Chapter III: Some of Their Friends

THE YOUNG OF SPRING

There are so many, many young!
So many, in thy world, O Spring,
And scarcely yet they find a tongue,
Their wants to cry, their joys to sing.

There are so many, many young young--
Be tender to such tenderness;
And let soft arms be round them flung,
Keep them from blight, from weather stress!

White lambs upon the green-lit sward,
And dappled darlings of the kine--
O Spring, have them in watch and ward
And mother them--for all are thine.

There are so many, many young!
Thine, too, the wild mouse and her brood
Within a last year's bird's-nest swung--
And all shy litters of the wood!

There are so many, many young young--
Guard all--guard closeliest this year's nest;
Oh, guard, for Joy, the songs unsung
Within the thrush's speckled breast!

THE TRIUMPH OF THE BROWN THRUSH

A recent convention of Nature's musicians
(Their entire resolutions the Owlet quotes)
Took "high southern ground," and, from lofty positions,
All muffled in feathers and down, to their throats,
Resolved to expel, without any conditions,
The cuckoo-like fellow who stole their best notes.

With spirit the Song-sparrow opened the session;
"I'm with you," whistled the Oriole, "I
Would like him subjected to public confession"--
"And fined!" the Vireo said with a sigh.
"Pshaw!" hissed the Wren, with ruffled aggression,
"Pluck him, I say, and then bid him fly!"

Answered the Brown Thrush, high in his palace,
"'Tis true I have taken your notes--less or more--
And mingled them well (for I bear you no malice),
Just as the wines some wizard of yore
Would mingle together, then pour from his chalice
Magic new wine never tasted before!"

DAY--WIDE DAY!

Day to the washing seas, and to the patient land,
And to the little nautilus upon the sand.

Day to the toiler gone afield, and to the child,
And to the peetweet's brood amid the marshes wild.

While these awake to toil and those awake to play,
How glad are all that breathe, that night has winged away!

For light and life are friends, and night their ancient foe.
Awake, ye birds, to song, ye buds, begin to blow!

THE BLOSSOMS OF TO-MORROW

The sun was shining, after rain,
The garden gleamed and glistened;
I heard a humblebee complain--
I bent me down and listened.

Around a nodding stalk he flew,
That bore white lilies seven;
And five were opened wide, and two
Slept in their lily heaven.

The foolish bee, the grumbling bee,
That might have found a palace
(As any one beside could see)
Within the honeyed chalice--

The grumbling bee, the foolish bee,
Still hummed one note of sorrow:
"Oh, that to-day would give to me
The blossoms of to-morrow."

From bud to bud, the livelong hour,
I saw him pass and hover,
And pry about each fast-shut flower,
Some entrance to discover.

A discontented mind, no doubt,
A moral here should borrow;
I only say: "Don't fret about
The blossoms of to-morrow!"

THE NEST IN THE HEATHER

(_In Scotland it was an old custom for the young people on Easter morning to hunt for eggs of the wild fowl_)

Oh, fine it is at Easter
To hunt the wild fowl's nest!
A rush o' wings--a feather
From aff a broodin' breast--
A twinkle o' the heather--
An' weel ye ken the rest!

Before we've ta'en a dewbit,
A' in the morning gray,
It's callin' ane anither
In haste to be away--
It's cryin', "Wish me, mither,
The best luck o' the day!"

An' mither's gi'en us kisses,
Wi' little sighs between;
An' if a teardrop's blinkin'
Within her tender een,
It's, maybe, that she's thinkin'
O' Easters that hae been!

Then lads and lassies scatter,
To hunt the eggs sae white;
They thither run, an' hither,
An' shout in their delight!
An' if twa hunt thegither,
They ken it isna right!

No laddie to a lassie
Of hidden nest may tell;
Nor lass of laddie ask it,
But she maun seek hersel'!
Wha brings the fullest basket--
Guid luck wi' him shall dwell!

Oh, fine it is at Easter
To hunt the wild fowl's nest;
An' when the sun is beamin',
It's hame we'll gang in haste;
For now the brose is steamin,'
The chair for us is placed!

But oh! for a' the pleasure,
Ae thing I canna thole--
The puir wild birdie's greetin'--
It's pierced my verra soul!
I hear ilk ane repeatin',
"It was my eggs ye stole!"

