Chapter 3

The hen brings out her little brood, The swallow finds her young ones food, The stork her house is keeping. The bounding stag, the timid roe, Are full of joy, and to and fro, Through the high grass, are leaping.

The brook is tinkling as it goes, And with the myrtle and the rose Its shady banks adorning; While, from the flowery mead near by, The sheep and shepherd's joyful cry Salutes the early morning.

The never idle troops of bees Fly here and there, and where they please Their honey food are quaffing; The sap is running up the vine, Round the old elm its tendrils twine, And in the sun are laughing.

And can I, may I, silent be? When all God's glorious works I see My soul desires to know him. When all are singing I must sing, And to the Highest I must bring The tribute which I owe him.

Are all things here so bright and fair, And has he with a loving care My happy being given? What, in the glorious world above, Where all is beauty, all is love,-- What shall I be in heaven?

O, were I there! O, stood I now In that great Presence! there to bow In grateful love before him, Then would I with the angels raise One never-ending song of praise, And worship and adore him!

TO A BEAUTIFUL GIRL.

Sweet flower! so young, so fresh, so fair, Bright pleasure sparkling in thine eye, Alas! e'en thee time will not spare, And thou must die.

The heart with youthful hope so gay, That scarcely ever breathed a sigh, Must weep o'er pleasures fled away, For all must die.

But though the rosy cheek may fade, The virtuous wish, the purpose high, The bloom with which the soul's arrayed, Shall never die.

THE LITTLE SLAVE'S WISH.

I wish I was that little bird Up in the bright blue sky, That sings and flies just where he will, And no one asks him why.

I wish I was that little brook That runs so swift along, Through pretty flowers, and shining stones, Singing a merry song.

I wish I was a butterfly, Without a fear or care, Spreading my many-colored wings, Like a flower in the air.

I wish I was that wild, wild deer, That I saw the other day, Who through the dark green forest flew, Like an arrow far away.

I wish I was that little cloud By the gentle south-wind driven, Floating along so calm and bright Up to the gates of heaven.

I'd rather be a savage beast, And dwell in a gloomy cave, And shake the forest when I roared, Than what I am,--a slave.

My mother calls me her good boy, My father calls me brave; What wicked action have I done That I should be a slave?

They tell me God is very good. That his right arm can save; O, is it, can it, be his will That I should be a slave?

O, how much better 'tis to die, And lie down in the grave, Than 'tis to be what I am now,-- A little negro slave!

FABLES.

THE HONEST BIRD.

Once on a time, a little bird Within a wicker cage was heard, In mournful tones, these words to sing:-- "In vain I stretch my useless wing; Still round and round I vainly fly, And strive in vain for liberty. Dear liberty, how sweet thou art!" The prisoner sings, with breaking heart:-- "All other things I'd give for thee, Nor ask one joy but liberty."

He sang so sweet, a little mouse, Who often ran about the house, Came to his cage; her cunning ear She turned, the mournful bird to hear. Soon as he ceased,--"Suppose," said she, "I could contrive to set you free; Would you those pretty wings give me?"

The cage was in the window-seat, The sky was blue, the air was sweet. The bird with eagerness replied,-- "O, yes! my wings, and see, beside, These seeds and apples, sugar, too, All, pretty mouse, I'll give to you, If you will only set me free; For, O, I pant for liberty!"

The mouse soon gnawed a hole; the bird, In ecstasy, forgot his word; Swift as an arrow, see, he flies, Far up, far up, towards the skies; But see, he stops, now he descends, Towards the cage his course he bends. "Kind mouse," said he, "behold me now Returned to keep my foolish vow; I only longed for freedom then, Nor thought to want my wings again. Better with life itself to part, Than, living, have a faithless heart; Do with me, therefore, as you will, An honest bird I will be still."

