Never a handsomer house was seen beneath the sun: Kitchen and parlor and bedroom-we had 'em all in one; And the fat old wooden clock that we bought when we come West, Trees was all around us, a-whisperin' cheerin' words; Loud was the squirrel's chatter and sweet the song of birds; And home grew sweeter and brighter-our courage began to mountAnd things looked hearty and happy then, and work appeared to count. Yes, a deal has happened to make this old house dear; Christenin's, funerals, weddin's-what haven't we had here? Not a log in this buildin' but its memories has got, And not a nail in this old floor but touches a tender spot. Out of the old house, Nancy-moved up into the new; All the hurry and worry is just as good as through; But I tell you a thing right here, that I ain't ashamed to say, There's precious things in this old house that we never can take away. Here the old house will stand, but not as it stood before: Fare you well, old house! you're naught that can feel or see, THE OLD ARM-CHAIR. Eliza Cook. I love it, I love it! and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old arm-chair? I've treasured it long as a sainted prize, I've bedewed it with tears, I've embalmed it with sighs. 'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart; Not a tie will break, not a link will start; Would you know the spell?-a mother sat there! And a sacred thing is that old arm-chair. In childhood's hour I lingered near To fit me to die, and teach me to live. She told me that shame would never betide As I knelt beside that old arm-chair. I sat, and watched her many a day, When her eyes grew dim and her locks were gray; 'Tis past, 'tis past! but I gaze on it now, And memory flows with lava tide. Whilst scalding drops start down my cheek; 4 ROCK ME TO SLEEP. Florence Percy. Backward, turn backward, O Time in your flight, Backward, flow backward, O tide of the years! Rock me to sleep, mother-rock me to sleep! Tired of the hollow, the base, the untrue, Over my heart, in the days that are flown, Come, let your brown hair, just lighted with gold, Mother, dear mother, the years have been long Rock me to sleep, mother-rock me to sleep! HIAWATHA'S SAILING. Henry W. Longfellow. "Give me of your bark, O Birch-tree! I a light canoe will build me, Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, Like a yellow water-lily! "Lay aside your cloak, O Birch-tree! And you need no white-skin wrapper!" By the rushing Taquamenaw, And the tree with all its branches With his knife the tree he girdled; Went a sound, a cry of horror, Went a murmur of resistance; But it whispered, bending downward, "Take my boughs, O Hiawatha! Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, Shaped them straightway to a frame-work, Like two bows he formed and shaped them, Like two bended bows together. "Give me of your roots, O Tamarack! Of your fibrous roots, O Larch-tree! My canoe to bind together, So to bind the ends together That the water may not enter, From the earth he tore the fibres, And the Fir-tree, tall and sombre, Sobbed through all its robes of darkness, And he took the tears of balsam, Smeared therewith each seam and fissure, "Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog! And two stars to deck her bosom!" From a hollow tree the Hedgehog With his sleepy eyes looked at him, Shot his shining quills, like arrows, Saying with a drowsy murmur, Through the tangle of his whiskers, "Take my quills, O Hiawatha!” From the ground the quills he gathered, All the little shining arrows, Stained them red and blue and yellow, With the juice of roots and berries; Into his canoe he wrought them, Round its waist a shining girdle, Thus the Birch Canoe was builded In the valley, by the river, In the bosom of the forest; All the lightness of the birch-tree, All the larch's supple sinews; And it floated on the river Paddles none had Hiawatha, Paddles none he had or needed, For his thoughts as paddles served him, And his wishes served to guide him; Swift or slow at will he glided, Then he called aloud to Kwasind, Tugged at sunken logs and branches, And thus sailed my Hiawatha Down the rushing Taquamenaw, Sailed through all its bends and windings, Up and down the river went they. Dragged the dead trees from its channel, Made a pathway for the people, From its springs among the mountains, To the waters of Pauwating, To the bay of Taquamenaw. HOW THE ARBUTUS CAME TO MICHIGAN. Hulda T. Hollands. Long, long ago, before the world was all finished, a very old man lived alone in his lodge, which stood on the bank of a stream near the edge of a dark forest. Outside snow and ice were everywhere, for it was winter. The spirit of the North Wind roamed through the forest searching every tree and bush for birds to chill, and chasing the evil Manitous over hill and dale. Every day the old man went out through the forest hunting for wood to feed his fire, and although he was dressed in the warmest furs, he shivered with the cold. At last the snow became so deep that he could not find the wood and he was obliged to return to his lodge without it. He was cold and hungry, and in despair threw himself down beside the few dull coals that were still smouldering and called aloud to Mauna-Boosha, the great and good Manitou, beseeching him to come to his rescue lest he perish. At that moment the wind lifted the fur hangings at the door and there appeared before him a beautiful maiden. Her eyes were large and glowing, her cheeks were stained with wild roses, her hair was like the raven's plumage, and so long that it touched the ground when she walked. Her hands were covered with willow buds, and on her head was a wreath of pale pink blossoms. Her breath was odorous as a morn in spring and when she breathed the air of the lodge became warm. Her robe was long and trailing, and was covered with sweet grasses and ferns, her moccasins were made of white lilies. "Thou art welcome, my daughter," said the old man. "My lodge is cold, but it will shield thee from the storm. Come, tell me who thou art. I am a mighty manitou. I blow my breath, and the streams cease to flow. The running waters stand still." "I breathe softly," replied the maiden, "and beautiful flowers spring up all over the prairies." "I shake. my locks," said the old man, "and the leaves run away like a flock of frightened birds and snow covers all the ground." "I shake my curls," the maiden whispered softly, "and the warm rains fall from the clouds and drench the parched earth, the flowers lift up their heads, and the little bubbles splash over the growing streams like young plovers." "When I walk about," continued the old man, "the leaves fall from the trees, and when I shout the tempest rides screaming on the wings of the North Wind. At my command, the animals hide in their holes and the birds fly away." "When I walk about," the maiden responded, "the plants awaken and lift up their heads, the trees cover their nakedness with many leaves, the birds return to their nests, and all who see me sing for joy." The old man made no further reply, his head drooped on his breast, and he slept. Then the sun came back, and a bluebird called: "Sayee, sayee, I am thirsty," and the river called back in reply: |