LADY-GROVE (SILVER BIRCHES)

This side the deeper wood,
Of somber oak and pine,
A dryad sisterhood
Upon the hill's incline,
In poised expectance stand,
As waiting but the sign,
To dance a saraband!

The oaks and pines, alway,
A darkling mystery hide.
In Lady-Grove, all day,
The cheerful sunbeams glide;
And many a singing brood
In peace and joy abide
With this lov'd sisterhood.

Their raiment fair is wove
Of tender green and white:
Come, Breeze, to Lady-Grove
And put their trance to flight;
For if they once were freed--
My Silver Birches light--
Ah, what a dance they'd lead!

SHADOW BROOK

Shadow Brook creeps round the hill,
Shadow Brook darts past the mill--
Coming from the wood, in haste
Seeks again its native waste!
Meanwhile, every friend it meets

For protection it entreats;
Saying: "Willows, close around,
That my path may not be found!
Grass and sedges interlace,
Throw a veil across my face!
Clematis and gold-thread weave
Meshes that can best deceive!

Celandine and gentian rise,
And my ripples help disguise!
Pebbles, do not tempt to play
Lest my laughter should betray!
Silent as my minnows are,
I would glide afar, afar:
Help me, friends, to reach the wood,
And its happy solitude,
Where I have my chosen bed
Of the brown leaves underspread."

Thus, in ways it knoweth best,
Shadow Brook runs on its quest,
Shadow Brook--a hermit stream--
Finding life a pleasant dream.

THE BROOK AND THE BIRD

I listened to a summer brook
That rippled past my shady seat;
Now far, now near, now vague, now clear,
The music of its liquid feet.

Few tones the slender rillet has has--
That few how sweet, how soothing sweet!
A live delight, by day, by night,
The music of its liquid feet!

While there I mused, a songbird lit
And swung above my shady seat:
He heard the brook, and straightway took
The music of its liquid feet!

A bird's bright glance on me he bent,--
A bird's glance, fearless yet discreet;
As who might say, "This roundelay
Of liquid joy I can repeat!"

The mimic carol done, once more
He needs must try its measures sweet;--
Again, again, that rippling strain
My songbird did repeat, repeat!

Since then I've learned that human breasts
To few and simple measures beat;
O blessed bird, my heart-warm word
I, too, repeat, repeat, repeat!

THE BIRDS OF SOLEURE

Thrifty the folk in the town of Soleure,
And they steadily ply their fathers' trade;
Proud are they, too, that, year after year,
The watches and clocks of the world they have made.

Click go the seconds, kling go the hours,
In the town of Soleure the time is well kept!
Ever, new steel they cut and trim,
While into the street the filings are swept.

Only waste metal, unfit for use;
But it catches the sunshine and glitters still--
And what are those thrushes doing there,
Each with a scrap of steel in its bill?

The watchmaker's boy has paused with his broom,
And he follows the birds with a boy's keen eye;
Their secret he learns, and whither they go,
In the leafy tent of yon linden high!

Their secret he guards the springtime through,
And he smiles when he hears the young ones call;
"Never had birdlings a cradle like theirs--
Surely to them can no harm befall!"

When the leaves are flying and birds are flown,
'Tis out on the linden bough he swings--
The fearless lad that he is--and thence,
A wonderful nest of steel he brings!

It yet may be seen in the town of Soleure,
To show how the skill of the birds began
At the point where human skill fell short;
For they used what was waste in the hands of man.

THE PRAIRIE NEST

Where, think you, a little gray finch in the far wide West
Chose (of all places!) to build and to brood her nest?

Well, I will tell you the tale that the hunter told:
(Strange things has he seen--this hunter grizzled and old.)

He spoke of the cattle that came to no herder's call,
Roaming the fenceless prairie from springtime to fall.

A shot from his rifle laid low the king of the herd--
When, hark! the sharp cry of a circling and hovering bird!

What did it mean? The hunter drew in his rein,
And leaped to the ground, where dead lay the lord of the plain!

Stilled was the beating heart, and glazed were the eyes;
The fluttering bird circled higher, and sharper her cries;

While, finer and fainter, yet many, and all as keen,
Came cries from below, as in answer. What could it mean?

