When ripe and tempting was the sloe, The hazel-nut and plum; When blackberries in clusters grew With fruit of various shade, To jetty black displayed. No toil save that we were about, The heavens above an azure field Vast as eternity; The brooklet singing on its course, The wind a summer breeze, Which talked and frolicked all the day Amid the grass and trees. Ay, those were happy, pleasant times Of youth and liberty, Such only as 'tis given once For mortals here to see. For oh! to be a boy again, And taste the joys of then ; The present lot will tarry not To suit the sons of men. XVI. THE SCHOOL-MOUSE. Thus musing, glanced I on the floor, I saw engaged in nibbling crumbs, And watched my little guest, Sweets, orange-pips or peas, Morsels dropped at dinner-time From hungry boy or girl, Now served to make for mousie's sake A banquet worth a pearl. At times 'twould sit upon its hams, And up its body rear, Whilst listening to the slightest sounds That broke the quiet air. If satisfied, 'twould sprightly race, In gambols, frolics, leaps; Then suddenly would stand quite still When once it sat to eat, With look so droll and sly, As if it confidently knew I gazed with kindly eye. Ay, little creature, who would hurt I love too well each living thing To startle thee or terrify, Or make thine heart afraid. Not me then, mousie, need you fear, Save in some direful need; No hand of mine shall take a life, Or make His creatures bleed. But what is this? why whiskest thou Like shadow flit away ? What is it that so suddenly Has sent thee from thy play? XVII. THE MESSENGER. Ah! now I see a laughing face, Whose flaxen hair is like the waves When just upon the curl, To break in sparkling, dancing sprays Upon the pebbly beach, A sportive band which kiss the strand So falls her glorious waves of hair As ocean ever rolled. She taps the casement window, The toast is getting cold, . I rouse me from those old-time dreams To thoughts of present day; While as departing pleasant guests, The past doth speed away. Then join my pretty messenger, Then lock the schoolhouse door, Composed at Brawby, January to August, 1889. LIFE'S BATTLE. LIFE, brethren, is a battle! Nor see their banners glow, Whose close and phalanxed legions Are seen by all around |