His heart seemed full, no more he said, He drooped his wings and hung his head. The mouse, though very pert and smart, Had yet a very tender heart; She minced a little, twirled about, Then thus her sentiments threw out:-- "I don't care much about your wings,-- Apples and cakes are better things; You love the clouds, I choose the house; Wings would look queer upon a mouse. My nice long tail is better far, So keep your wings just where they are."

She munched some apple, gave a smack, And ran into her little crack. The bird spread out his wings and flew, And vanished in the sky's deep blue; Far up his joyful song he poured, And sang of freedom as he soared.

SOLILOQUY

OF ELLEN'S SQUIRREL, ON RECEIVING HIS LIBERTY;--OVERHEARD BY A LOVER OF NATURE AND A FRIEND OF ELLEN.

Was that the music of the wind, That whispered in my trembling ear? And can I, free and unconfined, Taste of the joys that still are dear?

And can I skip from tree to tree, And fly along the flowery plain, Light as the wind, as fleet, as free, And make my winter's nest again?

O, yes! my joyful, trembling heart, The song you heard from yonder tree, Which made awakening memory start, Was the sweet sound of Liberty!

Dear Ellen, many thanks I owe For tenderest care bestowed on me; But most my gratitude will flow For your best gift,--sweet Liberty!

Oft in your gayest, happiest hour, When all your youthful heart beats high, And, hastening on from flower to flower, You taste the sweets of Liberty,

The thought that you have set me free, That I can skip and dance like you, To your kind, tender heart shall be As pure a joy as e'er you knew.

Scarce can my wakening sense believe The sounds I hear, the sights I see; Dear Ellen, once again receive Your Squirrel's thanks for Liberty.

THE PIN, NEEDLE, AND SCISSORS.

'Tis true, although 'tis sad to say, Disputes are rising every day. You'd think, if no one did deny it, A little work-box might be quiet; But 'tis not so, for I did hear, Or else I dreamed it, 'tis so queer, A Pin and Needle in the cushion Maintain the following discussion.

The Needle, "extra fine gold-eyed," Was very sharp and full of pride, And thus, methought, she did begin:-- You clumsy, thick, short, ugly Pin, I wish you were not quite so near; How could my mistress stick me here? She should have put me in my place, With my bright sisters in the case."

"Would you were there!" the Pin replied; "I do not want you by my side. I'm rather short and thick, 'tis true; Who'd be so long and thin as you? I've got a head, though, of my own, That you had better let alone."

"You make me laugh," the Needle cried; "That you've a head can't be denied; For _you_ a very proper head, Without an eye, and full of lead."

"You are so cross, and sharp, and thin," Replied the poor insulted Pin, "I hardly dare a word to say, And wish indeed you were away; That golden eye in your poor head Was only made to hold a thread; All your fine airs are foolish fudge, For you are nothing but a drudge; But I, in spite of your abuse, Am made for pleasure and for use. I fasten the bouquet and sash, And help the ladies make a dash; I go abroad and gayly roam, While you are rusting here at home."

"Stop," cried the Needle, "you're too much, You've brass enough to beat the Dutch; Do I not make the ladies' clothes, Ere I retire to my repose? Then who, forsooth, the glory wins? Alas! 'tis finery and pins. This is the world's unjust decree, But what is this vain world to me? I'd rather live with my own kin, Than dance about like you, vain Pin. I'm taken care of every day; You're used awhile, then thrown away, Or else you get all bent up double, And a snug crack for all your trouble."

"True," said the Pin, "I am abused, And sometimes very roughly used; I often get an ugly crook, Or fall into a dirty nook; But there I lie, and never mind it; Who wants a pin is sure to find it; In time I am picked up, and then I lead a merry life again. You fuss so at a fall or hurt, And, if you get a little dirt, You keep up such an odious creaking, That where you are there is no speaking; And then your lackey Emery's called, And he, poor thing, is pricked and mauled, Until your daintiness--O, shocking!-- Is fit for what? to mend a stocking!"

