop loitering down Weightless on the breeze, First fruits of the year's decay 15 From the withering trees.
In brisk wind of September The heavy-headed fruits Shake upon their bending boughs And drop from the shoots; 20 Some glow golden in the sun, Some show green and streaked, Some set forth a purple bloom, Some blush rosy-cheeked.
In strong blast of October 5 At the equinox, Stirred up in his hollow bed Broad ocean rocks; Plunge the ships on his bosom, Leaps and plunges the foam, 10 It's oh! for mothers' sons at sea, That they were safe at home.
In slack wind of November The fog forms and shifts; All the world comes out again 15 When the fog lifts. Loosened from their sapless twigs Leaves drop with every gust; Drifting, rustling, out of sight In the damp or dust. 20
Last of all, December, The year's sands nearly run, Speeds on the shortest day Curtails the sun; With its bleak raw wind Lays the last leaves low, Brings back the nightly frosts, 5 Brings back the snow.
MARY HOWITT
ENGLAND, 1804-1888
The Voice of Spring
I am coming, I am coming! Hark! the little bee is humming; See, the lark is soaring high In the blue and sunny sky; 10 And the gnats are on the wing, Wheeling round in airy ring.
See, the yellow catkins cover All the slender willows over! And on the banks of mossy green 15 Starlike primroses are seen; And, their clustering leaves below, White and purple violets blow.
Hark! the new-born lambs are bleating, And the cawing rooks are meeting In the elms,--a noisy crowd; 5 All the birds are singing loud; And the first white butterfly In the sunshine dances by.
Look around thee, look around! Flowers in all the fields abound; 10 Every running stream is bright; All the orchard trees are white; And each small and waving shoot Promises sweet flowers and fruit.
Turn thine eyes to earth and heaven: 15 God for thee the spring has given, Taught the birds their melodies, Clothed the earth, and cleared the skies, For thy pleasure or thy food: Pour thy soul in gratitude.
THOMAS MILLER
ENGLAND, 1807-1874
The Spring Walk
We had a pleasant walk to-day Over the meadows and far away, Across the bridge by the water-mill, By the woodside and up the hill; And if you listen to what I say, 5 I'll tell you what we saw to-day.
Amid a hedge, where the first leaves Were peeping from their sheathes so sly, We saw four eggs within a nest, And they were blue as a summer sky. 10
An elder branch dipped in the brook; We wondered why it moved, and found A silken-haired smooth water-rat Nibbling, and swimming round and round.
Where daisies open'd to the sun, 15 In a broad meadow, green and white, The lambs were racing eagerly-- We never saw a prettier sight.
We saw upon the shady banks Long rows of golden flowers shine, And first mistook for buttercups 5 The star-shaped yellow celandine.
Anemones and primroses, And the blue violets of spring, We found, while listening by a hedge To hear a merry plowman sing. 10
And from the earth the plow turned up There came a sweet, refreshing smell, Such as the lily of the vale Sends forth from many a woodland dell.
And leaning from the old stone bridge, 15 Below, we saw our shadows lie; And through the gloomy arches watched The swift and fearless swallows fly.
We heard the speckle-breasted lark As it sang somewhere out of sight, 20 And tried to find it, but the sky Was filled with clouds of dazzling light.
We saw young rabbits near the woods And heard the pheasant's wings go "whir"; And then we saw a squirrel leap 5 From an old oak tree to a fir.
We came back by the village fields, A pleasant walk it was across 'em, For all behind the houses lay The orchards red and white with blossom. 10
Were I to tell you all we saw, I'm sure that it would take me hours; For the whole landscape was alive With bees, and birds, and buds, and flowers.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
ENGLAND, 1564-1616
"Over Hill, Over Dale"
Over hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire. I do wander everywhere, 5 Swifter than the moone's sphere. And I serve the Fairy Queen, To dew her orbs upon the green; The cowslips tall her pensioners be, In their gold coats spots you see,-- 10 Those be rubies, Fairy favors: In those freckles live their savors. I must go seek some dew-drops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
ALFRED TENNYSON
ENGLAND, 1809-1892
The Throstle
"Summer is coming, summer is coming, I know it, I know it, I know it. Light again, leaf again, love again." Yes, my wild little Poet.
