The Cuckoo
We heard it calling, clear and low,
That tender April morn; we stood
And listened in the quiet wood,
We heard it, ay, long years ago.
It came, and with a strange, sweet cry,
A friend, but from a far-off land;
We stood and listened, hand in hand,
And heart to heart, my Love and I.
In dreamland then we found our joy,
And so it seemed as 'twere the Bird
That Helen in old times had heard
At noon beneath the oaks of Troy.
O time far off, and yet so near!
It came to her in that hushed grove,
It warbled while the wooing throve,
It sang the song she loved to hear.
And now I hear its voice again,
And still its message is of peace,
It sings of love that will not cease -
For me it never sings in vain.
Rhyme Of One
You sleep upon your mother's breast,
Your race begun,
A welcome, long a wished-for Guest,
Whose age is One.
A Baby-Boy, you wonder why
You cannot run;
You try to talk - how hard you try! -
You're only One.
Ere long you won't be such a dunce:
You'll eat your bun,
And fly your kite, like folk who once
Were only One.
You'll rhyme and woo, and fight and joke,
Perhaps you'll pun!
Such feats are never done by folk
Before they're One.
Some day, too, you may have your joy,
And envy none;
Yes, you, yourself, may own a Boy,
Who isn't One.
He'll dance, and laugh, and crow; he'll do
As you have done:
(You crown a happy home, though you
Are only One.)
But when he's grown shall you be here
To share his fun,
And talk of times when he (the Dear!)
Was hardly One?
Dear Child, 'tis your poor lot to be
My little Son;
I'm glad, though I am old, you see, -
While you are One.
To My Grandmother
(Suggested by a Picture by Mr. Romney)Under the elm a rustic seat
Was merriest Susan's pet retreat
To merry-make.
This Relative of mine
Was she seventy-and-nine
When she died?
By the canvas may be seen
How she look'd at seventeen,
As a Bride.
Beneath a summer tree
Her maiden reverie
Has a charm;
Her ringlets are in taste;
What an arm! and what a waist
For an arm!
With her bridal-wreath, bouquet,
Lace farthingale, and gay
Falbala, -
If Romney's touch be true,
What a lucky dog were you,
Grandpapa!
Her lips are sweet as love;
They are parting! Do they move?
Are they dumb?
Her eyes are blue, and beam
Beseechingly, and seem
To say, 'Come!'
What funny fancy slips
From atween these cherry lips?
Whisper me,
Fair Sorceress in paint,
What canon says I mayn't
Marry thee!
That good-for-nothing Time
Has a confidence sublime!
When I first
Saw this Lady, in my youth,
Her winters had, forsooth,
Done their worst.
Her locks, as white as snow,
Once shamed the swarthy crow;
By-and-by
That fowl's avenging sprite
Set his cruel foot for spite
Near her eye.
Her rounded form was lean,
And her silk was bombazine:
Well I wot
With her needles would she sit,
And for hours would she knit, -
Would she not?
Ah perishable clay!
Her charms had dropt away
One by one:
But if she heaved a sigh
With a burthen, it was, 'Thy
Will be done.'
In travail, as in tears,
With the fardel of her years
Overprest,
In mercy she was borne
Where the weary and the worn
Are at rest.
Oh if you now are there,
And sweet as once you were,
Grandmamma,
This nether world agrees
You'll all the better please
Grandpapa.
On An Old Muff
TIME has a magic wand!
What is this meets my hand,
Moth-eaten, moldy, and
Covered with fluff?
Faded, and stiff, and scant;
Can it be? No, it can't--
Yes, I declare, it's Aunt
Prudence's muff!
Years ago, twenty-three,
Old Uncle Doubledee
Gave it to Aunty P.
Laughing and teasing:
'Prue of the breezy curls,
Whisper those solemn churls,
What holds a pretty girl's
Hand without squeezing?'
Uncle was then a lad
Gay, but, I grieve to add,
Sinful, if smoking bad
Baccy's a vice;
Glossy was then this mink
Muff, lined with pretty pink
Satin, which maidens think
'Awfully nice.'
I seem to see again
Aunt in her hood and train
Glide, with a sweet disdain,
Gravely to Meeting;
Psalm-book, and kerchief new,
Peeped from the Muff of Prue;
Young men, and pious too,
Giving her greeting.
Sweetly her Sabbath sped
Then; from this Muff, it's said,
Tracts she distributed;
Converts (till Monday!)
Lured by the grace they lacked,
Followed her. One, in fact,
Asked for -- and got -- his tract
Twice of a Sunday!
Love has a potent spell;
Soon this bold ne'er-do-well,
Aunt's too susceptible
Heart undermining,
Slipped, so the scandal runs,
Notes in the pretty nun's
Muff -- triple-cornered ones,
Pink as its lining.
Worse followed: soon the jade
Fled (to oblige her blade!)
Whilst her friends thought they'd
Locked her up tightly,
After such shocking games
Aunt is of wedded dames
Gayest, and now her name's
Mrs. Golightly.
In female conduct, flaw
Sadder I never saw.
Faith still I've in the law
Of compensation.
Once Uncle went astray,
Smoked, joked, and swore away;
Sworn by he's now, by a
Large congregation.
Changed is the Child of Sin;
Now he's (he once was thin)
Grave, with a double chin--
Blessed be his fat form!
Changed is the garb he wore,
Preacher was never more
Prized than is Uncle for
Pulpit or platform.
If all's as best befits
Mortals of slender wits,
Then beg this Muff and its
Fair Owner pardon.
All's for the best, indeed --
Such is my simple creed;
Still I must go and weed
Hard in my garden.
