Kitabı oku: «Once Upon a Time and Other Child-Verses», sayfa 4

THE GIFT THAT NONE COULD SEE

 
THERE are silver pines on the win-
dow-pane,
A forest of them," said he;
"And a huntsman is there with a silver horn,
Which he bloweth right merrily.
 
 
"And there are a flock of silver ducks
A-flying over his head;
And a silver sea and a silver hill
In the distance away," he said.
 
 
"And all this is on the window-pane,
My pretty mamma, true as true!"
She lovingly smiled; but she looked not up,
And faster her needle flew.
 
 
A dear little fellow the speaker was —
Silver and jewels and gold,
Lilies and roses and honey-flowers,
In a sweet little bundle rolled.
 
 
He stood by the frosty window-pane
Till he tired of the silver trees,
The huntsman blowing his silver horn,
The hills and the silver seas;
 
 
And he breathed on the flock of silver ducks,
Till he melted them quite away;
And he saw the street, and the people pass —
And the morrow was Christmas Day.
 
 
"The children are out, and they laugh and
shout,
I know what it's for," said he;
"And they're dragging along, my pretty
mamma,
A fir for a Christmas-tree."
 
 
He came and stood by his mother's side:
"To-night it is Christmas Eve;
And is there a gift somewhere for me.
Gold mamma, do you believe?"
 
 
Still the needle sped in her slender hands:
"My little sweetheart," said she,
"The Christ Child has planned this Christ-
mas, for you,
His gift that you cannot see."
 
 
The boy looked up with a sweet, wise look
On his beautiful baby-face:
"Then my stocking I'll hang for the Christ
Child's gift,
To-night, in the chimney-place."
 
 
On Christmas morning the city through,
The children were queens and kings,
With their royal treasuries bursting o'er
With wonderful, lovely things.
 
 
But the merriest child in the city full,
And the fullest of all with glee,
Was the one whom the dear Christ Child
had brought
 
 
The gift that he could not see.
"Quite empty it looks, oh my gold mamma,
The stocking I hung last night!"
"So then it is full of the Christ Child's
gift."
And she smiled till his face grew bright.
 
 
"Now, sweetheart," she said, with a patient
look
On her delicate, weary face,
"I must go and carry my sewing home,
And leave thee a little space.
 
 
"Now stay with thy sweet thoughts, heart's delight
And I soon will be back to thee."
"I'll play, while you're gone, my pretty
mamma,
With my gift that I cannot see."
 
 
He watched his mother pass down the street;
Then he looked at the window-pane
Where a garden of new frost-flowers had
bloomed
While he on his bed had lain.
 
 
Then he tenderly took up his empty sock,
And quietly sat awhile,
Holding it fast, and eying it
With his innocent, trusting smile.
 
 
"I am tired of waiting," he said at last;
"I think I will go and meet
My pretty mamma, and come with her
A little way down the street.
 
 
"And I'll carry with me, to keep it safe,
My gift that I cannot see."
And down the street 'mid the chattering crowd,
He trotted right merrily.
 
 
"And where are you going, you dear little
man?
They called to him as he passed;
"That empty stocking why do you hold
In your little hand so fast?"
 
 
Then he looked at them with his honest eyes,
And answered sturdily:
"My stocking is full to the top, kind sirs,
Of the gift that I cannot see."
 
 
They would stare and laugh, but he trudged
With his stocking fast in his hand:
"And I wonder why 'tis that the people all
Seem not to understand!"
 
 
"Oh, my heart's little flower!" she cried to
him,
A-hurrying down the street;
"And why are you out on the street alone?
And where are you going, my sweet?"
 
 
"I was coming to meet you, my pretty
mamma,
With my gift that I cannot see;
But tell me, why do the people laugh,
And stare at my gift and me?"
 
 
Like the Maid at her Son, in the Altar-piece,
So loving she looked, and mild:
"Because, dear heart, of all that you met,
Not one was a little child."
 
