Voices for the Speechless Part 40

It saw the shadows move; it knew The gra.s.s-blades glittered, wet with dew; And gayly o'er the ground it went; It had its fulness of content.

Some dainty morsel then it spied, And for the treasure turned aside; Then, laden with its little spoil, Back to its nest began to toil.

An insect formed of larger frame, Called man, along the pathway came.

A ruthless foot aside he thrust, And ground the beetle in the dust.

Perchance no living being missed The life that there ceased to exist; Perchance the pa.s.sive creature knew No wrong, nor felt the deed undue;

Yet its small share of life was given By the same hand that orders heaven.

'Twas for no other power to say, Or should it go or should it stay.

ANON.

THE CHIPMUNK.

I know an old couple that lived in a wood-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

And up in a tree-top their dwelling it stood-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

The summer it came, and the summer it went-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

And there they lived on, and they never paid rent-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

Their parlor was lined with the softest of wool-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

Their kitchen was warm, and their pantry was full-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

And four little babies peeped out at the sky-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

You never saw darlings so pretty and shy-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

Now winter came on with its frost and its snow-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

They cared not a bit when they heard the wind blow-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

For, wrapped in their furs, they all lay down to sleep-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

But oh, in the spring, how their bright eyes will peep-- Chipperee, chipperee, chip!

UNKNOWN.

MOUNTAIN AND SQUIRREL.

The mountain and the squirrel Had a quarrel; And the former called the latter "Little Prig."

Bun replied, "You are doubtless very big; But all sorts of things and weather Must be taken in together To make up a year And a sphere; And I think it no disgrace To occupy my place.

If I'm not so large as you, You are not so small as I, And not half so spry.

I'll not deny you make A very pretty squirrel track.

Talents differ; all is well and wisely put; If I cannot carry forests on my back, Neither can you crack a nut."

EMERSON.

TO A FIELD-MOUSE.

Wee sleekit, cow'rin', tim'rous beastie, Oh, what a panic's in thy breastie!

Thou need na start awa sae hasty, Wi' bickering brattle!

I wad be laith to rin and chase thee Wi' murd'ring pattle!

I'm truly sorry man's dominion Has broken nature's social union, And justifies that ill opinion Which makes thee startle At me, thy poor earth-born companion And fellow-mortal!

Thou saw the fields lay bare and waste And weary winter comin' fast, And cozie here, beneath the blast, Thou thought to dwell, Till, cras.h.!.+ the cruel coulter past Out thro' thy cell.

But, Mousie, thou art no thy lane[2]

In proving foresight may be bain: The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a-gley, And lea'e us nought but grief and vain, For promised joy.

BURNS.

[2] Not alone.

A SEA-Sh.e.l.l.

See what a lovely sh.e.l.l, Small and pure as a pearl, Lying close to my foot.

Frail, but a work divine, Made so fairily well With delicate spire and whorl.

How exquisitely minute A miracle of design!

The tiny cell is forlorn, Void of the little living will That made it stir on the sh.o.r.e.

Did he stand at the diamond door Of his house in a rainbow frill?

Did he push when he was uncurled, A golden foot or a fairy horn Through his dim water-world?

Slight, to be crushed with a tap Of my finger-nail on the sand; Small, but a work divine: Frail, but of force to withstand, Year upon year, the shock Of cataract seas that snap The three-decker's oaken spine, Athwart the ledges of rock, Here on the Breton strand.

ALFRED TENNYSON.

THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS.

This is the s.h.i.+p of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main,-- The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.

Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl; Wrecked is the s.h.i.+p of pearl!

And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing sh.e.l.l, Before thee lies revealed,-- Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!

Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his l.u.s.trous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stole with soft steps its s.h.i.+ning archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.

Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn!

From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew from wreathed horn!

While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:--

"Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll!

Leave thy low-vaulted past!