To cause but aversion in those, Who saw how she prinked, And the bystanders winked.

While the boys cried, "Halloo! there she goes!"

It chanced, that, in pa.s.sing on way, She came near a pool, and a green With fence close and high; And, as Vivy drew nigh, A donkey stood near it unseen.

He put his mouth over its top, The moment she came by his place; And gave a loud bray In her ear, when, away She sprang, shrieked, and fell on her face.

She thought she was swallowed alive, Awhile upon earth lying flat; And the terrible sound Seemed to furrow the ground She embraced in her fine gown and hat.

She gathered herself up, and ran, Yet heeded not whither or whence, To flee from the roar, That continued to pour Behind her, from over the fence.

In pa.s.sing a slope near the pool, She slipped and rolled down to its brim; The geese gave a shout, And at length hissed her out Of the bounds, where they'd gathered to swim.

In turning a corner, she met Abruptly, the horns of a cow That mooed, while the cur, At her heels, turned from her, And aimed at Miss Vain his "bow-wow."

Then Vivy's bright ribbons and skirt, As she flew, flirted high on the wind; The children at play, Paused to see one so gay, And all in a flutter behind.

A group of glad schoolboys came by: Said they, "So it seems, that to-day, Miss Vain carries marks At which the dog barks, And that make sober Long-Ears to bray."

And when, all bedraggled and pale, Poor Vivy approached her own door, She went, swift and straight As a dart, through the gate, Abhorring the gay gear she wore.

She sat down, and thought of the scene With humiliation and tears: The words, and the noise Of the brutes and the boys Were echoing still in her ears.

She reasoned, and came at the cause, Resolving that cause to remove; And thence, her desire Was for modest attire, And her heart and her mind to improve.

And soon, all who knew her before Remarked on the change and the gain In mind, and in mien, And in dress, that were seen In the once flashy Miss Vivy Vain.

=The Lost Kite=

"My kite! my kite! I've lost my kite!

Oh! when I saw the steady flight, With which she gained her lofty height, How could I know, that letting go That naughty string, would bring so low My pretty, buoyant, darling kite, To pa.s.s for ever out of sight?

"A purple cloud was sailing by, With silver fringes, o'er the sky; And then I thought, it seemed so nigh, I'd make my kite go up and light Upon its edge, so soft and bright; To see how n.o.ble, high and proud She'd look, while riding on a cloud!

"As near her shining mark she drew I clapped my hands; the line slipped through My silly fingers; and she flew, Away! away! in airy play, Right over where the water lay!

She veered and fluttered, swung and gave A plunge, then vanished with the wave!

"I never more shall want to look On that false cloud, or babbling brook; Nor e'er to feel the breeze that took My dearest joy, to thus destroy The pastime of your happy boy.

My kite! my kite! how sad to think She flew so high, so soon to sink!"

"Be this," the mother said, and smiled, "A lesson to thee, simple child!

And when by fancies vain and wild, As that which cost the kite that's lost, The busy brain again is crossed, Of shining vapor then beware, Nor trust thy joys to fickle air.

"I have a darling treasure, too, That sometimes would, by slipping through My guardian hands, the way pursue, From which, more tight than thou thy kite, I hold my jewel, new and bright, Lest he should stray without a guide, To drown my hopes in sorrow's tide!"

=A Summer-Morning Rumble=

Oh! the happy Summer hours.

With their b.u.t.terflies and flowers, And the birds among the bowers Sweetly singing;-- With the spices from the trees, Vines, and lilies, while the bees Come floating on the breeze, Honey bringing!

All the East was rosy red, When we woke and left our bed; And to gather flowers we sped, Gay and early.

Every clover-top was wet, And the spider's silken net With a thousand dew-drops set, Pure and pearly.

With their modest eyes of blue Were the violets peeping through Tufts of gra.s.ses, where they grew, Full of beauty, At the lamb in snowy white, O'er the meadow bounding light, And the crow just taking flight, Grave and sooty.

On our floral search intent, Still away, away we went,-- Up and down the rugged bent,-- Through the wicket,-- Where the rock with water drops,-- Through the bushes and the copse,-- Where the greenwood pathway stops In the thicket.

We heard the fountain gush, And the singing of the thrush; And we saw the squirrel's brush In the hedges, As along his back 't was thrown, Like a glory of his own.

While the sun behind it, shone Through its edges.

All the world appeared so fair, And so fresh and free the air,-- Oh! it seemed that all the care In creation Belonged to G.o.d alone; And that none beneath his throne, Need to murmur or to groan At his station.

Dear little brother Will!

He has leaped the hedge and rill,-- He has clambered up the hill, Ere the beaming Of the rising sun, to sweep With its golden rays the steep, Till he's tired, and dropped asleep, Sweetly dreaming.

See, he threw aside his cap, And the roses from his lap, When his eyes were, for the nap, Slowly closing: Wit his sunny curls outspread, On its fragrant mossy bed, Now his precious infant head Is reposing.

He is dreaming of his play-- How he rose at break of day, And he frolicked all the way On his ramble.

And before his fancy's eye, He has still the b.u.t.terfly Mocking him, where not so high He could scramble.

In his cheek the dimples dip, And a smile is on his lip, While his tender finger-tip Seems as aiming At some wild and lovely thing That is out upon the wing, Which he longs to catch and bring Home for taming.

While he thus at rest is laid In the old oak's quiet shade, Let's cull our flowers to braid, Or unite them In bunches trim and neat, That for every friend we meet, We may have a token sweet To delight them.

'Tis the very crowning art Of a happy, grateful heart To others to impart Of its pleasure.

Thus its joys can never cease, For it brings an inward peace, Like an every day increase Of a treasure.

=The Shoemaker=

"Honor and shame from no condition rise.

Act well your part:--there all the honor lies."

The shoemaker sat amid wax and leather, With lapstone over his knee; Where, snug in his shop, he defied all weather, A-drawing his quarters and sole together: A happy old man was he!

This happy old man was so wise and knowing, The worth of his time he knew.

He bristled his ends, and he kept them going; And felt to each moment a st.i.tch was owing, Until he got round the shoe.

Of every deed that his wax was sealing, The closing was firm and fast.

The p.r.i.c.k of his steel never caused a feeling Of pain to the toe, and his skill in heeling Was perfect, and true to the last!

Whenever you gave him a foot to measure.