The hunter bent down; and his heart with wonder was stirred,
When he saw, between the wide horns, the nest of a bird,

Like a crown which the prairie's monarch might choose to wear
On his shaggy forelock, and lined with the friendly hair!

The hunter stood still, abashed in the midst of the plain,
To hear the little gray mother's cry of pain,

And the faint fine voices of nestlings answer the cry;
While their fearless friend lay dead between earth and sky!

THE MOVING OF THE NEST

Do not ask me _why?_ or _how?_--
All in Fairyland it chanced,
As the leaves upon the bough
In the autumn breezes danced!

"Quip-a-quip-a-quip-a-queer!"
Said the Thrush unto his mate.
"We must soon be gone from here;
No one else would stay so late!"

Do not ask me _why?_ or _how?_--
But his mate did sorely grieve:
"My dear nest upon this bough
It will break my heart to leave!"

Do not ask me _how?_ or _why?_--
But the thrush's children, too,
Perched around, began to cry,
"Oh, whatever shall we do?"

"Cheep-a-cheep-a-cheep-a-cheer!
Never such a nest as ours;
We would rather have it, _here_,
Than Bermuda and the flowers!"

"Cheep-a-cheep-a-cheep-a-cheer,"
Pleaded then the thrush's mate:
"Let us take the nest, my dear,
It is light and we are eight!"

(Do not ask me _why?_ or _how?_--)
But the thrushes, with a cheer,
Took that nest from off the bough--
"Quip-a-quip-a-quip-a-queer!

"Quip-a-quip-a-quip-a-queer!
Firmly, now, with beak and claw;
Spread your wings, and never fear,--
_You_ to push, and _you_ to draw!"

So the thrushes took their nest,
Every one his strength applied;
But the youngest 'twas thought best
Should be snugly tucked inside.

All in Fairyland it chanced!
There is nothing more to say;
Ere the morn was far advanced,
They were miles and miles away!

THE WIDOWED EAGLE

Out from the aërie beloved we flew,
Now through the white, and now through the blue;
Glided beneath us hilltop and glen,
River and meadow and dwellings of men!

We flew, we flew through the regions of light
And the wind's wild pæan followed our flight!
Free of the world, we flew, we flew--
Bound to each other alone,--we two!

To the shivering migrant we called "Adieu!"
Mid the frost-sweet weather, we flew, we flew!
Till, hark from below! the hiss of lead,
And one of us dropped, as a plume is shed!

Around and around I flew, I flew,
Wheeling my flight, ever closer I drew!
There, on the earth, my belovèd lay,
With a crimson stain on her breast-plumes gray!

And creatures of earth we had scorned before,
Now measured the wings that would lift no more:
And I stooped, as an arrow is shot from the height,
And sought to bear her away in my flight flight--

Away to our aërie far to seek!
Well did I fight with talons and beak;
But the craven foe, in their numbers and might,
Bore her in triumph out of my sight!

THE CHICKADEE

Black-cap, madcap,
Never tired of play,
What's the news to-day?
"Faint-heart, faint-heart,
Winter's coming up this way,
And the winter comes to stay!"

Black-cap, madcap,
Whither will you go,
Now the storm-winds blow?
"Faint-heart, faint-heart,
In the pine boughs, thick and low,
We are sheltered from the snow!"

Black-cap, madcap,
In the snow and sleet,
What have you to eat?
"Faint-heart, faint-heart,
Seeds and berries are a treat,
When the frost has made them sweet!"

Black-cap, madcap,
Other birds have flown
To a summer zone!
"Faint-heart, faint-heart,
When they're gone, we black-caps own
Our white playground all alone!"

THE EARTH-MOTHER AND HER CHILDREN

Her children all were gathered round her,
One olden, golden day;
Between her tender, drooping eyelids
She watched them feed or play.

Upon the lion's living velvet
She pillowed her fair head;
A white fawn pushed its dewy muzzle
Beneath the hand that fed.

A goldfinch clung upon a ringlet
That brushed her wide, smooth brow;
And, thence, right merrily he answered
His comrades on the bough.

But at her feet there lay a sleeper,
Of subtly-fashioned limb;
Whose motion, force and will to be,
Kept yet their prison dim.

And round about his couch of slumber
The rest a space did make:
"Your peace" (the Mother told her children)
"Is broken, if he wake!

