And all things said to the beautiful sun, "Good-morning, good-morning! our work is begun."

323

It is quite impossible for us to realize why the English reading public should have been so excited over the following poem in the years immediately following its first appearance in 1806. It attracted the attention of royalty, was set to music, had a host of imitators, and established itself as a nursery classic. It was written by William Roscoe (1753-1831), historian, banker, and poet, for his son Robert, and was merely an entertaining skit upon an actual banquet. Probably the fact that the characters at the butterfly's ball were drawn with human faces in the original illustrations to represent the prominent guests at the actual banquet had much to do with the initial success. The impulse which it received a hundred years ago, coupled with its own undoubted power of fancy, has projected it thus far, and children seem inclined to approve and still further insure its already long life.

THE BUTTERFLY'S BALL

WILLIAM ROSCOE

"Come, take up your hats, and away let us haste

To the Butterfly's Ball and the Grass

hopper's Feast,

The Trumpeter, Gadfly, has summon'd

the crew,

And the Revels are now only waiting for you."

So said little Robert, and pacing along, His merry Companions came forth in a throng,

And on the smooth Grass by the side of a Wood,

Beneath a broad oak that for ages had stood,

Saw the Children of Earth and the Tenants of Air

For an Evening's Amusement together repair.

And there came the Beetle, so blind and so black,

Who carried the Emmet, his friend, on his back,

And there was the Gnat and the Dragonfly too,

With all their Relations, green, orange and blue.

And there came the Moth, with his plumage of down,

And the Hornet in jacket of yellow and brown;

Who with him the Wasp, his companion, did bring,

But they promised that evening to lay by their sting.

And the sly little Dormouse crept out of his hole,

And brought to the Feast his blind Brother, the Mole;

And the Snail, with his horns peeping out of his shell,

Came from a great distance, the length of an ell.

A Mushroom, their Table, and on it was laid

A water-dock leaf, which a table-cloth made.

The Viands were various, to each of their taste,

And the Bee brought her honey to crown

the Repast.

Then close on his haunches, so solemn and wise,

The Frog from a corner look'd up to the skies;

And the Squirrel, well pleased such diver

sion to see,

Mounted high overhead and look'd down from a tree.

Then out came the Spider, with finger so fine,

To show his dexterity on the tight-line, From one branch to another his cobwebs

he slung,

Then quick as an arrow he darted along,

But just in the middle-oh! shocking to tell,

From his rope, in an instant, poor Harlequin fell.

Yet he touch'd not the ground, but with talons outspread,

Hung suspended in air, at the end of a thread.

324 CAN YOU?

AUTHOR UNKNOWN

Can you put the spider's web back in place

That once has been swept away?
Can you put the apple again on the bough
Which fell at our feet to-day?

Can you put the lily-cup back on the stem
And cause it to live and grow?
Can you mend the butterfly's broken
wing

That you crush with a hasty blow? Can you put the bloom again on the grape And the grape again on the vine?

and a spring,

Very long was his Leg, though but short

was his Wing;

He took but three leaps, and was soon

out of sight,

Then chirp'd his own praises the rest of the night.

With step so majestic the Snail did. advance,

And promised the Gazers a Minuet to dance;

But they all laughed so loud that he pulled in his head,

And went in his own little chamber to bed.

Then as Evening gave way to the shadows of Night,

Their Watchman, the Glowworm, came out with a light.

"Then Home let us hasten while yet we

can see,

For no Watchman is waiting for you and for me."

So said little Robert, and pacing along, His merry Companions return'd in a throng.

flowers

And make them sparkle and shine? Can you put the petals back on the rose?

If you could, would it smell as sweet? Can you put the flour again in the husk, And show me the ripened wheat? Can you put the kernel again in the nut, Or the broken egg in the shell?

Can you put the honey back in the comb,
And cover with wax each cell?

Can you put the perfume back in the vase
When once it has sped away?
Can you put the corn-silk back on the

corn,

Or down on the catkins, say? You think my questions are trifling, lad, Let me ask you another one: Can a hasty word be ever unsaid, Or a deed unkind, undone?

325

In 1841 Robert Browning (1812-1889) published a drama in verse entitled Pippa Passes. Pippa was a little girl who worked in the silkmills of an Italian city. When her one holiday of the year came, she arose early and went singing out of town to the hills to enjoy the day. Various

Frenchman, served on a war ship that helped convey French troops to America, to aid the colonists during the Revolution. Later, when Napoleon attempted to conquer Egypt, he was captain of the admiral's flagship during the battle of the Nile. When the admiral was killed, he took command of the fleet at the moment of defeat. He blew up his ship, after the crew had been saved, rather than surrender it. His ten-year-old son refused to leave and perished with his father.

CASABIANCA

FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS

The boy stood on the burning deck,
Whence all but him had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.

Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,

A proud, though child-like form.

The flames rolled on; he would not go
Without his father's word;
That father, faint in death below,

His voice no longer heard.

He called aloud, "Say, father, say,
If yet my task be done!"
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.

"Speak, father!" once again he cried,
"If I may yet be gone!"
And but the booming shots replied,

And fast the flames rolled on.

Upon his brow he felt their breath,

And in his waving hair,

And looked from that lone post of death In still, yet brave despair.

And shouted but once more aloud,

"My father! must I stay?"

While o'er him, fast, through sail and shroud,

The wreathing fires made way.

They wrapt the ship in splendor wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.

There came a burst of thunder sound;
The boy,-oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds, that far around

With fragments strewed the sea,-
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part,-
But the noblest thing that perished there,
Was that young, faithful heart.

cence.

The five numbers that follow are from the works of the great English poet and mystic William Blake (1757-1827). All except the first are given in their entirety. No. 328 is made up of three couplets taken from the loosely strung together Auguries of InnoNos. 329, 330, and 332 are from Songs of Innocence (1789), where the last was printed as an introduction without any other title. No. 331 is from Songs of Experience (1794). Blake labored in obscurity and poverty, though he has now come to be regarded as one of England's most important poets. It is not necessary that children should understand fully all that Blake says, but it is important for teachers to realize that most children are natural mystics and that Blake's poetry, more than any other, is the natural food for them.

328

THREE THINGS TO
REMEMBER

WILLIAM BLAKE

A Robin Redbreast in a cage, Puts all heaven in a rage.

A skylark wounded on the wing Doth make a cherub cease to sing.

He who shall hurt the little wren Shall never be beloved by men.

329

THE LAMB

WILLIAM BLAKE

Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice?

Little lamb, who made thee?
Dost thou know who made thee?

Little lamb, I'll tell thee,
Little lamb, I'll tell thee.
He is called by thy name,
For He calls himself a Lamb:
He is meek and he is mild,
He became a little child.
I a child and thou a lamb,
We are called by His name.

Little lamb, God bless thee,
Little lamb, God bless thee.

330

THE SHEPHERD

WILLIAM BLAKE

How sweet is the shepherd's sweet lot;
From the morn to the evening he strays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be filled with praise.

For he hears the lambs' innocent call,
And he hears the ewes' tender reply;
He is watchful while they are in peace,
For they know when their shepherd is
nigh.

331

THE TIGER

WILLIAM BLAKE

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize thy fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand formed thy dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?

In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil? what dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And watched heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

332

THE PIPER

WILLIAM BLAKE

Piping down the valleys wild,
Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
And he laughing said to me:-

"Pipe a song about a lamb": So I piped with merry cheer.