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.
Let the million-dollared ride!
Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy, In the reach of ear and eye: Outward sunshine, inward joy. Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!
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 ground-nut 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!
O, for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread, Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rude! O'er me, like a regal tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent: Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-swung fold; While, for music, came the play Of the pied frogs' orchestra; And, to light the noisy choir, 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!
I LOVED thee long and dearly, Florence Vane;
My life's bright dream and early Hath come again;
I renew, in my fond vision,
My heart's dear pain: My hopes, and thy derision, Florence Vane!
The ruin, lone and hoary,
The ruin old,
Where thou didst hark my story,
At even told :
That spot, the hues Elysian
Of sky and plain,
I treasure in my vision,
Florence Vane!
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