456-1 A poet is born, not made.
THE MODERN BELLE
By Stark
She sits in a fashionable parlor,
And rocks in her easy chair;
She is clad in silks and satins,
And jewels are in her hair;
She winks and giggles and simpers,
And simpers and giggles and winks;
And though she talks but little,
’Tis a good deal more than she thinks.
She lies abed in the morning
Till nearly the hour of noon,
Then comes down snapping and snarling
Because she was called so soon;
Her hair is still in papers,
Her cheeks still fresh with paint,—
Remains of her last night’s blushes,
Before she intended to faint.
She dotes upon men unshaven,
And men with “flowing hair;”
She’s eloquent over mustaches,
They give such a foreign air.
She talks of Italian music,
And falls in love with the moon;
And, if a mouse were to meet her,
She would sink away in a swoon.
Her feet are so very little,
Her hands are so very white,
Her jewels so very heavy,
And her head so very light;
Her color is made of cosmetics
(Though this she will never own),
Her body is made mostly of cotton,
Her heart is made wholly of stone.
She falls in love with a fellow
Who swells with a foreign air;
He marries her for her money,
She marries him for his hair!
One of the very best matches,—
Both are well mated in life;
She’s got a fool for a husband,
He’s got a fool for a wife!
WIDOW MACHREE
By Samuel Lover
Widow machree, it’s no wonder you frown,—
Och hone! widow machree;
Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown,—
Och hone! widow machree.
How altered your air,
With that close cap you wear,—
’Tis destroying your hair,
Which should be flowing free;
Be no longer a churl
Of its black silken curl,—
Och hone! widow machree!
Widow machree, now the summer is come,—
Och hone! widow machree,
When everything smiles, should a beauty look glum?
Och hone! widow machree!
See the birds go in pairs,
And the rabbits and hares;
Why, even the bears
Now in couples agree;
And the mute little fish,
Though they can’t spake, they wish,—
Och hone! widow machree.
Widow machree, and when winter comes in,—
Och hone! widow machree,—
To be poking the fire all alone is a sin,
Och hone! widow machree.
Sure the shovel and tongs
To each other belongs,
And the kettle sings songs
Full of family glee;
While alone with your cup
Like a hermit you sup,
Och hone! widow machree.
And how do you know, with the comforts I’ve towld,—
Och hone! widow machree,—
But you’re keeping some poor fellow out in the cowld,
Och hone! widow machree!
With such sins on your head,
Sure your peace would be fled;
Could you sleep in your bed
Without thinking to see
Some ghost or some sprite,
That would wake you each night,
Crying “Och hone! widow machree!”
Then take my advice, darling widow machree,—
Och hone! widow machree,—
And with my advice, Faith, I wish you’d take me,
Och hone! widow machree!
You’d have me to desire
Then to stir up the fire;
And sure hope is no liar
In whispering to me,
That the ghosts would depart
When you’d me near your heart,—
Och hone! widow machree!
LIMESTONE BROTH
By Gerald Griffin
"My father went once upon a time about the country, in the idle season, seeing if he could make a penny at all by cutting hair or setting rashurs or pen-knives, or any other job that would fall in his way.
Weel an’ good—he was one day walking alone in the mountains of Kerry, without a ha’p’ny in his pocket (for though he traveled afoot, it cost him more than he earned), an’ knowing there was but little love for a County Limerick man in the place where he was, an’ being half perished with the hunger, an’ evening drawing nigh, he didn’t know well what to do with himself till morning.
Very good—he went along the wild road; an’ if he did, he soon sees a farmhouse at a little distance o’ one side—a snug-looking place, with the smoke curling up out of the chimney, an’ all tokens of good living inside. Well, some people would live where a fox would starve.
What do you think did my father do? He wouldn’t beg (a thing one of our people never done yet, thank heaven!) an’ he hadn’t the money to buy a thing, so what does he do? He takes up a couple o’ the big limestones that were lying in the road, in his two hands, an’ away with him to the house.
‘Lord save all here!’ says he, walking in the door.
‘And you kindly,’ says they.
