Chapter 2

But 'twas not long ere the soil was broke By the jeering head of an infant oak! As it arose, and its branches spread, The Pebble looked up, and, wondering, said, "Ah, modest Acorn! never to tell What was enclosed in its simple shell;-- That the pride of the forest was folded up In the narrow space of its little cup!-- And meekly to sink in the darksome earth, Which proves that nothing could hide her worth! And O, how many will tread on me, To come and admire the beautiful tree, Whose head is towering towards the sky, Above such a worthless thing as I! Useless and vain, a cumberer here, Have I been idling from year to year. But never, from this, shall a vaunting word From the humbled Pebble again be heard, Till something without me or within Shall show the purpose for which I've been!" The Pebble could ne'er its vow forget, And it lies there wrapt in silence yet.

=The Grasshopper and the Ant=

"Ant, look at me!" a young grasshopper said, As nimbly he sprang from his green, summer-bed, "See how I'm going to skip over your head, And could o'er a thousand like you! Ant, by your motion alone, I should judge That Nature ordained you a slave and a drudge, For ever and ever to keep on the trudge, And always find something to do.

"Oh! there is nothing like having our day-- Taking our pleasure and ease while we may-- Bathing ourselves in the bright, mellow ray That comes from the warm, golden sun! Whilst I am up in the light and the air, You, a sad picture of labor and care, Still have some hard, heavy burden to bear, And work that you never get done.

"I have an exercise healthful and good, For tuning the nerves and digesting the food-- Graceful gymnastics for stirring the blood Without the _gross purpose of use_ Ant, let me tell you 'tis not _a la mode_ To plod like a pilgrim, and carry a load, Perverting the limbs that for grace were bestowed, By such a plebeian abuse!

"While the whole world with provisions is filled, Who would keep toiling and toiling, to build And lay in a store for himself, till he's killed With work that another might do? Come! drop your budget, and just give a spring; Jump on a grass-blade, and balance and swing; Soon you'll be light as a gnat on the wing, Gay as a grasshopper, too!"

Ant trudged along, while the grasshopper sung, Minding her business and holding her tongue, Until she got home her own people among; But these were her thoughts on the road. "What will become of that poor, idle one When the light sports of the summer are done? And, where is the covert to which he may run To find a safe winter abode?

"Oh! if I only could tell him how sweet Toil makes my rest and the morsel I eat, While hope gives a spur to my little black feet, He'd never pity my lot! He'd never ask me my burden to drop, To join in his folly--to spring, and to hop; And thus make the ant and her labor to stop, When time, I am certain, would not.

"When the cold frost all the herbage has nipped, When the bare branches with ice-drops are tipped, Where will the grasshopper then be, that skipped So careless and lightly to-day? Frozen to death! '_a sad picture_,' indeed, Of reckless indulgence and what must succeed, That all his gymnastics can't shelter or feed, Or quicken his pulse into play!

"I must prepare for a winter to come, I shall be glad of a home and a crumb, When my frail form out of doors would be numb, And I in the snow-storm should die. Summer is lovely, but soon will be past. Summer has plenty not always to last. Summer's the time for the ant to make fast Her stores for a future supply!"

=The Rose-Bud of Autumn=

Come out--pretty Rose-Bud,--my lone, timid one! Come forth from thy green leaves, and peep at the sun! For little he does, in these dull autumn hours, At height'ning of beauty, or laughing with flowers.

His beams, on thy tender young cheek as he plays, Will give it a blush that no other could raise: Thy fine silken petals they'll softly unfold, Thy pure bosom filling with spices and gold!

I would not instruct thee in coveting wealth; Yet beauty, we know, is the offspring of health; And health, the fair daughter of freedom! is bright From drinking the breezes, and feasting on light.

Then, come, little gem, from thy covert look out; And see what the glad, golden sun is about! His shafts, do they strike thee, new charms will impart, Thy form making fairer, and richer, thy heart.

Occasion, sweet Bud, is for thee and for me: This hour it may give what again ne'er shall be. O, let not the sunshine of life pass away, Nor touch both our eye and our heart with its ray!

