Poems Teachers Ask For Volume I Part 5

"How many are you, then," said I, "If they two are in heaven?"

Quick was the little Maid's reply, "O Master! we are seven."

"But they are dead; those two are dead!

Their spirits are in heaven!"

'T was throwing words away; for still The little Maid would have her will, And said, "Nay, we are seven!"

_William Wordsworth._

Echo

"I asked of Echo, t'other day (Whose words are often few and funny), What to a novice she could say Of courts.h.i.+p, love and matrimony.

Quoth Echo plainly,--'Matter-o'-money!'

"Whom should I marry? Should it be A das.h.i.+ng damsel, gay and pert, A pattern of inconstancy; Or selfish, mercenary flirt?

Quoth Echo, sharply,--'Nary flirt!'

"What if, aweary of the strife That long has lured the dear deceiver, She promise to amend her life, And sin no more; can I believe her?

Quoth Echo, very promptly,--'Leave her!'

"But if some maiden with a heart On me should venture to bestow it, Pray should I act the wiser part To take the treasure or forego it?

Quoth Echo, with decision,--'Go it!'

"But what if, seemingly afraid To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter, She vow she means to die a maid, In answer to my loving letter?

Quoth Echo, rather coolly,-'Let her!'

"What if, in spite of her disdain, I find my heart entwined about With Cupid's dear, delicious chain So closely that I can't get out?

Quoth Echo, laughingly,--'Get out!'

"But if some maid with beauty blest, As pure and fair as Heaven can make her, Will share my labor and my rest Till envious Death shall overtake her?

Quoth Echo (sotto voce),--'Take her!'"

_John G. Saxe._

Engineers Making Love

It's noon when Thirty-five is due, An' she comes on time like a flash of light, An' you hear her whistle "Too-tee-too!"

Long 'fore the pilot swings in sight.

Bill Madden's drivin' her in to-day, An' he's calling his sweetheart far away-- Gertrude Hurd lives down by the mill; You might see her blus.h.i.+n'; she knows it's Bill.

"Tudie, tudie! Toot-ee! Tudie, tudie! Tu!"

Six-five, A.M. there's a local comes, Makes up at Bristol, runnin' east; An' the way her whistle sings and hums Is a livin' caution to man and beast.

Every one knows who Jack White calls,-- Little Lou Woodbury, down by the falls; Summer or Winter, always the same, She hears her lover callin' her name-- "Lou-ie! Lou-ie! Lou-iee!"

But at one fifty-one, old Sixty-four-- Boston express, runs east, clear through-- Drowns her rattle and rumble and roar With the softest whistle that ever blew.

An' away on the furthest edge of town Sweet Sue Winthrop's eyes of brown s.h.i.+ne like the starlight, bright and clear, When she hears the whistle of Abel Gear, "You-oo! Su-u-u-u-u-e!"

Along at midnight a freight comes in, Leaves Berlin sometime--I don't know when; But it rumbles along with a fearful din Till it reaches the Y-switch there and then The clearest notes of the softest bell That out of a brazen goblet fell Wake Nellie Minton out of her dreams; To her like a wedding-bell it seems-- "Nell, Nell, Nell! Nell, Nell, Nell!"

Tom Willson rides on the right-hand side, Givin' her steam at every stride; An' he touches the whistle, low an' clear, For Lulu Gray on the hill, to hear-- "Lu-Lu! Loo-Loo! Loo-oo!"

So it goes all day an' all night Till the old folks have voted the thing a bore; Old maids and bachelors say it ain't right For folks to do courtin' with such a roar.

But the engineers their kisses will blow From a whistle valve to the girls they know, An' stokers the name of their sweethearts tell; With the "Too-too-too" and the swinging bell.

_R.J. Burdette._

Guilty or Not Guilty

She stood at the bar of justice, A creature wan and wild, In form too small for a woman, In features too old for a child; For a look so worn and pathetic Was stamped on her pale young face, It seemed long years of suffering Must have left that silent trace.

"Your name?" said the judge, as he eyed her With kindly look yet keen,-- "Is Mary McGuire, if you please, sir."

And your age?"--"I am turned fifteen."

"Well, Mary," and then from a paper He slowly and gravely read, "You are charged here--I'm sorry to say it-- With stealing three loaves of bread.

"You look not like an offender, And I hope that you can show The charge to be false. Now, tell me, Are you guilty of this, or no?"

A pa.s.sionate burst of weeping Was at first her sole reply.

But she dried her eyes in a moment, And looked in the judge's eye.

"I will tell you just how it was, sir: My father and mother are dead, And my little brothers and sisters Were hungry and asked me for bread.

At first I earned it for them By working hard all day, But somehow, times were bad, sir, And the work all fell away.

"I could get no more employment.

The weather was bitter cold, The young ones cried and s.h.i.+vered-- (Little Johnny's but four years old)-- So what was I to do, sir?

I am guilty, but do not condemn.

I _took_--oh, was it _stealing?_-- The bread to give to them."

Every man in the court-room-- Gray-beard and thoughtless youth-- Knew, as he looked upon her, That the prisoner spake the truth; Out from their pockets came kerchiefs, Out from their eyes sprung tears, And out from their old faded wallets Treasures h.o.a.rded for years.

The judge's face was a study, The strangest you ever saw, As he cleared his throat and murmured _Something_ about the _law_; For one so learned in such matters, So wise in dealing with men, He seemed, on a simple question, Sorely puzzled, just then.

But no one blamed him or wondered, When at last these words he heard, "The sentence of this young prisoner Is, for the present, deferred."

And no one blamed him or wondered When he went to her and smiled And tenderly led from the court-room, Himself, the "guilty" child.