‘I’m come to you,’ says he, this way, looking at the two limestones, ‘to know would ye let me make a little limestone broth over your fire, until I’ll make my dinner?’
‘Limestone broth!’ says they to him again: ‘what’s that, aroo?’
‘Broth made of limestone,’ says he; ‘what else?’
‘We never heard of such a thing,’ says they.
‘Why, then, you may hear it now,’ says he, ‘an’ see it also, if you’ll gi’ me a pot an’ a couple o’ quarts o’ soft water.’
‘You can have it an’ welcome,’ says they.
So they put down the pot an’ the water, an’ my father went over an’ tuk a chair hard by the pleasant fire for himself, an’ put down his two limestones to boil, an’ kept stirrin’ them round like stir-about.
Very good—well, by-an’-by, when the wather began to boil—‘’Tis thickening finely,’ says my father; ‘now if it had a grain o’ salt at all, ’twould be a great improvement to it.’
‘Raich down the salt-box, Nell,’ says the man o’ the house to his wife. So she did.
‘Oh, that’s the very thing, just,’ says my father, shaking some of it into the pot. So he stirred it again a while, looking as sober as a minister. By-an’-by he takes the spoon he had stirring it an’ tastes it.
‘It is very good now,’ says he, ‘altho’ it wants something yet.’
‘What is it?’ says they.
‘Oyeh, wisha nothin’,’ says he; ‘maybe ’t is only fancy o’ me.’
‘If it’s anything we can give you,’ says they, ‘you’re welcome to it.’
‘’Tis very good as it is,’ says he; ‘but when I’m at home, I find it gives it a fine flavor just to boil a little knuckle o’ bacon, or mutton trotters, or anything that way along with it.’
‘Raich hether that bone o’ sheep’s head we had at dinner yesterday, Nell,’ says the man o’ the house.
‘Oyeh, don’t mind it,’ says my father; ‘let it be as it is.’
‘Sure if it improves it, you may as well,’ says they.
‘Baithershin!’ says my father, putting it down.
So after boiling it a good piece longer, ‘’Tis fine limestone broth,’ says he, ‘as ever was tasted, and if a man had a few piatez,’ says he, looking at a pot o’ them that was smoking in the chimney corner, ‘he couldn’t desire a better dinner.’
They gave him the piatez, and he made a good dinner of themselves and the broth, not forgetting the bone, which he polished equal to chaney before he let it go. The people themselves tasted it, an’ tho’t it as good as any mutton broth in the world.”
THE KNOCKOUT
Adapted From The Autobiography of Davy Crockett
One day as I was walking through the woods, I came to a clearing on a hillside, and as I climbed the slope I was startled by loud, profane and boisterous voices which seemed to proceed from a thick cover of undergrowth about two hundred yards in advance of me.
“You kin, kin you?”
“Yes I kin and I’m able to do it! Boo-oo-oo!—O wake snakes, brimstone and fire! Don’t hold me, Nick Stoval; the fight’s made up and I’ll jump down your throat before you kin say ‘quit.’”
“Now Nick, don’t hold him! Just let the wildcat come, and I’ll tame him. Ned’ll see me a fair fight, won’t you Ned?”
“O yes, I’ll see you a fair fight; blast my old shoes if I don’t.”
“That’s sufficient, as Tom Haines said when he saw the elephant; now let him come.”
Thus they went on with countless oaths and with much that I could not distinctly hear. In mercy’s name, I thought, what a band of ruffians is at work here. I quickened my gait and had come nearly opposite the thick grove, whence the noises proceeded, when my eye caught, indistinctly through the foliage of the scrub oaks and hickories that intervened, glimpses of a man or men who seemed to be in a violent struggle. Occasionally, too, I could catch those deep-drawn, emphatic oaths which men utter when they deal heavy blows in conflict. As I was hurrying to the spot, I saw the combatants fall to the ground, and after a short struggle I saw the uppermost one (for I could not see the others) make a heavy plunge with both his thumbs. At the same instant I heard a cry in the accent of keenest torture—“Enough, my eye is out.”