 
O thou who art grieving at Christmas-tide,
The lesson is meant for thee;
That thou mayst get Christ's loveliest gifts
In ways thou canst not see;
 
 
And how, although no earthly good
Seems into thy lot to fall,
Hast thou a trusting child-like heart,
Thou hast the best of all.
 

A LITTLE CALLER

 
LONG, long ago, she ambled to town, her
flaxen curls bobbed up and down,
 
 
Her best blue ribbons fluttered gay, and she
had some calling-cards of her own —
Long, long ago, the people cried, "There
rides the sweet little Arabella,
She goes for to make a wedding-call, to-day,
on the Prince and Cinderella!"
 

KATY-DID – KATY-DIDN'T

 
WHO was Katy, who was she,
That you prate of her so long?
Was she just a little lassie
Full of smiles and wiles and song?
 
 
Did she spill the cups o' dew
Filled for helpless, thirsty posies?
Did she tie a butterfly
Just beyond the reach o' roses?
 
 
Slandered she some sweet dumb thing?
Called a tulip dull and plain,
Said the clover had no fragrance,
And the lily had a stain?
 
 
Did she mock the pansies' faces,
Or a grandpa-longlegs flout?
Did she chase the frightened fireflies
Till their pretty lamps went out?
 
 
Well, whatever 'twas, O Katy!
We believe no harm of you;
And we'll join your stanch defenders,
Singing "Katy-didn't," too.
 

SLIDING DOWN HILL

 
THERE is ice on the hill, hurrah, hurrah!
We can slide quite down to the pas-
ture-bar,
Where the cows at night, in the summer
weather,
Would stand a-waiting and lowing together.
"Tie your tippet closer, John,"
That was what their mother said;
"All of you put mittens on —
The broom will answer for a sled!"
 
 
They had never a sled, but dragged in its room,
Just as gayly, behind them, the worn kitchen-
broom;
John, Sammy, and Tom, and their sweet lit-
tle sister,
With her cheeks cherry-red, where the wind
had kissed her.
"You can watch, sis, that's enough,"
That was what her brother's said;
"Keep your hands warm in your muff —
Girls can't slide without a sled! "
 
 
"Oh! where in the world is there aught so nice
As to slide down the pasture-hill on the ice?
Quite down to the bar, sis, see, we are going,
Where the cows each night in summer stood lowing.
 
 
"If I were a boy, like you – "
This was what their sister said,
Watching as they downward flew —
"I would make a girl a sled!"
 

LITTLE PEACHLING

A Japanese Folk-lore Story

 
AT the foot of the Golden Dragon Hill,
Ages ago, in a snug little house
With a roof of dark-brown, velvety thatch,
There lived an old woodman and his spouse.
 
 
One morning his bill-hook the old man took:
"To the mountain, to cut me a fagot, I'll
hie,
While you, O Koyo, the linen can wash
In the river which rushes and gurgles by."
 
 
Oh! the merry old man to the mountain hied,
Past young rice-fields in the morning sun,
Toward the dark fir-trees on the mountain side,
Standing forth in its silence, every one.
 
 
From wild camellias and white plum-trees,
In his twinkling old eyes the spider-webs
swung;
And he merrily brushed by the green bam-
boos,
With his bill-hook over his shoulder hung.
 
 
And a uguisu sang in a tall cherry-tree
As the smiling old wife to the river-side
went:
"Oh, red is the sun!" she cheerily sang,
As she patiently over her washing bent.
 
 
"Oh, red is the sun! and the rice-fields green —
Now what is that in the river I see?
It's the rosiest peach in the whole of Japan;
And it's coming a-floating, a-floating to me.
 
 
"Now, here is a feast for my darling old man,
Oh, the great Shogun not a finer can get!
Some stewed lily-bulbs, and this beautiful peach,
When he comes home from work, before
him I'll set."
 