=Frost, the Winter-Sprite=

The Frost looked forth on a still, clear night, And whispered, "Now I shall be out of sight; So through the valley, and over the height I'll silently take my way. I will not go on like that blustering train, The wind and the snow, the hail and the rain, That make so much bustle and noise in vain. But I'll be as busy as they!"

He flew up, and powdered the mountain's crest; He lit on the trees, and their boughs he drest With diamonds and pearls;--and over the breast Of the quivering Lake he spread A bright coat of mail that it need not fear The glittering point of many a spear That he hung on its margin, far and near, Where a rock was rearing its head.

He went to the windows of those who slept, And over each pane, like a fairy crept; Wherever he breathed--wherever he stepped-- Most beautiful things were seen By morning's first light!--there flowers and trees, With bevies of birds, and swarms of bright bees;-- There were cities--temples, and towers; and these, All pictured in silvery sheen!

But one thing he did that was hardly fair-- He peeped in the cupboard, and, finding there That none had remembered for him to prepare, "Now, just to set them a-thinking, I'll bite their rich basket of fruit," said he, "This burly old pitcher--I'll burst it in three! And the glass with the water they've left for me Shall 'tchick!' to tell them I'm drinking!"

=Vivy Vain=

Miss Vain was all given to dress-- Too fond of gay clothing; and so, She'd gad about town Just to show a new gown, As a train-band their color to show.

Her head being empty and light, Whene'er she obtained a new hat, With pride in her air, She'd go round, here and there, For all whom she knew to see that.

Her folly was chiefly in this: More highly she valued fine looks, Than virtue or truth, Or devoting her youth To usefulness, friendship, or books.

Her passion for show was unchecked; And therefore, it happened one day, Arrayed in bright hues, And with new hat and shoes, Miss Vain walked abroad for display.

She took the most populous streets. To cause but aversion in those, Who saw how she prinked, And the bystanders winked. While the boys cried, "Halloo! there she goes!"

It chanced, that, in passing on way, She came near a pool, and a green With fence close and high; And, as Vivy drew nigh, A donkey stood near it unseen.

He put his mouth over its top, The moment she came by his place; And gave a loud bray In her ear, when, away She sprang, shrieked, and fell on her face.

She thought she was swallowed alive, Awhile upon earth lying flat; And the terrible sound Seemed to furrow the ground She embraced in her fine gown and hat.

She gathered herself up, and ran, Yet heeded not whither or whence, To flee from the roar, That continued to pour Behind her, from over the fence.

In passing a slope near the pool, She slipped and rolled down to its brim; The geese gave a shout, And at length hissed her out Of the bounds, where they'd gathered to swim.

In turning a corner, she met Abruptly, the horns of a cow That mooed, while the cur, At her heels, turned from her, And aimed at Miss Vain his "bow-wow."

Then Vivy's bright ribbons and skirt, As she flew, flirted high on the wind; The children at play, Paused to see one so gay, And all in a flutter behind.

A group of glad schoolboys came by: Said they, "So it seems, that to-day, Miss Vain carries marks At which the dog barks, And that make sober Long-Ears to bray."

And when, all bedraggled and pale, Poor Vivy approached her own door, She went, swift and straight As a dart, through the gate, Abhorring the gay gear she wore.

She sat down, and thought of the scene With humiliation and tears: The words, and the noise Of the brutes and the boys Were echoing still in her ears.

She reasoned, and came at the cause, Resolving that cause to remove; And thence, her desire Was for modest attire, And her heart and her mind to improve.

And soon, all who knew her before Remarked on the change and the gain In mind, and in mien, And in dress, that were seen In the once flashy Miss Vivy Vain.

=The Lost Kite=

"My kite! my kite! I've lost my kite! Oh! when I saw the steady flight, With which she gained her lofty height, How could I know, that letting go That naughty string, would bring so low My pretty, buoyant, darling kite, To pass for ever out of sight?

"A purple cloud was sailing by, With silver fringes, o'er the sky; And then I thought, it seemed so nigh, I'd make my kite go up and light Upon its edge, so soft and bright; To see how noble, high and proud She'd look, while riding on a cloud!