The Needle now began to speak,-- They might have quarrelled for a week,-- But here the Scissors interposed. And thus the warm debate was closed:-- "You angry Needle! foolish Pin! How did this nonsense first begin? You should have both been better taught; But I will cut the matter short. You both are wrong, and both are right, And both are very impolite. E'en in a work-box 'twill not do To talk of every thing that's true. All personal remarks avoid, For every one will be annoyed At hearing disagreeable truth; Besides, it shows you quite uncouth, And sadly wanting in good taste. But what advantages you waste! Think, Pins and Needles, while you may, How much you hear in one short day; No servants wait on lordly man Can hear one half of what you can. 'Tis not worth while to mince the matter; Nor men nor boys like girls can chatter; All now are learning, forward moving, E'en Pins and Needles are improving; And in this glorious, busy day All have some useful part to play. Go forth, ye Pins, and bring home news! Ye Needles in your cases muse! And take me for your kind adviser, And only think of growing wiser; Then, when you meet again, no doubt, Something you'll have to talk about, And need not get into a passion, And quarrel in this vulgar fashion. Less of yourselves you'll think, and more Of others, than you did before. You'll learn, that in their own right sphere All things with dignity appear. And have, when in their proper place, Peculiar use and native grace."

Methought the polished Scissors blushed To have said so much, and all was hushed.

LEARNED FRED.

FROM THE GERMAN.

One short six months had scarcely gone, When, full of all he'd learned, Young Frederick, that hopeful son, From college home returned.

To his paternal roof restored, It was not long before The learned man at table poured The treasures of his lore.

"Now," said the youngster, "father dear, You doubtless think you see Two roasted fowls before us here; But I say there are three.

"_Atqui_ these roasted fowls are two, And one in two must be; _Ergo_,--or logic is not true,-- These roasted fowls are three."

"God bless your studies!" quoth papa; "'Tis just as you have said; _This_ is for me, _that_ for mamma, The third for learned Fred."

LITTLE ROLAND.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.

Lady Bertha sat in the rocky cleft, Her bitter woes to weep; Little Roland played in the free fresh air; His sorrows were not deep.

"My royal brother, O King Charles, Why did I fly from thee? Splendor and rank I left for love; Now thou art wroth with me.

"O Milon, Milon, husband dear! Beneath the waves art thou; For love I have forsaken all, Yet love forsakes me now.

"O Roland! thou, my dearest boy, Now fame and love to me; Come quickly, little Roland, come! My hope rests all on thee.

"Go to the city, Roland, go! To beg us meat and bread; And whoso gives the smallest gift, Ask blessings on his head."

Now great King Charles at table sat, In the golden hall of state; With dish and cup the servants ran, On the noble guests to wait.

Flute, harp, and minstrelsy now tune All hearts to joyful mood; The cheerful music does not reach To Bertha's solitude.

Before the hall in the court-yard sat Of beggars a motley throng; The meat and drink was more to them Than flute, and harp, and song.

The king looked out, through the open door, Upon the beggar throng; Through the crowd he saw a noble boy, Pushing his way along.

Strange was the little fellow's dress, Of divers colors all; But with the beggars he would not stay,-- He looked up at the hall.

Within the hall little Roland treads, As though it were his own; He takes a dish from the royal board In silence, and is gone.

The king he thinks,--"What do I see? This is a curious way"; But, as he quietly submits, The rest do nothing say.

In a little while again he comes, To the king he marches up, And little Roland boldly takes The royal golden cup.

"Halloo! stop there! thou saucy wight!" King Charles's voice did ring; Little Roland kept the golden cup, And looked up at the king.

The king at first looked angrily; But very soon he smiled:-- "You tread here in our golden hall, As in the green woods wild.

"From the royal table you take a dish, As they take an apple from a tree; As with the waters of the brook, With my red wine you make free."

"The peasant drinks from the running brook, On apples she may dine; My mother must have fish and game, For her is the foaming wine."

