THE COMPLETE WORKS OF LOUISA MAY ALCOTT: Novels, Short Stories, Plays & Poems (Illustrated Edition). Louisa May Alcott

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      CHAPTER IX.

       EUROPE.

       Table of Contents

      THE LAY OF A GOLDEN GOOSE.

      Long ago in a poultry yard

       One dull November morn,

       Beneath a motherly soft wing

       A little goose was born.

      Who straightway peeped out of the shell

       To view the world beyond,

       Longing at once to sally forth

       And paddle in the pond.

      "Oh! be not rash," her father said,

       A mild Socratic bird;

       Her mother begged her not to stray

       With many a warning word.

      But little goosey was perverse,

       And eagerly did cry,

       "I've got a lovely pair of wings,

       Of course I ought to fly."

      In vain parental cacklings,

       In vain the cold sky's frown,

       Ambitious goosey tried to soar,

       But always tumbled down.

      The farm-yard jeered at her attempts,

       The peacocks screamed, "Oh fie!

       You're only a domestic goose,

       So don't pretend to fly."

      Great cock-a-doodle from his perch

       Crowed daily loud and clear,

       "Stay in the puddle, foolish bird,

       That is your proper sphere."

      The ducks and hens said, one and all,

       In gossip by the pool,

       "Our children never play such pranks;

       My dear, that fowl's a fool."

      The owls came out and flew about,

       Hooting above the rest,

       "No useful egg was ever hatched

       From transcendental nest."

      Good little goslings at their play

       And well-conducted chicks

       Were taught to think poor goosey's flights

       Were naughty, ill-bred tricks.

      They were content to swim and scratch, And not at all inclined For any wild-goose chase in search Of something undefined.

      Hard times she had as one may guess,

       That young aspiring bird,

       Who still from every fall arose

       Saddened but undeterred.

      She knew she was no nightingale,

       Yet spite of much abuse,

       She longed to help and cheer the world,

       Although a plain gray goose.

      She could not sing, she could not fly,

       Nor even walk with grace,

       And all the farm-yard had declared

       A puddle was her place.

      But something stronger than herself

       Would cry, "Go on, go on!

       Remember, though an humble fowl,

       You're cousin to a swan."

      So up and down poor goosey went,

       A busy, hopeful bird.

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