For a moment I stood completely horror-struck. The accomplices in this brutal deed had apparently all fled at my approach, for not a one was to be seen.
“Now blast your corn-shucking soul,” said the victor, a lad of about eighteen, as he arose from the ground, “come cuttin’ your shines ’bout me agin next time I come to the court-house will you? Get your owl-eye in agin if you kin.”
At this moment he saw me for the first time. He looked frightened and was about to run away when I called out—“Come back, you brute, and help me relieve the poor critter you have ruined forever.”
Upon this rough salutation he stopped, and with a taunting curl of the nose, replied. “You needn’t kick before you’re spurred. There an’t nobody here nor han’t been, nuther. I was just seeing how I could have fout.” So saying, he pointed to his plow, which stood in the corner of the fence about fifty yards from the battle ground. Would any man in his senses believe that a rational being could make such a fool of himself? All that I had heard and seen was nothing more nor less than a rehearsal of a knock-down and drag-out fight in which the young man had played all the parts for his own amusement. I went to the ground from which he had risen, and there were the prints of his two thumbs plunged up to the balls in the mellow earth, and the ground around was broken up as if two stags had been fighting on it.
As I resumed my journey, I laughed outright at this adventure, for it reminded me of Andrew Jackson’s attack on the United States bank. He had magnified it into a monster and then began to swear and gouge until he thought he had the monster on his back, and when the fight was over and he got up to look for his enemy, he could find none anywhere.
THE COUNTRY SQUIRE
Translated From The Spanish of Thomas Yriarte
A country squire of greater wealth than wit
(For fools are often blessed with fortune’s smile),
Had built a splendid house and furnished it
In splendid style.
“One thing is wanting,” said a friend; “for though
The rooms are fine, the furniture profuse,
You lack a library, dear sir, for show,
If not for use.”
“’Tis true, but zounds!” replied the squire with glee,
“The lumber-room in yonder northern wing
(I wonder I ne’er thought of it) will be
The very thing.
“I’ll have it fitted up without delay
With shelves and presses of the newest mode,
And rarest wood, befitting every way
A squire’s abode.
“And when the whole is ready, I’ll dispatch
My coachman—a most knowing fellow—down
To buy me, by admeasurement, a batch
Of books in town.”
But ere the library was half supplied
With all its pomps of cabinet and shelf,
The booby squire repented him, and cried
Unto himself:
“This room is much more roomy than I thought;
Ten thousand volumes hardly would suffice
To fill it, and would cost, however bought,
A plaguey price.
“Now, as I only want them for their looks,
It might, on second thoughts, be just as good,
And cost me next to nothing, if the books
Were made of wood.
“It shall be so, I’ll give the shaven deal
A coat of paint—a colorable dress,
To look like calf or vellum and conceal
Its nakedness.
“And, gilt and lettered with the author’s name,
Whatever is most excellent and rare
Shall be, or seem to be (’tis all the same),
Assembled there.”
The work was done, the simulated hoards
Of wit and wisdom round the chamber stood,
In binding some; and some, of course, in boards
Where all were wood.
From bulky folios down to slender twelves
The choicest tomes, in many an even row
Displayed their lettered backs upon the shelves,
A goodly show.
With such a stock as seemingly surpassed
The best collections ever formed in Spain,
What wonder if the owner grew at last
Supremely vain?
What wonder, as he paced from shelf to shelf
And conned their titles, that the squire began,
Despite his ignorance, to think himself
A learned man?
Let every amateur, who merely looks
To backs and binding, take the hint, and sell
His costly library—for painted books
Would serve as well.
Poetry means more to us and we get more enjoyment from reading it when we understand some of the difficulties that the poet has in writing it and can recognize those things which make it poetry in form.
For instance, you will notice in the poem which we have just read that every stanza has four lines; that, in printing, the first and third lines begin close to the margin, while the second and fourth lines begin a little farther in on the page—that is, they are indented. Now if you will look at the ends of the lines you will see that the words with which the first and third lines terminate are in rhyme, and that the words with which the second and fourth lines terminate are in rhyme. In other words, the indentation at beginning of lines in poetry calls attention to the rhymes.
