Graded Poetry: Third Year Part 8

If only I blow right fierce and grim, 15 The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."

He blew and blew, and she thinned to a thread.

"One puff More's enough To blow her to snuff!

One good puff more where the last was bred, 5 And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread!"

He blew a great blast and the thread was gone; In the air Nowhere Was a moonbeam bare; 10 Far off and harmless the shy stars shone; Sure and certain the Moon was gone!

The Wind he took to his revels once more; On down In town, 15 Like a merry mad clown, He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar, "What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!

He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; But in vain Was the pain Of his bursting brain; 5 For still the broader the Moon-sc.r.a.p grew, The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.

Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, And shone On her throne 10 In the sky alone, A matchless, wonderful, silvery light, Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the Night.

Said the Wind--"What a marvel of power am I!

With my breath, 15 Good faith!

I blew her to death-- First blew her away right out of the sky-- Then blew her in; what a strength am I!"

But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair, For, high In the sky, 5 With her one white eye, Motionless, miles above the air, She had never heard the great Wind blare.

JAMES T. FIELDS

AMERICA, 1817-1881

The Tempest

We were crowded in the cabin, Not a soul would dare to sleep,-- 10 It was midnight on the waters, And a storm was on the deep.

'Tis a fearful thing in winter To be shattered in the blast, And to hear the rattling trumpet Thunder, "Cut away the mast!"

So we shuddered there in silence,-- For the stoutest held his breath, While the hungry sea was roaring, 5 And the breakers talked with Death.

As thus we sat in darkness, Each one busy in his prayers,-- "We are lost!" the captain shouted, As he staggered down the stairs. 10

But his little daughter whispered, As she took his icy hand, "Is not G.o.d upon the ocean, Just the same as on the land?"

Then we kissed the little maiden, 15 And we spoke in better cheer; And we anch.o.r.ed safe in harbor When the morn was shining clear.

CLEMENT C. MOORE

AMERICA, 1779-1863

A Visit from St. Nicholas

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse; The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there; The children were nestled all snug in their beds, 5 While visions of sugar-plums danced in their heads; And Mamma in her kerchief, and I in my cap, Had just settled our brains for a long winter's nap, When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, I sprang from my bed to see what was the matter.

Away to the window I flew like a flash, Tore open the shatters and threw up the sash.

The moon, on the breast of the new-fallen snow, Gave a l.u.s.ter of midday to objects below; 5 When, what to my wondering eyes should appear, But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer, With a little old driver, so lively and quick, I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came, 10 And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name: "Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!

On, Comet! on, Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen-- To the top of the porch, to the top of the wall!

Now, dash away, dash away, dash away, all!"

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly, When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky, So, up to the house-top the coursers they flew, 5 With the sleigh full of toys--and St. Nicholas, too.

And then in a twinkling I heard on the roof The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.

As I drew in my head, and was turning around, Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound. 10 He was dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot; A bundle of toys he had flung on his back, And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry; His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow, 5 And the beard on his chin was as white as the snow.

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth, And the smoke, it encircled his head like a wreath; He had a broad face and a little round belly That shook, when he laughed, like a bowl full of jelly. 10 He was chubby and plump--a right jolly old elf; And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself.

A wink of his eye, and a twist of his head, Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work, And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk, And laying his finger aside of his nose, 5 And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose.

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle, And away they all flew like the down of a thistle; But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight, "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!" 10

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

ENGLAND, 1770-1850

Lucy Gray

Oft I had heard of Lucy Gray; And, when I crossed the wild, I chanced to see at break of day The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade, Lucy knew; 5 She dwelt on a wide moor,-- The sweetest thing that ever grew Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play, The hare upon the green; 10 But the sweet face of Lucy Gray Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night-- You to the town must go: And take a lantern, child, to light 15 Your mother through the snow."

"That, father, will I gladly do: 'Tis scarcely afternoon-- The minster-clock has just struck two; And yonder is the moon."

At this the father raised his hook, 5 And snapped a f.a.got-band; He plied his work;--and Lucy took The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe: With many a wanton stroke 10 Her feet disperse the powdery snow, That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time, She wandered up and down; And many a hill did Lucy climb, 15 But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night Went shouting far and wide; But there was neither sound nor sight To serve them for a guide. 20 At daybreak on a hill they stood That overlooked the moor; And thence they saw the bridge of wood, A furlong from their door.

They wept--and, turning homeward, cried, 5 "In heaven we all shall meet!"

When in the snow the mother spied The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge They tracked the footmarks small; 10 And through the broken hawthorn hedge, And by the low stone wall: