Part 9 (1/2)
”The n.o.ble Nature,” by Ben Jonson (1574-1637), needs no plea. A small virtue well polished is better than none.
It is not growing like a tree In bulk doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night,-- It was the plant and flower of light.
In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be.
BEN JONSON.
THE FLYING SQUIRREL.
”The Flying Squirrel” is an honest account of a live creature that won his way into scores of hearts by his mad pranks and affectionate ways.
It is enough that John Burroughs has commended the poem.
Of all the woodland creatures, The quaintest little sprite Is the dainty flying squirrel In vest of s.h.i.+ning white, In coat of silver gray, And vest of s.h.i.+ning white.
His furry Quaker jacket Is trimmed with stripe of black; A furry plume to match it Is curling o'er his back; New curved with every motion, His plume curls o'er his back.
No little new-born baby Has pinker feet than he; Each tiny toe is cus.h.i.+oned With velvet cus.h.i.+ons three; Three wee, pink, velvet cus.h.i.+ons Almost too small to see.
Who said, ”The foot of baby Might tempt an angel's kiss”?
I know a score of school-boys Who put their lips to this,-- This wee foot of the squirrel, And left a loving kiss.
The tiny thief has hidden My candy and my plum; Ah, there he comes unbidden To gently nip my thumb,-- Down in his home (my pocket) He gently nips my thumb.
How strange the food he covets, The restless, restless wight;-- Fred's old stuffed armadillo He found a tempting bite, Fred's old stuffed armadillo, With ears a perfect fright.
The Lady Ruth's great bureau, Each foot a dragon's paw!
The midget ate the nails from His famous antique claw.
Oh, what a cruel beastie To hurt a dragon's claw!
To autographic copies Upon my choicest shelf,-- To every dainty volume The rogue has helped himself.
My books! Oh dear! No matter!
The rogue has helped himself.
And yet, my little squirrel, Your taste is not so bad; You've swallowed Caird completely And psychologic Ladd.
Rosmini you've digested, And Kant in rags you've clad.
Gnaw on, my elfish rodent!
Lay all the sages low!
My pretty lace and ribbons, They're yours for weal or woe!
My pocket-book's in tatters Because you like it so.
MARY E. BURT.
WARREN'S ADDRESS TO THE AMERICAN SOLDIERS.
There is never a boy who objects to learning ”Warren's Address,” by John Pierpont (1785-1866). To stand by one's own rights is inherent in every true American. This poem is doubtless developed from Robert Burns's ”Bannockburn.” (1785-1866.)
Stand! the ground's your own, my braves!
Will ye give it up to slaves?