It is true throughout The Country Squire that every pair of lines taken alternately ends in rhymes which are perfect or nearly so. Now a perfect rhyme is one in which the two rhyming syllables are both accented, the vowel sound and the consonants which follow the vowels are identical, and the sounds preceding the vowel are different. For instance, the words smile and style rhyme. Both of these are monosyllables and hence accented. The vowel sound is the long sound of i; the consonant sound of l follows. The sounds preceding the i are similar but not identical, represented by sm in the first case and st in the second. In the fifth stanza the first line ends with the word dispatch, the third with the word batch. This rhyme is perfect, because the accent on the word dispatch is naturally on the second syllable. In the ninth stanza the word dress is made to rhyme with nakedness. This is not strictly perfect, for the natural accent of nakedness is on the first syllable.
It may be interesting for beginners to work out the rhyme scheme of a poem and write it down. This is very easily done. Take the first stanza in The Country Squire. Represent the rhyming syllable of the first line by a, the rhyming syllable of the second line by b. It follows then that the rhyming syllable of the third line must be represented by a, and the rhyming syllable of the fourth line by b. Writing these letters in succession we have the nonsense word abab, which will always stand for stanzas of this kind. If you are interested in this turn to the studies at the end of the next poem, To My Infant Son.
TO MY INFANT SON
By Thomas Hood
Thou happy, happy elf!
(But stop, first let me kiss away that tear,)
Thou tiny image of myself!
(My love, he’s poking peas into his ear,)
Thou merry, laughing sprite,
With spirits, feather light,
Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin;
(My dear, the child is swallowing a pin!)
Thou little tricksy Puck!
With antic toys so funnily bestuck,
Light as the singing bird that rings the air,—
(The door! the door! he’ll tumble down the stair!)
Thou darling of thy sire!
(Why, Jane, he’ll set his pinafore afire!)
Thou imp of mirth and joy!
In love’s dear chain so bright a link,
Thou idol of thy parents;—(Drat the boy!
There goes my ink.)
Thou cherub, but of earth;
Fit playfellow for fairies, by moonlight pale,
In harmless sport and mirth,
(That dog will bite him, if he pulls his tail!)
Thou human humming-bee, extracting honey
From every blossom in the world that blows,
Singing in youth’s Elysium ever sunny,—
(Another tumble! That’s his precious nose!)
Thy father’s pride and hope!
(He’ll break that mirror with that skipping rope!)
With pure heart newly stamped from nature’s mint,
(Where did he learn that squint?)
Thou young domestic dove!
(He’ll have that ring off with another shove,)
Dear nursling of the hymeneal nest!
(Are these torn clothes his best?)
Little epitome of man!
(He’ll climb upon the table, that’s his plan,)
Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life,
(He’s got a knife!)
Thou enviable being!
No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing,
Play on, play on,
My elfin John!
Toss the light ball, bestride the stick,—
(I knew so many cakes would make him sick!)
With fancies buoyant as the thistle-down,
Prompting the face grotesque, and antic brisk,
With many a lamb-like frisk!
(He’s got the scissors snipping at your gown!)
Thou pretty opening rose!
(Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!)
Balmy and breathing music like the south
(He really brings my heart into my mouth!)
Bold as a hawk, yet gentle as the dove;
(I’ll tell you what, my love,
I cannot write unless he’s sent above.)
The stanzas of this poem vary considerably in length, but it will be interesting to examine them according to the plans suggested at the end of the preceding poem, The Country Squire. The first stanza here has eight lines, the first four of them rhyming alternately in pairs, the next four in couplets. If now we apply the plan that is suggested for writing out the rhyme scheme, the word for the first stanza is ababccdd.
The second stanza has ten lines. Its rhyme scheme is evidently quite different, for here the first six lines rhyme in couplets and the last four alternately in pairs. The word to represent such a scheme is aabbccdede.
Can you write out the words which will represent the rhyme scheme in the other stanzas in this poem?