"As near her shining mark she drew I clapped my hands; the line slipped through My silly fingers; and she flew, Away! away! in airy play, Right over where the water lay! She veered and fluttered, swung and gave A plunge, then vanished with the wave!

"I never more shall want to look On that false cloud, or babbling brook; Nor e'er to feel the breeze that took My dearest joy, to thus destroy The pastime of your happy boy. My kite! my kite! how sad to think She flew so high, so soon to sink!"

"Be this," the mother said, and smiled, "A lesson to thee, simple child! And when by fancies vain and wild, As that which cost the kite that's lost, The busy brain again is crossed, Of shining vapor then beware, Nor trust thy joys to fickle air.

"I have a darling treasure, too, That sometimes would, by slipping through My guardian hands, the way pursue, From which, more tight than thou thy kite, I hold my jewel, new and bright, Lest he should stray without a guide, To drown my hopes in sorrow's tide!"

=A Summer-Morning Rumble=

Oh! the happy Summer hours. With their butterflies and flowers, And the birds among the bowers Sweetly singing;-- With the spices from the trees, Vines, and lilies, while the bees Come floating on the breeze, Honey bringing!

All the East was rosy red, When we woke and left our bed; And to gather flowers we sped, Gay and early. Every clover-top was wet, And the spider's silken net With a thousand dew-drops set, Pure and pearly.

With their modest eyes of blue Were the violets peeping through Tufts of grasses, where they grew, Full of beauty, At the lamb in snowy white, O'er the meadow bounding light, And the crow just taking flight, Grave and sooty.

On our floral search intent, Still away, away we went,-- Up and down the rugged bent,-- Through the wicket,-- Where the rock with water drops,-- Through the bushes and the copse,-- Where the greenwood pathway stops In the thicket.

We heard the fountain gush, And the singing of the thrush; And we saw the squirrel's brush In the hedges, As along his back 't was thrown, Like a glory of his own. While the sun behind it, shone Through its edges.

All the world appeared so fair, And so fresh and free the air,-- Oh! it seemed that all the care In creation Belonged to God alone; And that none beneath his throne, Need to murmur or to groan At his station.

Dear little brother Will! He 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 never lags nor dallies; But is ever up, and on the run.

"Though ever whirling, never growing dizzy; Motion gives him buoyancy and power. All who have known him own that he is busy, Doing much in half a fleeting hour.

"Oh! there is nothing--when our work's before us,-- Like _despatch;_ for, while our time is brief, Some sweeping blast may suddenly come o'er us, Lose our place, and turn another leaf!

"Whirlwind, Whirlwind, though you're but a flurry, And so odd the business you pursue;-- Though you come on, and are off, in such a hurry, I have caught a hint; and now adieu!"

=The Disobedient Skater Boys=

Said William to George, "It is New-Year's day! And now for the pond and the merriest play! So, on with your cap; and away, away, We'll off for a frolic and slide, Be quick--be quick, if you would not be chid For doing what father and mother forbid; And under your coat let the skates be hid; Then over the ice we'll glide."

They're up, and they're off; on their run-away feet They fasten the skates, when, away they fleet, Far over the pond, and beyond retreat, Unconscious of danger near. But lo! the ice is beginning to bend-- It cracks--it cracks--and their feet descend! To whom can they look as a helper--a friend? Their faces are pale with fear.

In their flight to the pond, they had caught the eye Of a neighboring peasant, who, lingering nigh, Aware of their danger, and hearing their cry, Now hastens to give them aid. As home they are brought, all dripping and cold, To all who their piteous plight behold, The worst of the story is plainly told-- Their parents were disobeyed!

=Winter and Spring=

"Adieu!" Father Winter sadly said To the world, when about withdrawing, With his old white wig half off his head, And his icicle fingers thawing;--

"Adieu! I'm going to the rocks and caves, And must leave all here behind me; Or perhaps I shall sink in the Northern waves, So deep that none can find me."

"Good luck! good luck, to your hoary locks!" Said the gay young Spring, advancing; "You may take your rest 'mid the caves and rocks, While I o'er the earth am dancing.

"But there is not a spot where you have trod. You hard, old clumsy fellow,-- Not a hill, nor a field, nor a single sod, But I must make haste to mellow.