Sing the new year in under the blue. 5 Last year you sang it as gladly. "New, new, new, new!" Is it then _so_ new That you should carol so madly?
"Love again, song again, nest again, young again." Never a prophet so crazy! 10 And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend, See, there is hardly a daisy.
"Here again, here, here, here, happy year!" O warble, unchidden, unbidden! Summer is coming, is coming, my dear, 15 And all the winters are hidden.
JANE TAYLOR
ENGLAND, 1783-1824
The Violet
Down in a green and shady bed A modest violet grew, Its stalk was bent, it hung its head, As if to hide from view.
And yet it was a lovely flower, 5 Its colors bright and fair! It might have graced a rosy bower Instead of hiding there.
Yet there it was content to bloom In modest tints arrayed; 10 And there diffused its sweet perfume Within the silent shade.
Then let me to the valley go, This pretty flower to see, That I may also learn to grow 15 In sweet humility.
CLINTON SCOLLARD[1]
AMERICA, 1860-
Bobolink
Bobolink-- He is here! _Spink-a-chink!_ Hark, how clear Drops the note 5 From his throat, Where he sways On the sprays Of the wheat In the heat! 10 Bobolink, _Spink-a-chink!_
Bobolink Is a beau. See him prink! 15 Watch him go Through the air To his fair! Hear him sing On the wing,-- Sing his best O'er her nest! 5 "Bobolink, _Spink-a-chink!_"
Bobolink, Linger long! There's a kink 10 In your song Like the joy Of a boy Left to run In the sun,-- 15 Left to play All the day. Bobolink, _Spink-a-chink!_
FOOTNOTE:
[1] From "A Boy's Book of Rhyme."
FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN
AMERICA, 1860-
The Four Winds
In winter, when the wind I hear, I know the clouds will disappear; For 'tis the wind who sweeps the sky And piles the snow in ridges high.
In spring, when stirs the wind, I know 5 That soon the crocus buds will show; For 'tis the wind who bids them wake And into pretty blossoms break.
In summer, when it softly blows, Soon red I know will be the rose; 10 For 'tis the wind to her who speaks, And brings the blushes to her cheeks.
In autumn, when the wind is up, I know the acorn's out its cup; For 'tis the wind who takes it out, And plants an oak somewhere about.
LUCY LARCOM
AMERICA, 1826-1893
The Violet
Dear little violet, 5 Don't be afraid! Lift your blue eyes From the rock's mossy shade.
All the birds call for you, Out of the sky; 10 May is here waiting, And here, too, am I.
Why do you shiver so, Violet, sweet? Soft is the meadow grass, 15 Under my feet.
Wrapped in your hood of green, Violet, why Peep from your earth door, So silent and shy?
FRANK DEMPSTER SHERMAN
AMERICA, 1860-
Pebbles
Out of a pellucid brook 5 Pebbles round and smooth I took: Like a jewel every one Caught a color from the sun,-- Ruby red and sapphire blue, Emerald and onyx too, 10 Diamond and amethyst,-- Not a precious stone I missed: Gems I held from every land In the hollow of my hand. Workman Water these had made 15 Patiently through sun and shade, With the ripples of the rill He had polished them until, Smooth, symmetrical, and bright, Each one sparkling in the light Showered within its burning heart All the lapidary's art; And the brook seemed thus to sing: 5 Patience conquers everything!
BJÖRNSTJERNE BJÖRNSON
NORWAY, 1832-
The Tree
The Tree's early leaf buds were bursting their brown; "Shall I take them away?" said the Frost, sweeping down. "No, leave them alone Till the blossoms have grown," 10 Prayed the Tree, while he trembled from rootlet to crown.
The Tree bore his blossoms, and all the birds sung; "Shall I take them away?" said the Wind, as he swung. "No, leave them alone Till the berries have grown," Said the Tree, while his leaflets quivering hung.