S IN SCHOOL-DAYS TILL sits the school-house by the road, A ragged beggar sunning; Around it still the sumachs grow, And blackberry-vines are running. Within, the Master's desk is seen, The charcoal frescoes on its wall; The feet that, creeping slow to school, Long years ago a winter sun It touched the tangled golden curls For near her stood the little boy His cap pulled low upon a face Pushing with restless feet the snow The blue-checked apron fingered. He saw her lift her eyes; he felt "I'm sorry that I spelt the word: Because," the brown eyes lower fell,"Because, you see, I love you! Still memory to a gray-haired man He lives to learn, in life's hard school, Like her, -John Greenleaf Whittier. S CRADLE SONG WEET and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me: While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest. Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. -Alfred, Lord Tennyson. T FAREWELL HE crimson sunset faded into gray; Upon the murmurous sea the twilight fell; The last warm breath of the delicious day Passed with a mute farewell. Above my head, in the soft purple sky, bell; Three gulls met, wheeled, and parted with a cry That seemed to say "Farewell!" I watched them; one sailed east, and one soared west, And one went floating south; while like a knell That mournful cry the empty sky possessed, 66 Farewell, farewell, farewell!" "Farewell!" I thought, it is the earth's one speech; All human voices the sad chorus swell; Though mighty love to heaven's high gate may reach, Yet must he say "Farewell!” The rolling world is girdled with the sound, Perpetually breathed from all who dwell Upon its bosom, for no place is found Where is not heard "Farewell!" "Farewell, farewell!"- from wave to wave 'tis tossed, From wind to wind: earth has one tale to tell; All other sounds are dulled and drowned and lost In this one cry, "Farewell!" -Celia Thaxter. |