 
Soon down from the mountain the old man
came,
And fast on his back his fagot was bound.
"Oh! hasten you, husband," his loving wife
cried,
And taste this beautiful peach that I found."
 
 
But just as he took it the peach split in
twain,
And a fat little baby with raven-black hair
Was cradled right in the heart of the peach,
And lay a-twinkling and blinking there.
 
 
"Oh! you brave little boy, you shall be our
own son;
And Momotaro shall have for a name,
Or Little Peachling, since out of a peach,
You dear little fellow, this morning you
came."
 
 
Oh! the rice-fields blossomed for twenty years,
While the gurgling old river amongst them
ran;
 
 
Oh! for twenty years grew the slim bamboo,
And Little Peachling was grown to a man.
 
 
"Some millet-dumplings pray make for me,"
To his good foster-mother he said one
day,
"And off to the ogres' castle I'll go,
And the whole of their treasure will bring
away.
 
 
"As thick in the ogres' treasure-vaults
The jewels are lying as sea-shore sands;
With blue snow-gates on the mountain-top,
The ogres' castle all proudly stands —
 
 
"With blue snow-gates that are stronger than
steel;
But I will enter, and bring to you
The wealth from the ogres' treasure-vaults,
Hung over with pearls, like flowers with
dew."
 
 
"I have made you the dumplings," his good
mother said,
"But I fear lest the ogres should do you
a harm."
But the little Peachling danced gayly away,
With the millet-dumplings under his arm.
 
 
A dog leapt out of a cluster of pines:
"And what have you there, Little Peachling,
pray?"
"The best millet-dumplings in all Japan,
And I'm to the ogres' castle away."
 
 
"For one of your dumplings with you I'll go,
And the ogres' castle will help subdue."
 
 
"Well, you can bark at the castle-gate;
So here is a dumpling, friend dog, for you."
 
 
An ape swung down from a roadside tree:
"Kia, kia, what have you, I say?"
"The best millet-dumplings in all Japan,
And I'm to the ogres' castle away."
 
 
"One of your dumplings pray give to me,
And the ogres' castle I'll help subdue."
"Well, you can climb o'er the castle-gate;
So here is a dumpling, friend ape, for you."
 
 
"Ken, ken=," cried a pheasant, "and what have
you there,
Little Peachling, tucked in your girdle, I
pray?"
"The best millet-dumplings in all Japan,
And I'm to the ogres' castle away."
 
 
"For one of your dumplings with you I'll go,
And the ogres' castle will help subdue,"
"Well, you can fly o'er the castle-gate;
So here is a dumpling, friend pheasant, for
you.
 
 
Oh, the castle stood high on the mountain-
top,
And over its turrets a hurricane blew;
But up to its terrible blue snow-gates
Little Peachling marched with his retinue.
 
 
Then the ogres swarmed out on the castle-
towers,
The drums beat loud, and the trumpets
brayed,
And magical arrows came rustling around —
But our brave little rônin was not afraid.
 
 
For his pheasant flew over the castle-wall,
And his ape undid the castle-gate;
And brave Little Peachling, his dog at heel,
Into the castle then marched in state.
 
 
His little dog snapped at the ogres' heels;
His pheasant picked at their round green
eyes;
And his ape tweaked away at the ogres' locks,
As only an ape can do when he tries.
 
 
And the little rônin, around him he laid,
With his muramasa so thick and fast,
That the king of the ogres was prisoner
made;
And the ogres' castle was taken at last.
 
 
Oh, measures of pearls and wedges of gold!
Oh, the jars of musk and the coral-bars,
Amber and emeralds, tortoise-shells,
And diamonds shining like strings of stars!
 
 
Gold-brocade coats, and wonderful gems
That regulated the green sea-tide!
It's always the loveliest things in the world
Which the treasure-castles of ogres hide.
 
 
With the treasures, the dog, the pheasant and
ape,
Little Peachling home to his parents ran;
And the old woodman and his loving wife
Were the happiest couple in all Japan.