Poems Teachers Ask For Volume I Part 51

There wrought the busy harvesters; and many a creaking wain Bore slowly to the long barn-floor its load of husk and grain; Till broad and red, as when he rose, the sun sank down, at last, And like a merry guest's farewell, the day in brightness pa.s.sed.

And lo! as through the western pines on meadow, stream, and pond, Flamed the red radiance of a sky, set all afire beyond, Slowly o'er the eastern sea-bluffs a milder glory shone, And the sunset and the moonrise were mingled into one!

As thus into the quiet night the twilight lapsed away, And deeper in the brightening moon the tranquil shadows lay; From many a brown old farm-house, and hamlet without name, Their milking and their home-tasks done, the merry huskers came.

Swung o'er the heaped-up harvest, from pitchforks in the mow, Shone dimly down the lanterns on the pleasant scene below; The growing pile of husks behind, the golden ears before, And laughing eyes and busy hands and brown cheeks glimmering o'er.

Half hidden in a quiet nook, serene of look and heart, Talking their old times over, the old men sat apart; While, up and down the unhusked pile, or nestling in its shade, At hide-and-seek, with laugh and shout, the happy children played.

Urged by the good host's daughter, a maiden young and fair, Lifting to light her sweet blue eyes and pride of soft brown hair, The master of the village school, sleek of hair and smooth of tongue, To the quaint tune of some old psalm, a husking-ballad sung.

_John G. Whittier._

Darius Green and His Flying Machine

If ever there lived a Yankee lad, Wise or otherwise, good or bad, Who, seeing the birds fly, didn't jump With flapping arms from stake or stump, Or, spreading the tail Of his coat for a sail, Take a soaring leap from post or rail, And wonder why He couldn't fly, And flap and flutter and wish and try-- If ever you knew a country dunce Who didn't try that as often as once, All I can say is, that's a sign He never would do for a hero of mine.

An aspiring genius was D. Green: The son of a farmer,--age fourteen; His body was long and lank and lean,-- Just right for flying, as will be seen; He had two eyes, each bright as a bean, And a freckled nose that grew between, A little awry,--for I must mention That he had riveted his attention Upon his wonderful invention, Twisting his tongue as he twisted the strings, Working his face as he worked the wings, And with every turn of gimlet and screw Turning and s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g his mouth round, too, Till his nose seemed bent To catch the scent, Around some corner, of new-baked pies, And his wrinkled cheeks and his squinting eyes Grew puckered into a queer grimace, That made him look very droll in the face, And also very wise.

And wise he must have been, to do more Than ever a genius did before, Excepting Daedalus of yore And his son Icarus, who wore Upon their backs Those wings of wax He had read of in the old almanacs.

Darius was clearly of the opinion That the air is also man's dominion, And that, with paddle or fin or pinion, We soon or late Shall navigate The azure as now we sail the sea.

The thing looks simple enough to me; And if you doubt it, Hear how Darius reasoned about it.

"Birds can fly, An' why can't I?

Must we give in,"

Says he with a grin, "'T the bluebird an' phoebe Are smarter'n we be?

Jest fold our hands an' see the swaller, An' blackbird an' catbird beat us holler?

Does the leetle, chatterin', sa.s.sy wren, No bigger'n my thumb, know more than men?

Jest show me that!

Er prove 't the bat Has got more brains than's in my hat, An' I'll back down, an' not till then!"

He argued further: "Ner I can't see What's ta' use o' wings to a b.u.mblebee, Fer to git a livin' with, more'n to me;-- Ain't my business Important's his'n is?

That Icarus Was a silly cuss,-- Him an' his daddy Daedalus.

They might 'a' knowed wings made o' wax Wouldn't stan' sun-heat an' hard whacks.

I'll make mine o' luther, Er suthin' er other."

And he said to himself, as he tinkered and planned: "But I ain't goin' to show my hand To mummies that never can understand The fust idee that's big an' grand.

They'd 'a' laft an' made fun O' Creation itself afore't was done!"

So he kept his secret from all the rest Safely b.u.t.toned within his vest; And in the loft above the shed Himself he locks, with thimble and thread And wax and hammer and buckles and screws, And all such things as geniuses use;-- Two bats for patterns, curious fellows!

A charcoal-pot and a pair of bellows; An old hoop-skirt or two, as well as Some wire and several old umbrellas; A carriage-cover, for tail and wings; A piece of harness; and straps and strings; And a big strong boxs In which he locks These and a hundred other things.

His grinning brothers, Reuben and Burke And Nathan and Jotham and Solomon, lurk Around the corner to see him work,-- Sitting cross-legged, like a Turk, Drawing the waxed end through with a jerk, And boring the holes with a comical quirk Of his wise old head, and a knowing smirk.

