Poems Teachers Ask For Volume II Part 33

And the first Leaf, when it was opened, Sang: "I am Walter the page, And the songs I sing 'neath thy window Are my only heritage."

And the second Leaf sang: "But in the land That is neither on earth nor sea, My lute and I are lords of more Than thrice this kingdom's fee."

And the third Leaf sang, "Be mine! Be mine!"

And ever it sang, "Be mine!"

Then sweeter it sang and ever sweeter, And said, "I am thine, thine, thine!"

At the first Leaf she grew pale enough, At the second she turned aside, At the third,'twas as if a lily flushed With a rose's red heart's tide.

"Good counsel gave the bird," said she, "I have my hope thrice o'er, For they sing to my very heart," she said, "And it sings to them evermore."

She brought to him her beauty and truth, But and broad earldoms three, And he made her queen of the broader lands He held of his lute in fee.

_James Russell Lowell._

Awakening

Never yet was a springtime, Late though lingered the snow, That the sap stirred not at the whisper Of the south wind, sweet and low; Never yet was a springtime When the buds forgot to blow.

Ever the wings of the summer Are folded under the mold; Life that has known no dying Is Love's to have and to hold, Till sudden, the burgeoning Easter!

The song! the green and the gold!

_Margaret E. Sangster._

Wolsey's Farewell to His Greatness

_(From "King Henry VIII")_

Farewell! a long farewell, to all my greatness!

This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him: The third day comes a frost, a killing frost, And,--when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening,--nips his root, And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory, But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under me, and now has left me Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.

Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye: I feel my heart new opened. O, how wretched Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!

There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to, That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, More pangs and fears than wars or women have; And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again.

_William Shakespeare._

The Newsboy

Want any papers, Mister?

Wish you'd buy 'em of me-- Ten year old, an' a fam'ly, An' bizness dull, you see.

Fact, Boss! There's Tom, an' Tibby, An' Dad, an' Mam, an' Mam's cat, None on 'em earning money-- What do you think of that?

_Couldn't Dad work?_ Why yes, Boss, He's workin' for Gov'ment now-- They give him his board for nothin', All along of a drunken row, _An' Mam?_ well, she's in the poor-house, Been there a year or so, So I'm taking care of the others, Doing as well as I know.

_Tibby my sister?_ Not much, Boss, She's a kitten, a real Maltee; I picked her up last summer-- Some boys was a drownin' of she; Throw'd her inter a hogshead; But a p'liceman came along, So I jest grabbed up the kitten And put for home, right strong.

And Tom's my dog; he an' Tibby Hain't never quarreled yet-- They sleep in my bed in winter An' keeps me warm--you bet!

Mam's cat sleeps in the corner, With a piller made of her paw-- Can't she growl like a tiger If anyone comes to our straw!

_Oughtn't to live so?_ Why, Mister, What's a feller to do?

Some nights, when I'm tired an' hungry, Seems as if each on 'em knew-- They'll all three cuddle around me, Till I get cheery, and say: Well, p'raps I'll have sisters an' brothers, An' money an' clothes, too, some day.

But if I do git rich, Boss, (An' a lecturin' chap one night Said newsboys could be Presidents If only they acted right); So, if I was President, Mister, The very first thing I'd do, I'd buy poor Tom an' Tibby A dinner--an' Mam's cat, too!

None o' your sc.r.a.ps an' leavin's, But a good square meal for all three; If you think I'd skimp my friends, Boss, That shows you don't know _me_.

So 'ere's your papers--come take one, Gimme a lift if you can-- For now you've heard my story, You see I'm a fam'ly man!

_E.T. Corbett._

Parting of Marmion and Douglas

Not far advanced was morning day, When Marmion did his troop array To Surrey's camp to ride; He had safe conduct for his band, Beneath the royal seal and hand, And Douglas gave a guide: The ancient Earl, with stately grace, Would Clara on her palfrey place, And whispered in an undertone, "Let the hawk stoop, his prey is flown."

The train from out the castle drew, But Marmion stopped to bid adieu.-- "Though something I might plain," he said, "Of cold respect to stranger guest, Sent hither by your king's behest, While in Tantallon's towers I stayed, Part we in friendship from your land, And, n.o.ble Earl, receive my hand."-- But Douglas round him drew his cloak, Folded his arms, and thus he spoke:-- "My manors, halls, and bowers shall still Be open, at my sovereign's will, To each one whom he lists, howe'er Unmeet to be the owner's peer.

My castles are my king's alone, From turret to foundation-stone,-- The hand of Douglas is his own; And never shall in friendly grasp The hand of such as Marmion clasp."

Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek like fire, And shook his very frame for ire, And--"This to me!" he said,-- "An't were not for thy h.o.a.ry beard, Such hand as Marmion's had not spared To cleave the Douglas' head!

And, first, I tell thee, haughty Peer, He who does England's message here, Even in thy pitch of pride, Here in thy hold, thy va.s.sals near, (Nay, never look upon your lord, And lay your hands upon your sword,) I tell thee thou'rt defied!

And if thou said'st I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near, Lord Angus, thou hast lied!"-- On the Earl's cheek the flush of rage O'ercame the ashen hue of age: Fierce he broke forth,--"And dar'st thou then To beard the lion in his den, The Douglas in his hall?

And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?

No, by St. Bride of Bothwell, no!

Up drawbridge, grooms,--what, warder, ho!

Let the portcullis fall."-- Lord Marmion turned,--well was his need!-- And dashed the rowels in his steed; Like arrow through the archway sprung; The ponderous grate behind him rung; To pa.s.s there was such scanty room, The bars, descending, razed his plume.

The steed along the drawbridge flies.

Just as it trembled on the rise; Not lighter does the swallow skim Along the smooth lake's level brim; And when Lord Marmion reached his band, He halts, and turns with clenched hand, And shout of loud defiance pours, And shook his gauntlet at the towers, "Horse! horse!" the Douglas cried, "and chase!"

But soon he reined his fury's pace: "A royal messenger he came, Though most unworthy of the name.

St. Mary, mend my fiery mood!

Old age ne'er cools the Douglas blood, I thought to slay him where he stood.

'Tis pity of him too," he cried; "Bold can he speak, and fairly ride: I warrant him a warrior tried."

With this his mandate he recalls, And slowly seeks his castle halls.