THE BAREFOOT BOY
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER*
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 sunshine 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
*For Biography, see p. 281.
O 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 shell,
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 groundnut trails its vine,
Where the wood-grape's clusters shine;
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!
O 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,
Fashioned for a barefoot boy!
Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
I was monarch: pomp and joy
Waited on the barefoot boy!
Cheerily, then, my little man,
Live and laugh, as boyhood can!
Though the flinty slopes be hard,
Stubble-speared the new-mown sward,
Every morn shall lead thee through
Fresh baptisms of the dew;
Every evening from thy feet
Shall the cool wind kiss the heat;
All too soon these feet must hide
In the prison cells of pride,
Lose the freedom of the sod,
Like a colt's for work be shod,
Made to tread the mills of toil,
Up and down in ceaseless moil :
Happy if their track be found
Never on forbidden ground;
Happy if they sink not in
Quick and treacherous sands of sin.
Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy,
Ere it passes, barefoot boy!
HELPS TO STUDY
Notes and Questions
Why was the poet able to make so good a picture of the barefoot boy?
What picture of the barefoot boy
does the first stanza give you? Why does the poet call him a "Prince"'q
What does the boy have that the "million-dollared" can not buy?
What does the barefoot boy know that he "never learned" from books?
Who taught him these things?
What things has Nature taught
you?
Why is June "boyhood's time''?
What is meant by "all things"
"hornet artisans'"'fresh baptisms of the dew'
THE PIED PIPER OF HAMELIN
Robert Browning (1812-1889) was, along with Tennyson, one of the great poets of the Victorian age. He was born at Camberwell, a suburb of London. He began early to read Shelley and Keats and all his life was a lover and student of music. In 1846 he married Elizabeth Barrett and went to Italy, where for fifteen years he lived and wrote, and where Mrs. Browning died in 1861. After the death of his wife he returned to England and spent most of his time in London, where he continued his literary work. He died at the home of his son in Venice and was buried in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey.
Hamelin Town's in Brunswick,
By famous Hanover city;
The river Weser deep and wide
Washes its wall on the southern side;
A pleasanter spot you never spied;
But, when begins my ditty,
Almost five hundred years ago,
To see the townsfolk suffer so
From vermin, was a pity.
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