But vainly they mounted each other's backs, And poked through knot-holes and pried through cracks; With wood from the pile and straw from the stacks He plugged the knot-holes and calked the cracks; And a bucket of water, which one would think He had brought up into the loft to drink When he chanced to be dry, Stood always nigh, For Darius was sly!

And whenever at work he happened to spy At c.h.i.n.k or crevice a blinking eye, He let a dipper of water fly.

"Take that! an' ef ever ye get a peep, Guess ye'll ketch a weasel asleep!"

And he sings as he locks His big strong box:--

"The weasel's head is small an' trim, An' he is leetle an' long an' slim, An' quick of motion an' nimble of limb, An' ef yeou'll be Advised by me Keep wide awake when ye're ketchin' him!"

So day after day He st.i.tched and tinkered and hammered away, Till at last 'twas done,-- The greatest invention under the sun!

"An' now," says Darius, "hooray fer some fun!"

'Twas the Fourth of July, And the weather was dry, And not a cloud was on all the sky, Save a few light fleeces, which here and there, Half mist, half air, Like foam on the ocean went floating by: Just as lovely a morning as ever was seen For a nice little trip in a flying-machine.

Thought cunning Darius: "Now I sha'n't go Along 'ith the fellers to see the show.

I'll say I've got sich a terrible cough!

An' then, when the folks 'ave all gone off I'll hev full swing For to try the thing, An' practyse a leetle on the wing."

"Ain't goin' to see the celebration?"

Says Brother Nate. "No; botheration!

I've got sich a cold--a toothache--I-- My gracious!--feel's though I should fly!"

Said Jotham, "Sho!

Guess ye better go."

But Darius said, "No!

Shouldn't wonder 'f yeou might see me, though, 'Long 'bout noon, ef I git red O' this jumpin', thumpin' pain 'n my head."

For all the while to himself he said:-- "I'll tell ye what!

I'll fly a few times around the lot, To see how 't seems, then soon's I've got The hang o' the thing, ez likely's not, I'll astonish the nation, And all creation, By flyin' over the celebration!

Over their heads I'll sail like an eagle; I'll balance myself on my wings like a sea-gull; I'll dance on the chimbleys; I'll stan' on the steeple; I'll flop up to winders an' scare the people!

I'll light on the libbe'ty-pole, an' crow; An' I'll say to the gawpin' fools below, 'What world's this 'ere That I've come near?'

Fer I'll make 'em believe I'm a chap f'm the moon!

An' I'll try a race 'ith their ol' bulloon."

He crept from his bed; And, seeing the others were gone, he said, I'm a-gittin' over the cold 'n my head."

And away he sped, To open the wonderful box in the shed.

His brothers had walked but a little way When Jotham to Nathan chanced to say, "What on airth is he up to, hey?"

"Don'o,--the' 's suthin' er other to pay, Er he wouldn't 'a' stayed to hum to-day."

Says Burke, "His toothache's all 'n his eye!

_He_ never'd miss a Fo'th-o'-July, Ef he hedn't some machine to try.

Le's hurry back and hide in the barn, An' pay him fer tellin' us that yarn!"

"Agreed!" Through the orchard they creep back, Along by the fences, behind the stack, And one by one, through a hole in the wall, In under the dusty barn they crawl, Dressed in their Sunday garments all; And a very astonis.h.i.+ng sight was that, When each in his cobwebbed coat and hat Came up through the floor like an ancient rat.

And there they hid; And Reuben slid The fastenings back, and the door undid.

"Keep dark!" said he, "While I squint an' see what the' is to see."

As knights of old put on their mail,-- From head to foot An iron suit, Iron jacket and iron boot, Iron breeches, and on the head No hat, but an iron pot instead, And under the chin the bail,-- I believe they called the thing a helm; And the lid they carried they called a s.h.i.+eld; And, thus accoutred, they took the field, Sallying forth to overwhelm The dragons and pagans that plagued the realm:-- So this modern knight Prepared for flight, Put on his wings and strapped them tight; Jointed and jaunty, strong and light; Buckled them fast to shoulder and hip,-- Ten feet they measured from tip to tip!

And a helm had he, but that he wore, Not on his head like those of yore, But more like the helm of a s.h.i.+p.

"Hus.h.!.+" Reuben said, "He's up in the shed!

He's opened the winder,--I see his head!

He stretches it out, An' pokes it about, Lookin' to see 'f the coast is clear, An' n.o.body near;-- Guess he don'o' who's hid in here!

He's riggin' a spring-board over the sill!

Stop laffin', Solomon! Burke, keep still!

He's a climbin' out now--of all the things!

What's he got on? I van, it's wings!

An' that t'other thing? I vum, it's a tail!

An' there he sets like a hawk on a rail!