Volume I Part 58 (1/2)

Little Bell sat down beneath the rocks-- Tossed aside her gleaming golden locks-- ”Bonny bird,” quoth she, ”Sing me your best song before I go.”

”Here's the very finest song I know, Little Bell,” said he.

And the blackbird piped; you never heard Half so gay a song from any bird-- Full of quips and wiles, Now so round and rich, now soft and slow.

All for love of that sweet face below, Dimpled o'er with smiles.

And the while the bonny bird did pour His full heart out freely o'er and o'er 'Neath the morning skies.

In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And s.h.i.+ne forth in happy overflow From the blue, bright eyes.

Down the dell she tripped and through the glade, Peeped the squirrel from the hazel shade, And from out the tree Swung, and leaped, and frolicked, void of fear,-- While bold blackbird piped that all might hear-- ”Little Bell,” piped he.

Little Bell sat down amid the fern-- ”Squirrel, to your task return-- Bring me nuts,” quoth she.

Up, away the frisky squirrel hies-- Golden wood-lights glancing in his eyes-- And adown the tree, Great ripe nuts, kissed brown by July sun, In the little lap dropped one by one-- Hark, how blackbird pipes to see the fun!

”Happy Bell,” pipes he.

Little Bell looked up and down the glade-- ”Squirrel, squirrel, if you're not afraid, Come and share with me!”

Down came squirrel eager for his fare-- Down came bonny blackbird I declare; Little Bell gave each his honest share-- Ah the merry three!

And the while these frolic playmates twain Piped and frisked from bough to bough again, 'Neath the morning skies, In the little childish heart below All the sweetness seemed to grow and grow, And s.h.i.+ne out in happy overflow From her blue, bright eyes.

By her snow-white cot at close of day, Knelt sweet Bell, with folded palms to pray-- Very calm and clear Rose the praying voice to where, unseen, In blue heaven, an angel shape serene Paused awhile to hear-- ”What good child is this,” the angel said, ”That, with happy heart, beside her bed Prays so lovingly?”

Low and soft, oh! very low and soft, Crooned the blackbird in the orchard croft, ”Bell, dear Bell!” crooned he.

”Whom G.o.d's creatures love,” the angel fair Murmured, ”G.o.d doth bless with angels' care; Child, thy bed shall be Folded safe from harm--Love deep and kind Shall watch around and leave good gifts behind, Little Bell, for thee!”

Thomas Westwood [1814?-1888]

THE BAREFOOT BOY

Blessings on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan!

With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the suns.h.i.+ne on thy face, Through thy torn brim's jaunty grace; From my heart I give thee joy,-- I was once a barefoot boy!

Prince thou art,--the grown-up man Only is republican.

Let the million-dollared ride!

Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye,-- Outward suns.h.i.+ne, inward joy: Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood's painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health that mocks the doctor's rules, Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the wild bee's morning chase, Of the wild flower's time and place, Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his sh.e.l.l, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well; How the robin feeds her young, How the oriole's nest is hung; Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape's cl.u.s.ters s.h.i.+ne; Of the black wasp's cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans!

For, eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks; Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy,-- Blessings on the barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood's time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for.

I was rich in flowers and trees, Humming-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade; For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone; Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night, Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine, on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides!

Still as my horizon grew, Larger grew my riches too; All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy, Fas.h.i.+oned for a barefoot boy!

Oh for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread; Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rude!