"Is thy mother such a noble dame As thou, my boy, dost boast, Then surely has she a castle fair, And of vassals a stately host.

"Tell me, who may her sewer be? And who cupbearer, too?" "My own right hand her sewer is; My left, cupbearer true."

"Tell on; who are her faithful guards?" "My two blue eyes alway." "Tell on; who is her minstrel free?" "My rosy mouth, I say."

"Brave servants has the dame, indeed; But does strange livery choose,-- Made up of colors manifold, Shining with rainbow hues."

"From each quarter of the city, With eight boys I have fought; Four sorts of cloth to the conqueror, As tribute, they have brought."

"The best of servants, to my mind, The dame's must surely be; She is, I wot, the beggar's queen, Who keeps a table free.

"The noble lady should not far From my royal palace be; Arise, three ladies, and three lords, And bring her in to me."

Little Roland, holding fast the cup, From the splendid hall he hies; To follow him, at the king's command, Three lords, three ladies, rise.

And after now a little while, The king sees, far away, The noble ladies and the knights Return without delay.

The king he cries out suddenly,-- "Help, Heaven! see I aright? 'Tis my own blood, in open hall, I have treated with cruel slight.

"Help, Heaven! in pilgrim dress I see My sister Bertha stand; So pale in my gay palace here, A beggar's staff in her hand!"

Lady Bertha sinks down at his feet, Pale image of despair; His wrath returns, and he looks on her With a stern and angry air.

Lady Bertha quick cast down her eyes, No word to speak she tried; Little Roland raised his clear blue eyes,-- "My uncle!" loud he cried.

"Rise up, my sister Bertha, rise!" The king said tenderly; "For the sake of this dear son of thine, Thou shalt forgiven be."

Lady Bertha rose up joyfully:-- "Dear brother! thanks to thee; Little Roland shall requite the boon Thou hast bestowed on me.

"He of the glory of his king Shall be an image fair; The colors of many a foreign realm His banner and shield shall bear.

"The cup from many a royal board He shall seize with his free right hand, And safety and fresh glory bring To his sighing mother-land."

BILLY RABBIT TO MARY.

[Billy Rabbit was a little rabbit which a boy caught in the woods, and gave to a little girl of the name of Mary. She was very attentive to the little prisoner, gave him an abundance of good things to eat, and tried her best to make him happy; but all in vain. After many attempts, he at last succeeded in making his escape, and instantly disappeared in the woods. In the course of the day, the following letter, sealed with a sharp thorn, was received by his friend Mary.]

Artichoke Woods.

You thought, my dear Mary, you had Billy fast, But I tried very hard, and escaped you at last; The chance was so tempting, I thought I would _nab_ it,-- It was not very naughty, I'm sure, in a rabbit. O, let not your kind heart be angry with me; But think what a joy it is to be free, To see the green woods, to feel the fresh air, To skip, and to play, and to run everywhere. The food that you gave me was pleasant and sweet, But I'd rather be free, though with nothing to eat.

O, how glad they all were to see me come back, And every one wanted to give me a smack. Dick knocked over Brownie, and jumped over Bun, And the neighbours came in to witness the fun. My father said something, but could not be heard; My mother looked at me, but spoke not a word; And while she was looking, her eyes became pink, And she shed a few tears, I verily think.

To him who a hole or a palace inhabits, To all sorts of beings, to men, and to rabbits, Ah! dear to us all is sweet Liberty, Especially, Mary, to you and to me. So I hope you'll forgive me for sending this letter, To tell you I'm safe, and feel so much better, Cut all sorts of capers, and act very silly, And am your devoted, affectionate

BILLY.

THE OLD AND NEW SHOES.

"Good bye, get away, you ugly old things!" Said a little boy once to his shoes; "All stubbed are your toes, all twisted your strings, You're wrinkled, one-sided, and loose.