"I then shall carpet them o'er with grass, To look so bright and cheering, That none will regret having let you pass Far out of sight and hearing.

"The fountains that you locked up so tight, When I shall give them a sunning, Will sparkle and play in my warmth and light, And the streams set off to running.

"I'll speak in the earth to the palsied root, That under your reign was sleeping; I'll teach it the way in the dark to shoot, And draw out the vine to creeping.

"The boughs that you cased so close in ice, It was chilling e'en to behold them, I'll deck all over with buds so nice; My breath can alone unfold them.

"And when all the trees are with blossoms drest, The bird, with her song so merry, Will come to the branches to build her nest, With a view to the future cherry.

"The earth will show by her loveliness, The wonders that I am doing; While the skies look down with a smile, to bless The way that I'm pursuing!"

Said Winter, "Then I would have you learn, By me, my gay new-comer, To push off too, when it comes your turn, And yield your place to Summer!"

=Tom Tar=

I'll tell you now about Tom Tar, The sailor stout and bold, Who o'er the ocean roamed so far, To countries new and old.

Tom was a man of thousands! he Would ne'er complain nor frown, Though high and low the wind and sea Might toss him up and down.

Amid the waters dark and deep, He had the happy art, When all around was storm, to keep Fair weather in his heart.

Though winds were wild, and waves were rough, He'd always cast about, And find within he'd calm enough To stand the storms without.

"For nought," said Tom, "is ever gained By sighs for what we lack; Nor can it mend a vessel strained, To let our temper crack.

"And sure I am, the worst of storms, That any man should dread, Is that which in the bosom forms, And musters to the head."

Serene, and ever self-possessed, His mess-mates he would cheer, And often put their fears to rest, When dangers gathered near.

If on the rocks the ship was cast, And surges swept the deck, Tom Tar was ever found the last Who would forsake the wreck.

And when his only hat and shoes The waters plucked from him, Why, these, he felt, were small to lose, Could he keep up and swim!

Then through the billows, foam, and spray, That rose on every hand, He'd, somehow, always find a way Of getting safe to land.

The secret was, the fear and love Of Heaven had filled his soul: His trust was firm in One above, Howe'er the seas might roll.

And Tom had sailed to many a shore, And many a wonder seen: The stories he could tell would more Than fill a magazine.

He'd seen mankind in every state, Almost, that man can know; But envied not the rich and great, Nor scorned the poor and low.

The monarch in his sight had stood, Superb, in glittering vest; The savage, too, that roams the wood, In skins and feathers dressed.

The tribes of many an isle he knew; And beasts, and birds, and flowers, And fruits, of many a shape and hue, In lands remote from ours.

He'd seen the wide-winged albatros Her breast in ocean lave; And bold sea-lions, playing, toss Their heads above the wave.

He'd seen the dolphin, while his back Went flashing to the sun, A swarm of flying fish attack, And swallow every one!

The porpoise and the spouting whale Had sported in his view; And hungry sharks pursued his sail, As if they'd eat the crew.

And ever, when Tom Tar got home, The children, at their play, Were glad to have the Sailor come, And greet them by the way.

Then, oft, some curious stone, or shell, The laughing girls and boys Would find, upon their aprons fell, To put among their toys.

"These pearly shells," said he, "I found Where gloomy waters roar: These polished stones, so smooth and round, Rough surges washed ashore.

"Though small to us a pebble seems, 'Tis made and marked by One, Who gave the warmth, and lit the beams Of yon great shining sun.

"And when these pretty shells I find, Along the ocean strand, Their beauteous finish brings to mind Their Maker's perfect hand.

"When on the wildest shore I'm thrown And far from human eye, I think of him who made the stone, And shell, and sea, and sky.

"For he's my Friend and I am his! Though strong and cold the blast, My safest guide I know he is Where'er my lot is cast."

When Tom passed on, the children said, "These treasures from afar He brought us! Blessings on his head! For he's a good Tom Tar!"

=The Envious Lobster=

A FABLE

A Lobster from the water came, And saw another, just the same In form and size; but gayly clad In scarlet clothing; while she had No other clothing on her back Than her old suit of greenish black.