Voices for the Speechless Part 41

Let each temple, n.o.bler than the last, Shut thee from heaven within a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown sh.e.l.l by life's unwresting sea!"

O. W. HOLMES.

HIAWATHA'S BROTHERS.

When he heard the owls at midnight, Hooting, laughing in the forest, "What is that?" he cried in terror; "What is that?" he said, "Nokomis?"

And the good Nokomis answered: "That is but the owl and owlet, Talking in their native language, Talking, scolding at each other."

Then the little Hiawatha Learned of every bird its language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How they built their nests in Summer, Where they hid themselves in Winter, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Chickens."

Of all beasts he learned the language, Learned their names and all their secrets, How the beavers built their lodges, Where the squirrels hid their acorns, How the reindeer ran so swiftly, Why the rabbit was so timid, Talked with them whene'er he met them, Called them "Hiawatha's Brothers."

Then Iagoo, the great boaster, He the marvellous story-teller, He the traveller and the talker, He the friend of old Nokomis, Made a bow for Hiawatha; From a branch of ash he made it, From an oak-bough made the arrows, Tipped with flint, and winged with feathers, And the cord he made of deer-skin.

Then he said to Hiawatha: "Go, my son, into the forest, Where the red deer herd together, Kill for us a famous roebuck, Kill for us a deer with antlers!"

Forth into the forest straightway All alone walked Hiawatha Proudly, with his bow and arrows; And the birds sang ruffed him, o'er him, "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"

Sang the robin, the Opechee, Sang the bluebird, the Owaissa, "Do not shoot us, Hiawatha!"

Up the oak-tree, close beside him, Sprang the squirrel, Adjidaumo, In and out among the branches, Coughed and chattered from the oak-tree, Laughed, and said between his laughing, "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!"

And the rabbit from his pathway Leaped aside, and at a distance Sat erect upon his haunches, Half in fear and half in frolic, Saying to the little hunter, "Do not shoot me, Hiawatha!"

But he heeded not, nor heard them, For his thoughts were with the red deer; On their tracks his eyes were fastened, Leading downward to the river, To the ford across the river, And as one in slumber walked he.

H. W. LONGFELLOW: _Hiawatha_.

UNOFFENDING CREATURES.

The Being that is in the clouds and air, That is in the green leaves among the groves, Maintains a deep and reverential care For the unoffending creatures whom he loves.

One lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide, Taught both by what He shows, and what conceals, Never to blend our pleasure or our pride With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

WORDSWORTH.

SEPTEMBER.

And sooth to say, yon vocal grove Albeit uninspired by love, By love untaught to ring, May well afford to mortal ear An impulse more profoundly dear Than music of the spring.

But list! though winter storms be nigh Unchecked is that soft harmony: There lives Who can provide, For all his creatures: and in Him, Even like the radiant Seraphim, These choristers confide.

WORDSWORTH.

THE LARK.

Happy, happy liver, With a soul as strong as a mountain river, Pouring out praises to the Almighty Giver.

WORDSWORTH.

THE SWALLOW.

When weary, weary winter Hath melted into air, And April leaf and blossom Hath clothed the branches bare, Came round our English dwelling A voice of summer cheer: 'Twas thine, returning swallow, The welcome and the dear.

Far on the billowy ocean A thousand leagues are we, Yet here, sad hovering o'er our bark, What is it that we see?

Dear old familiar swallow, What gladness dost thou bring: Here rest upon our flowing sail Thy weary, wandering wing.

MRS. HOWITT.

RETURNING BIRDS.

Birds, joyous birds of the wandering wing Whence is it ye come with the flowers of spring?

"We come from the sh.o.r.es of the green old Nile, From the land where the roses of Sharon smile, From the palms that wave through the Indian sky, From the myrrh trees of glowing Araby."

MRS. HEMANS.

THE BIRDS.

With elegies of love Make vocal every spray.

CUNNINGHAM.

THRUSH.

Whither hath the wood thrush flown From our greenwood bowers?

Wherefore builds he not again Where the wild thorn flowers?

Bid him come! for on his wings The sunny year he bringeth, And the heart unlocks its springs Wheresoe'er he singeth.

BARRY CORNWALL.

LINNET.

Within the bush her covert nest A little linnet fondly prest, The dew sat chilly on her breast Sae early in the morning.

She soon shall see her tender brood The pride, the pleasure o' the wood, Among the fresh green leaves bedewed, Awake the early morning.

BURNS.