"But here are my new ones, so shiny and bright, They are almost as smooth as my skin; How stiff they are, too! how straight and upright! How snug my feet feel now they're in!"

So saying, he gave to his old shoes a kick, And strutted with pride to the door; His unkindness had cut the old shoes to the quick, For nothing contempt can endure.

"Master Frank, Master Frank, stop a while, if you please," ('Twas one of the shoes he heard call); "Our _soles_ cannot bear such insults as these, And your pride, Sir, will soon have a fall."

Frank stood still with wonder and looked at the shoe, But could not see into the matter; At last he exclaimed,--"As they've nothing to do, I suppose, like Poll Parrot, they chatter."

So he opened the door, and walked down the stairs; His shoes were too stiff to go fast; But let us observe him, and see how he fares, How repentant poor Frank was at last.

His shoes were so smooth that he could but just stand, So tight, that they pinched in his toes; He could only sit still, and try to look grand, And remember he had on new shoes.

But Fido ran in, who loved little Frank, And the shoes were remembered no more; They began to cut capers, but at the first prank Down tumbled poor Frank on the floor.

He was a brave boy, he thought not of crying, He said, "Never mind," though in pain; He whistled to Fido, but there is no denying He fell down again and again.

He went to his bed with his heart full of sorrow; He said to the nurse,--"I should choose, If you please, when I'm dressed, my good Betsey, to-morrow, To put on my easy old shoes.

"See how red my toes are, and I'm all black and blue; I don't like my new shoes at all." "Ah! you see," answered Betsey, "what I told you was true; Your shoes, Master Frank, are too small."

His old shoes he was glad in the morning to see, And, forgetting his trouble and pain, "How happy," said he, "my poor toes will be To get into the old shoes again."

The voice of the old shoe now once more was heard:-- "Master Frank, will you please to attend? I wish, with your leave, to say just a word,-- 'Tis a word of advice from a friend.

"Never part with old shoes till they part from you; Let your new ones be always well tried; Old shoes and old friends are far better than new, And, trust me, more worthy of pride.

"Our strings and our toes are bad, we must own, But they can be easily mended. I have done," said the shoe, in a kind, easy tone, And it gaped as the lecture was ended.

New toes and new heels now the old shoes have got, New strings, too, their beauty renew; Frank wears them in peace, and has never forgot The words of the friendly old shoe.

THE MONKEYS AND THE BEARS.

TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF GELLART.

The monkeys, 'tis said, once asked of the bears, How it was that their nation so much surpassed theirs, And begged that the means they would graciously tell By which the young bears were kept hearty and well. "Perhaps it may be," said one of the mothers, Who seemed more considerate and wise than the others, "Perhaps," said she, trembling at even the thought, "We give our dear young ones less food than we ought; We may be impatient; I have really some fears That we rock them too little, the poor little dears; Our milk may cause fever, and their stomachs not suit, Or perhaps they are weakened and injured by fruit. Perhaps the whole mischief is caused by the air, And who 'gainst this evil can ever prepare? In their earliest years, it may poison instil, And through their whole lifetime produce every ill. Perhaps it may be, before we are aware, They breathe in a pestilence, borne on the air. Perhaps, for the nerves of us monkeys are weak, In jumping, or leaping, some bone they may break In their breasts." Here, for weeping, she scarcely could speak, And she snatched up her little one long to her breast; With such vehement love the poor victim she pressed, That all its complainings and troubles were stilled; Alas the poor mother! her pet she had killed.

Said the bear,--"No longer I think you need seek For the cause why your young ones are sickly and weak; It is not the milk, nor the fruit, nor the air, Nor fault of the stomach, and 'tis no lack of care. Your blind fondness it is that cuts short their days. How is it that we such multitudes raise? As soon as our young ones are able to run, We take them out with us to play in the sun. We take them through floods, through heat, and through cold, And so they are healthy, and live to be old."

THE END.

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