"Lo! this--the best of all created--
Shall yet an evil bring:
And ye in doubt shall graze the pasture,
And ye in fear shall sing.

"For your dear sake, my lesser children,
I keep him long asleep;
Play on, sing on, a happy season--
His dreams be passing deep!"

Thus, while her children gathered round her,
And while Man sleeping lay,
The fair Earth-Mother softly murmured,
"It is your Golden Day!"

"WHEN THE LEAVES ARE GONE"

When the leaves are gone, the birds are gone,
And 'tis very silent at the dawn.
Snowbird, nuthatch, chickadee,--
Come and cheer the lonely tree!

When the leaves are gone, the flowers are gone,
Fast asleep beneath the ground withdrawn.
Flowers of snow, so soft and fine--
Clothe the shivering branch and vine!

THE FIRST THANKSGIVING

(1621)

I would like to lift the curtain
Hides the past from mortal view,
For a glimpse of one Thanksgiving
When New England still was new.

I would like to see that feast day
Bradford for his people made,
Ere the onset of the winter,
That their hearts might be upstayed.

First he sent a score of yeomen,
Skilled in woodcraft, sure of aim;
All one day they spent in hunting,
That there might be store of game.

Fathers, brothers (aye, and lovers!),
Home they bring the glossy deer;
Some but praise their hunter's prowess,
Some, soft-hearted, drop a tear.

I would like to see those housewives,
Busy matrons, maidens too,
Watching by the ripening oven,
Bending o'er the home-made brew.

I would like to see the feasting
Where the snowy cloth is spread;
Here shall no one be forgotten,
Here shall all be warmed and fed.

Welcome, too, ye friendly shadows
At the white man's feast and sport,
Tufted warriors, grave onlooking,
Massasoit and his court.

"MASCOTS"

Home they come from Cuba Libre;
And they march with hastening feet
Underneath the floating banners,
Up the thronged and ringing street.

When you cheer your sunburnt heroes,
Don't forget their pensioners small,
Led along, or perched on shoulder,
Four-foot, furry "mascots" all!

Comrades of the march and bivouac,
Sharers of the cup and can,
All unconscious of their portion
In the drama played by man.

Did they bring, perchance, good fortune
(As they brought their owners joy)?
Ask the youth who owns the "mascot"--
For a soldier's but a boy!

MOTHER FUR

I wonder what charm there can be in fur?
The kitten curls up and begins to purr,
The puppy tumbles about in the rug
In his silly way and gives it a hug,
And mousekin, that even a shadow can scare,
For a moment lies still in the long, soft hair
Then slips away to its home in the wall.
Can it be--poor darlings! that each and all
Believe 'tis their mother, and hasten to her?

All babies, I think, love old Mother Fur;
For my little brother--too little to speak--
See how he nestles his peach-blossom cheek
In the velvet coat that the tiger wore,
As it lies stretched out at length on the floor!
Tiger, if you were alive--dear me!
I shudder to think how cruel you'd be.
No doubt in your day you did harm enough,
But now you're safe as my tippet or muff!
You, too, I will call (since you never can stir)
Old Mother Fur, kind Mother Fur!

WHAT THE CAT-MOTHER SAID

We live in a cave the wild-rose bushes hide,
For my kittens and I were turned out of the house.
There are plenty of birds here, on every side--
And a bird I must catch, for I can't find a mouse!

WHAT THE BIRD-MOTHER SAID

Keep still in the nest, O my birdlings dear,
While I search for a worm! Do not chirrup one word!
There's a cruel tigress crouching so near--
For her hungry cubs she is seeking a bird!

WHAT THE FRIEND OF BOTH SAID

The friend of both to pity was stirred,
And a wish divided, her heart possessed:
"May you hungry kittens lack never a bird"--
"May you birdlings dear be safe in your nest!"

THE LITTLE BROWN BAT

Quoth the little brown bat: "I rise with the owl,--
Wisest and best of the feathered fowl;
Let other folks rise, if they will, with the lark,
And be early and bright--I am early and dark!"

Quoth the little brown bat: "I'm awake and up,
When the night-moth sips from the lily's white cup;
While the firefly lanterns are searching the sky,
I am glancing about, with fiery eye!"

Quoth the little brown bat: "The night has its noon
As well as its day--and I'm friends with the moon.
Many a secret she tells me alone,
Which never a bird or a bee has known!"

