Poems Teachers Ask For, Book Two. Various

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Cleon hath ten thousand acres,

      Ne'er a one have I;

      Cleon dwelleth in a palace,

      In a cottage, I;

      Cleon hath a dozen fortunes,

      Not a penny, I,

      Yet the poorer of the twain is

      Cleon, and not I.

      Cleon, true, possesseth acres,

      But the landscape, I;

      Half the charms to me it yieldeth

      Money cannot buy;

      Cleon harbors sloth and dullness,

      Freshening vigor, I;

      He in velvet, I in fustian—

      Richer man am I.

      Cleon is a slave to grandeur,

      Free as thought am I;

      Cleon fees a score of doctors,

      Need of none have I;

      Wealth-surrounded, care-environed,

      Cleon fears to die;

      Death may come—he'll find me ready,

      Happier man am I.

      Cleon sees no charms in nature,

      In a daisy, I;

      Cleon hears no anthems ringing

      'Twixt the sea and sky;

      Nature sings to me forever,

      Earnest listener, I;

      State for state, with all attendants—

      Who would change?—Not I.

      Great were the hearts and strong the minds

      Of those who framed in high debate

      The immortal league of love that binds

      Our fair, broad empire, State with State.

      And deep the gladness of the hour

      When, as the auspicious task was done,

      In solemn trust the sword of power

      Was given to Glory's Unspoiled Son.

      That noble race is gone—the suns

      Of fifty years have risen and set;—

      But the bright links, those chosen ones,

      So strongly forged, are brighter yet.

      Wide—as our own free race increase—

      Wide shall extend the elastic chain,

      And bind in everlasting peace

      State after State, a mighty train.

      Slow the Kansas sun was setting,

      O'er the wheat fields far away,

      Streaking all the air with cobwebs

      At the close of one hot day;

      And the last rays kissed the forehead

      Of a man and maiden fair,

      He with whiskers short and frowsy,

      She with red and glistening hair,

      He with shut jaws stern and silent;

      She, with lips all cold and white,

      Struggled to keep back the murmur,

      "Towser shall be tied to-night."

      "Papa," slowly spoke the daughter,

      "I am almost seventeen,

      And I have a real lover,

      Though he's rather young and green;

      But he has a horse and buggy

      And a cow and thirty hens,—

      Boys that start out poor, dear Papa,

      Make the best of honest men,

      But if Towser sees and bites him,

      Fills his eyes with misty light,

      He will never come again, Pa;

      Towser must be tied to-night."

      "Daughter," firmly spoke the farmer,

      (Every word pierced her young heart

      Like a carving knife through chicken

      As it hunts the tender part)—

      "I've a patch of early melons,

      Two of them are ripe to-day;

      Towser must be loose to watch them

      Or they'll all be stole away.

      I have hoed them late and early

      In dim morn and evening light;

      Now they're grown I must not lose them;

      Towser'll not be tied to-night."

      Then the old man ambled forward,

      Opened wide the kennel-door,

      Towser bounded forth to meet him

      As he oft had done before.

      And the farmer stooped and loosed him

      From the dog-chain short and stout;

      To himself he softly chuckled,

      "Bessie's feller must look out."

      But the maiden at the window

      Saw the cruel teeth show white;

      In an undertone she murmured,—

      "Towser must be tied to-night."

      Then the maiden's brow grew thoughtful

      And her breath came short and quick,

      Till she spied the family clothesline,

      And she whispered, "That's the trick."

      From the kitchen door she glided

      With a plate of meat and bread;

      Towser wagged his tail in greeting,

      Knowing well he would be fed.

      In his well-worn leather collar,

      Tied she then the clothesline tight,

      All the time her white lips saying:

      "Towser shall be tied to-night,"

      "There, old doggie," spoke the maiden,

      "You can watch the melon patch,

      But the front gate's free and open,

      When John Henry lifts the latch.

      For the clothesline tight is fastened

      To the harvest apple tree,

      You can run and watch the melons,

      But the front gate you can't see."

      Then her glad ears hear a buggy,

      And her eyes grow big and bright,

      While her young heart says in gladness,

      "Towser dog is tied to-night."

      Up the path the young man saunters

      With his eye and cheek aglow;

      For he loves the red-haired maiden

      And he aims to tell her so.

      Bessie's roguish little brother,

      In СКАЧАТЬ