GRANDFATHER'S STICK. 69 'Twas the Grandfather's stick, it was bis stick alone Of its forty years service how proudly he'd tell; 'Twas all very just-he might call it his own, But every one else seemed to claim it as well. There were sticks in abundance from bamboo to oak, But every one singled that out from the rest, For business or fun, that old staff was the one, For all times and all purposes that was the best. A branch of the pear-tree hung drooping and wide, And the youngsters soon joined in the pilfering trick, "This, this will just reach all the ripest!" they cried, As they scampered away with Grandfather's stick. 70 GRANDFATHER'S STICK. Rich autumn came on, and they roved far and near, With the sun on each cheek, and red stain on each mouth; They basked in the rays of the warm harvest days, Till their faces were tinged with the glow of the south. Luscious berries and nuts formed the vineyard they sought, And the branches were highest were fruits were most thick, Hooks and crooks of all sizes were theirs, but none caught The tall bramble so well as the Grandfathers stick. Old winter stepp'd forth, and the waters were still, The bold hearts were bounding along on the slide, And the timid one ventured, all breathless and chill If he had but the Grandfather's stick by his GRANDFATHER'S STICK. 71 But the Grandfather waned from the earth day by day, Hoards must be opened, and treasures must fall; No selfish heart watched o'er his "passing away, Yet that stick was the coveted relic by all. Serenely the old man went down to his grave, Looking on to a future with faith, hope, and joy; But, ere the flame died in its socket, he gave His favourite stick to his favourite boy. That boy was a spendthrift, all reckless and gay, Keeping nought but a warm heart and a fair honest name; He was wild in his home-a few years rolled away, He was out in the world, but the man was the same. He lives and yet laughs in the prodigal's part; But whatever his fortuue-wherever his land, There's a lock of white hair hanging close to his heart, And an ash staff, the Grandfather's stick in his hand. Eliza Cook. TO A BEE. Thou wert out betimes, thou busy, busy bee! As abroad I took my early way, Before the cow from her resting place, Had risen up and left her place, On the meadow with dew so gray, Saw I thee, thou busy, busy bee! Thou wert working late, thou busy, busy bee! After the fall of the Cistus flower, When the primrose-of-evening was ready to burst, I heard thee last and saw thee first, Thou art a miser, thou busy, busy bee! SOLITARY REAPER. 73 Still on thy golden stores intent; Thy summer in heaping and hoarding is spent, What thy winter will never enjoy, Wise lesson this for me, thou busy, busy bee! Little dost thou think, thou busy, busy bee! When the latest flowers of the ivy are gone, Southey. THE SOLITARY REAPER. Behold her single in the field, Will no one tell me what she sings; |