Quoth the little brown bat: "There is house-room for me,
When the winter comes, in some hollow tree;
Or under barn eaves, near the fragrant hay,
I sleep the dull winter hours away."

THE LOST CHARTER

(_Based on an Arabic Legend_)

PERSONS

Bounce, a wire-haired Terrier;
Tip, a tortoise-shell Cat;
An old and faithful Servant of both.

Prologue by Old Servant, as follows:
We three before the fire, one night,
Had but its flickering blaze for light--
My dog, my cat, on either side;
I mused, while they grew sleepy-eyed.
But, if they waked, or if they slept,
Still each some watch on other kept.
Now what is this, good Bounce, good Tip,
That mars your perfect fellowship?
Speak up! Speak up! you, Tip,--you, Bounce,
Your mutual grievances announce.

At this my dog awoke from doze,
Drew near, and thrust a foolish nose
Beneath my hand; then, deeply sighed.
Her gold-stone eyes Tip opened wide,
The middle of the hearth she took,
And cast on Bounce a scornful look;
And then, this colloquy began,
Which I record as best I can.

THE DIALOGUE

TIP:
Dear Mistress, plainly I must speak;
For _he_, who should be dumb and meek,
The simple truth would never say
And his own foolish act betray betray--

BOUNCE (_interrupting pleadingly_):
Oh, do not heed her, Mistress dear;
Think how I love you, guard you, cheer!

TIP (_proceeds with withering disregard_):
When all we creatures were assigned
Our places with your human kind,
('Twas long ago) while some became
Your slaves--as spiritless as tame,
We two, as friends, beneath your roof
Were lodged, because we each gave proof proof--

BOUNCE (_licking Old Servant's hand_):
Yes, yes--I of my faithfulness--
Man calls on me in all distress!

TIP (_severely_):
You blundering, careless beast, be still!
My cleanliness, my grace, my skill,
Did, quite as much myself commend!
That we should live, not slave, but friend
To Master Man was then agreed:
But since of caution there is need,
We asked a written document;
To which our Master did consent.
Puffed up with confidence and pride,
_He_ took the document to hide.

[_Extends her paw towards Bounce, who winces
and buries his nose deeper under old Servant's
hand_

He hid it in his old bone-cave;
And then, no further thought he gave
The precious charter of our rights--
Engaged in noisy bouts and fights!

Bounce (_excitedly_):
There was foul play, O Mistress mine--
The other creatures did combine!

TIP:
Hush! 'twas your carelessness, in chief,
That gave the chance to knave and thief!
The jealous Ox and Horse conspired,
And then, the villain Rat they hired
To delve in darkness underground
Till he the precious charter found,
And brought the Horse and Ox, who thought
Their liberty could thus be bought,--
The tiresome creatures! To this day
They drudge and drudge, the same old way!
The Ox, the Ass, the Horse--these all
Divided with the Rat their stall,
And from their mangers grain they gave--
Such price they paid the thievish knave!
What loss was ours, we scarce can know--
The charter we could never show!
I might have had a dais spread
With crimson velvet, and been fed
On golden finches every day;
But, as for _him_ (_indicating Bounce_), he's naught to say
(He lost the charter of our rights)--
When flogged, or chained on moonlight nights!
Upon one subject, only, we
Can always heartily agree,

[_gracefully waving her paw_,

You, careless Dogs, we, careful Cats--
Our common enemy--

BOUNCE:
Yes, Rats!

[_Joyously embracing opportunity to reinstate
himself_

Old Servant (_starting up suddenly_):
Ah, who said "Rats!" just now--and where?
And why cannot you two play fair?