Find the other poems in this book and write out the rhyme scheme for them. Notice that in most poems the stanzas have the same number of lines, and that the rhyme scheme of one stanza is just like that of another. Take the other books in this series and turn to the poems, find what an endless variety of rhymes there is and how the scheme differs in different poems.
PRONUNCIATION OF PROPER NAMES
Note.—The pronunciation of difficult words is indicated by respelling them phonetically. N is used to indicate the French nasal sound; K the sound of ch in German; ü the sound of the German ü, and French u; ö the sound of ö in foreign languages.
- Algidus, al´ ji dus
- Anjou, oN´´ zhoo´
- Athelstane, ath´ el stane
- Bangweolo, bang´´ we o´ lo
- Bechuanaland, beck´´ oo ah´ na land
- Bois-Guilbert, Brian de, bwah geel bayr´, bre oN´ deh
- Cedric, ked´ rick, or sed´ rick
- Chaldea, kal de´ ah
- Chargé D’Affaires, shahr´´ zhay´ daf fayr´
- Chiaja, kyah´ ya
- Falerii, fah le´ ry i
- Front-de-Boeuf, froN deh beuf´
- Gibault, zhee bo´
- Khiva, ke´ vah
- Ligeia, li je´ yah
- Maisonville, may´´ zoN veel´
- Malvoisin, mal vwah saN´
- Mareschal, mahr´ shal
- Massouey, mas su´ y
- Naomi, nay o´ mi
- Ngami, ngah´ me
- Nicaragua, nee´´ kar ah´ gwah
- Oneida, o ni´ dah
- Psalms, sahms
- Raksh, rahksh
- Rowena, ro e´ na
- Rustum, roos´ tum
- Saga, say´ gah
- Seius, se´ yus
- Seistan, says´ tahn
- Sennacherib, sen nak´ e rib
- Sohrab, so´ rahb
- Tarpeian, tahr pe´ yan
- Tongres, toN´ gr´
- Velasquez, vay lahs´ kayth
- Venezuela, ven e zwe´ lah
- Vincennes, vin senz´
- Yriarte, e re ahr´ tay
- Zouche, zooch
The following typographical errors have been corrected.
| Page | Error |
| ix | Babocck changed to Babcock |
| Plate facing p. 30 | Abbottsford changed to Abbotsford |
| 37 | glady changed to gladly |
| 45 | Saxon, Rowena. changed to Saxon, Rowena.” |
| 60 | avow-himself changed to avow himself |
| 76 | occupy. “Ladies,” changed to occupy. Ladies,” |
| 86 | puting changed to putting |
| 106 | burden?” changed to burden? |
| 108 | landingplace changed to landing-place |
| 161 | carelessnesss changed to carelessness |
| 172 | “It is yours changed to ‘It is yours |
| 174 | Aber-baijan changed to Ader-baijan |
| 182 | Gudruz changed to Gudurz |
| 196, fn. 23 | indentification changed to identification |
| 221 | Engand changed to England |
| 264 | its breast!” changed to its breast! |
| 308 | with Chrismas holly changed to with Christmas holly |
| 345 | hear me! changed to “hear me! |
| 352 | footsool changed to footstool |
| 356 | Chrismas Eve the mass changed to Christmas Eve the mass |
| 363, fn. 13 | line means. changed to line means, |
| 363, fn. 15 | ascent to to changed to ascent to |
| 363, fn. 15 | Now. gentlemen changed to Now, gentlemen |
| 368 | woful-wan changed to woeful-wan |
| 432 | well acount for changed to well account for |
| 451 | and patroled during changed to and patrolled during |
| 452 | bady changed to badly |
| 460 | Why, papa changed to “Why, papa |
The following words had inconsistent spelling and hyphenation:
blindman’s-buff / blind-man’s buff
candle-light / candlelight
eye-brows / eyebrows
farm-house / farmhouse
fellow-men / fellowmen
fore-feet / forefeet
Front-de-Boeuf / Front-de-Bœuf
home-made / homemade
house-tops / housetops
look-out / lookout
on-looking / onlooking
plow-man / plowman
sea-weed / seaweed
snuff-box / snuffbox
to-morrow / tomorrow
wild-cat / wildcat