Page images
PDF
EPUB

first of Holmes' poems to attract general attention was "Old Ironsides." Dr. Holmes is so noted as an author that we rarely remember that he was almost equally eminent as a physician. "The Autocrat at the Breakfast Table" is the most popular of all his prose works. He wrote several novels, the best being "Elsie Venner," but they do not take rank with his poetry or even his other prose writings. As a poet Dr. Holmes is noted for wit and humor. As a song writer he has had few equals in America. As a writer Holmes is much admired by all classes of readers.

TO THE KATYDID

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

LOVE to hear thine earnest voice,

Wherever thou art hid,

Thou testy little dogmatist,

Thou pretty Katydid!

Thou mindest me of gentle folks,

Old gentle folks are they,
Thou sayest an undisputed thing
In such a solemn way.

Thou art a female, Katydid!

I know it by the trill

That quivers through thy piercing notes,

So petulant and shrill;

I think there is a knot of you
Beneath the hollow tree,-

A knot of spinster Katydids,-
Do Katydids drink tea?

O tell me where did Katy live,
And what did Katy do?

[blocks in formation]

And yet so wicked, too?
Did Katy love a naughty man,
Or kiss more cheeks than one?
I warrant Katy did no more
Than many a Kate has done.

Dear me! I'll tell you all about
My fuss with little Jane,

And Ann, with whom I used to walk
So often down the lane,

And all that tore their locks of black,
Or wet their eyes of blue,-
Pray tell me, sweetest Katydid,
What did poor Katy do?

Ah no! the living oak shall crash,
That stood for ages still,

The rock shall rend its mossy base

And thunder down the hill,

Before the little Katydid

Shall add one word, to tell

The mystic story of the maid

Whose name she knows so well.

Peace to the ever-murmuring race!

And when the latest one

Shall fold in death her feeble wings

Beneath the autumn sun,

Then shall she raise her fainting voice,

And lift her drooping lid,

And then the child of future years

Shall hear what Katy did.

YOU AND I

CHARLES MACKAY

NOTE TO THE PUPIL.

nature and a corre

Charles Mackay, a Scotch poet, has written many poems that teach a most wholesome lesson. His poems show his deep sympathy with all that is best in human sponding contempt for what is selfish and mean. Among his short poems are "The Vicar's Sermon," "The Good Time Coming," "What Might Be Done," "Daily Work," "Little and Great," and many others of a similar character. You cannot read these poems without being the better for it.

HO would scorn his humble fellow

WHO

For the coat he wears?

For the poverty he suffers?

For his daily cares?

Who would pass him in the footway

With averted eye?

Would you, brother? No-you would not.

If you would not I.

Who, when vice or crime repentant,

With a grief sincere,

Asked for pardon, would refuse it—

More than heaven severe ?

Who, to erring woman's sorrow,

Would with taunts reply?

Would you, brother? No-you would not.

If you would not I.

Would you say that Vice is Virtue

In a hall of state?

Or, that rogues are not dishonest

If they dine off plate?

Who would say Success and Merit

Ne'er part company?

Would you, brother? No

If you would - not I.

you would not.

Who would give a cause his efforts

When the cause is strong;

But desert it on its failure,

Whether right or wrong?

Ever siding with the upmost,
Letting downmost lie?

Would you, brother? No-you would not.

If you would not I.

Who would lend his arm to strengthen

Warfare with the right?

Who would give his pen to blacken

Freedom's page of light?

Who would lend his tongue to utter

Praise of tyranny?

Would you, brother? No-you would not. If you would-not I.

DAILY WORK

CHARLES MACKAY

WHO lags from dread of daily work,

And his appointed task would shirk,

Commits a folly and a crime:

A soulless slave

A paltry knave —

A clog upon the wheels of time, With work to do, and store of health, The man's unworthy to be free, Who will not give,

That he may live,

His daily toil for daily fee.

No! let us work! We only ask
Reward proportion'd to our task;
We have no quarrel with the great-
No feud with rank

With mill or bank

No envy of a lord's estate.
If we can earn sufficient store

To satisfy our daily need,
And can retain,

For age and pain,

A fraction, we are rich indeed.

No dread of toil have we or ours;

We know our worth, and weigh our powers; The more we work, the more we win;

Success to trade!

Success to spade!

And to the corn that's coming in.
And joy to him who o'er his task,

Remembers toil is Nature's plan;
Who, working, thinks,

And never sinks

His independence as a man!

« PreviousContinue »