[_At this, Tip is seen to be occupying her own
corner of the hearth, and Bounce to be sound asleep,
his nose deeply buried between his forepaws. Old
Servant rubs her eyes, then smiles thoughtfully,
and settles back in easy-chair_

THE SAVING OF JACK

_An East Side Incident_

"Whose dog is Jack?" He belongs to this street.
Needs anti-fat--has too much to eat.
"Houseless and homeless?"--Well I guess not;
In the whole of this block there isn't a tot
But has had Jack home to board and to sleep,
And he pays 'em in fun, every cent of his keep.
He's the best-natured dog, and the smartest, too;
No end of the tricks we've taught him to do.
Got a heap of sense in his yellow hide!
He's the wonderf'lest dog on the whole East Side;
Why, even the dog-man doesn't know
What breed Jack is,--for he told me so!
The dog-catchers came a'most every day,
But Jack knew their cart, and he'd hide away;
Then out he'd come, laughing, when they'd got past.
Can't _guess_ how he ever was cotched at last;
But he was, and they boosted him into their cart,
And nobody there could take his part.
My! but the little kids cried like mad,
And us bigger ones, too,--we felt just as bad;
For he'd rode us all on his old yellow back.
It looked as though it was all up with Jack,
And I watched him go; but he cocked one eye
As much as to say, "I'll be back by and by."
The look that he gave me--it made me _think_;
And I thought of a plan as quick as wink
And I says, "Feller-citizens, ladies and gents,
I guess that we've each of us got a few cents,
And we'll club together and have a show,
And charge a price, not high nor low;
And we'll raise the money, right here and now,
That'll buy Jack back by to-morrow--that's how!
Tony, the Eyetalian boy, he'll sing;
And Patsy McGovern'll do his handspring;
And Ikey Aarons'll swallow his knife,
And make us all think he's taking his life,
And little Freda, she'll pass round the hat,
She'll smile and say nothing--she's just good for that!"
Well, we emptied our pockets--you bet we did!--
Every one of us big 'uns and each little kid
Ran home for their banks as fast as they could;
And we raised the money, and all felt good;
And next day, early, we brought Jack back.
So, now, things run in the same old track,
But he's got his license and _don't have to hide_!
And we've bought him a _byootiful collar beside_.

SKYE OF SKYE

Skye, of Skye, when the night was late,
And the burly porter drowsy grew,
Ran down to the silent pier, to wait
Till the boat came in with its hardy crew.

Skye, of Skye, as he sat on the pier,
Turned seaward ever a watchful eye,
And his shaggy ears were pricked to hear
The plash of oars, as the boat drew nigh.

Skye, of Skye, when they leaped ashore,
Greeted the crew with a joyful cry--
Kissed their hands, and trotted before
To the inn that stood on the hilltop high.

Within, was the porter sound asleep--
They could almost hear his lusty snore:
Then Skye, of Skye, with an antic leap,
Would pull on the bellrope that swung by the door.

Then was the bolt drawn quickly back back--
Then did the jolly crew stream in;
And--"Landlaird, bring us your best auld sack!"
And--"Aweel, aweel, where hae ye been?"

Then Skye, of Skye, on the beach-white floor,
Sanded that day by the housemaid neat,
Lay down to rest him--his vigils o'er,
With his honest nose between his feet.

But Skye, of Skye as he rolled his eye
On the friendly crowd, heard his master say,
"Na, na, that doggie ye couldna buy--
Not though his weight in gold ye would pay!"

Skye, of Skye, they have made him a bed
On the wind-swept cliff, by the ocean's swell;
On the stone they have reared above his head,
You may see a little dog ringing a bell.

TIP'S KITTEN

The master,--he loved my kitten, my kitten;
She was still too weak to stand,
When he placed her upon one hand,
And over it laid the other,
And looked at me kindly, and said,
"Tip, you're a proud little mother!"

For they'd left me but one, my kitten, my kitten--
As sweet as a kitten could be--
And I loved her for all the three
They had taken away without warning.
I watched her from daylight till dark,
Watched her from night until morning!

I never left my kitten, my kitten
(For I feared--and I loved her so!)
Till I thought it time she should know
That cats in the house have a duty,
And a right to be proud of their skill,
As well as their grace and their beauty.

I only left my kitten, my kitten,
A few short moments in all,
To punish the mouse in the wall,
Each day growing bolder and bolder;
And I brought her the mouse to show
What kittens must do when older.

I brought her the mouse--my kitten, my kitten!
I tossed it, I caught it for her;
But she would not see, nor stir.
My heart it beat fast and faster;
And I caught her up in my mouth,
And carried her so, to the master.

I thought he would help--my kitten, my kitten!
And I laid her down at his feet--
(Never a kitten so sweet,
And he knew that I had no other!)
But he only said, "Poor Tip,
'Tis a sad day for you, little mother!"

THE KING OF CATS