And tender flesh that fears the cold, Nor dares to wear a garment old; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. The rich man's son inherits cares; The bank may break, the factory burn, A breath may burst his bubble shares, And soft white hands could hardly earn A living that would serve his turn; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. The rich man's son inherits wants, His stomach craves for dainty fare; With sated heart, he hears the pants Of toiling hinds with brown arms bare, And wearies in his easy-chair; A heritage, it seems to me, One scarce would wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man's son inherit? A hardy frame, a hardier spirit, King of two hands, he does his part A heritage, it seems to me, A king might wish to hold in fee. What doth the poor man's son inherit? A heritage, it seems to me, What doth the poor man's son inherit? Letty's Globe A fellow-feeling that is sure To make the outcast bless his door; A king might wish to hold in fee. O rich man's son! there is a toil That with all others level stands; But only whiten, soft white hands; Worth being rich to hold in fee. O poor man's son! scorn not thy state; In merely being rich and great; Toil only gives the soul to shine, A heritage, it seems to me, Worth being poor to hold in fee. Both, heirs to some six feet of sod, A heritage, it seems to me, Well worth a life to hold in fee. 253 James Russell Lowell [1819-1891] LETTY'S GLOBE OR SOME IRREGULARITIES IN A FIRST LESSON IN GEOGRAPHY WHEN Letty had scarce passed her third glad year, One day we gave the child a colored sphere Of the wide Earth, that she might mark and know, By tint and outline, all its sea and land. She patted all the world; old Empires peeped And laughed and prattled in her world-wide bliss! Charles Tennyson Turner [1808-1879] DOVE'S NEST "SYLVIA, hush!" I said, "come here, Tales told are good, tales seen are best!" In the lowest crotch of the apple tree. I lifted her up so quietly, That when she could have touched the bird The soft gray creature had not stirred. Ah, well: but when I touched the nest, Joseph Russell Taylor [1868 THE SHEPHERD BOY LIKE some vision olden Of far other time, In the young world's prime, Her hair is like the waving grain Is, like a lily, white. Gustav Kobbé [1857 A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS THOU happy, happy elf! (But stop,-first let me kiss away that tear!) Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) Thou merry, laughing sprite, With spirits feather-light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin, (My dear, the child is swallowing a pin!) Thou little tricksy Puck! With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air, (The door! the door! he'll tumble down the stair!) Thou darling of thy sire! (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy! In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Thou idol of thy parents,-(Drat the boy! There goes my ink!) Thou cherub,-but of earth; Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale, (That dog will bite him, if he pulls its tail!) Thou human humming-bee, cxtracting honey From every blossom in the world that blows, Singing in youth's Elysium ever sunny.(Another tumble! That's his precious nose!) Thy father's pride and hope! (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope!) |