The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it, The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell, The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it, And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well, The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, which hung in the well. That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure; I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest and sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well, The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it, As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips! Not a full, blushing goblet could tempt Though filled with the nectar that And now, far removed from the loved AFTER A SUMMER SHOWER. THE rain is o'er. How dense and bright The general blessing; fresh and fair, For often at noon, when returned from The softened sunbeams pour around the field, A fairy light, uncertain, pale; The wind flows cool; the scented ground Mid yon rich clouds' voluptuous pile, Then turn to bathe and revel there. The sun breaks forth; from off the scene With trembling drops of light is hung. Hear the rich music of that voice, Which sounds from all below, above; She calls her children to rejoice, And round them throws her arms of love. Drink in her influence; low-born care, And all the train of mean desire, Refuse to breathe this holy air, And mid this living light expire. CAROLINE BOWLES SOUTHEY. [1787-1854.] MARINER'S HYMN. LAUNCH thy bark, mariner! Breakers are round thee; "What of the night, watchman? No land yet all 's right." Be wakeful, be vigilant, Danger may be At an hour when all seemeth How! gains the leak so fast? At inlet or island; LAVINIA STODDARD. [U. S. A., 1787-1820.] THE SOUL'S DEFIANCE. I SAID to Sorrow's awful storm That beat against my breast, But still the spirit that now brooks I said to Penury's meagre train, Shall mock your force the while, I said to cold Neglect and Scorn, So the multitude goes, like the flower and the weed, That wither away to let others succeed; So the multitude comes, even those we behold, To repeat every tale that hath often been told. For we are the same things our fathers have been; We see the same sights that our fathers have seen, The child that a mother attended and We drink the same stream, and we feel the same sun, loved, The mother that infant's affection who And run the same course that our fathers have run. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think; From the death we are shrinking from, they too would shrink; life we are clinging to, they too would cling; rest. The maid on whose cheek, on whose brow, in whose eye, Shone beauty and pleasure, her triumphs are by; To the But it speeds from the earth like a bird on the wing. In and out, Through the motley rout, little Jackdaw kept hopping about; Like a dog in a fair, And dishes and plates, Cowl and cope and rochet and pall, He perched on the chair Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat, In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat; And he peered in the face Of his Lordship's Grace, With a satisfied look, as if to say, "We two are the greatest folks here today!" And the priests with awe, As such freaks they saw, Said, "The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw!" The feast was over, the board was cleared, The flawns and the custards had all disappeared, And six little singing-boys, dear little souls! In nice clean faces and nice white stoles, Came, in order due, Two by two, Marching that grand refectory through! A nice little boy held a golden ewer, Embossed, and filled with water, as pure As any that flows between Rheims and Namur, Which a nice little boy stood ready to catch In a fine golden hand-basin made to match. And a nice little boy had a nice cake of soap Of the best white diaper fringed with pink, And a cardinal's hat marked in permanent ink. The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight Of these nice little boys dressed all in white; From his finger he draws nobody twigged it, 151 He cursed him in sitting, in standing, in lying; He cursed him in walking, in riding, in flying; He cursed him living, he cursed him dying!- Never was heard such a terrible curse! To no little surprise, The day was gone, The night came on, The monks and the friars they searched till dawn; When the sacristan saw, On crumpled claw, Come limping a poor little lame Jackdaw! No longer gay, As on yesterday; His feathers all seemed to be turned the wrong way;· His pinions drooped, he could hardly stand, His head was as bald as the palm of your hand; His eye so dim, So wasted each limb, That, heedless of grammar, they all cried, "THAT'S HIM! That's the scamp that has done this scandalous thing, That's the thief that has got my Lord The poor little Jackdaw, Feebly gave vent to the ghost of a caw; Some rascal or other had popped in and And turned his bald head as much as to prigged it!" The Cardinal rose with a dignified look, He called for his candle, his bell, and his book! In holy anger and pious grief He solemnly cursed that rascally thief! He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed; From the sole of his foot to the crown of his head; He cursed him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of the Devil, and wake in a fright. He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking, He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking; say, "Pray be so good as to walk this way!" Slower and slower He limped on before, Till they came to the back of the belfry door, Where the first thing they saw, Midst the sticks and the straw, Was the RING in the nest of that little Jackdaw! Then the great Lord Cardinal called for his book, And off that terrible curse he took; Served in lieu of confession, And, being thus coupled with full restitution, The Jackdaw got plenary absolutión! |