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ANNA MARY AND ALFRED WILLIAM

HOWITT,

THESE SKETCHES, ORIGINALLY WRITTEN FOR THEIR AMUSEMENT,

ARE AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED.

THESE simple and unpretending Sketches require no introduction; and yet, when title-page, contents, and dedication have been made out, an introduction so naturally follows, that it might be supposed a book could not be put together without one,-though the writer, as in my case, has little to say either of herself or her volume.

All, therefore, that I shall now remark is, that these Sketches were written for my own Children; and many of them at their suggestion; and that in seeing the pleasure they have derived from them, I have hoped their young contemporaries may find them equally agreeable. A few of them have already appeared in some of the Juvenile Annuals, and may therefore be familiar to many of my young readers; but I trust they will pardon a reprint of what is already known, in the prospect of finding more that is new.

Nottingham, May 1834.

SKETCHES OF NATURAL HISTORY.

THE COOT.

OH Coot! oh bold, adventurous Coot,

I pray thee tell to me,
The perils of that stormy time
That bore thee to the sea!

I saw thee on the river fair,

Within thy sedgy screen;
Around thee grew the bulrush tall,
And reeds so strong and green.

The kingfisher came back again
To view thy fairy place;

The stately swan sailed statelier by,
As if thy home to grace.

But soon the mountain-flood came down,

And bowed the bulrush strong;
And far above those tall green reeds,
The waters poured along.

"And where is she, the Water-Coot,"
I cried, "that creature good?"
But then I saw thee in thine ark,
Regardless of the flood

Amid the foaming waves thou sat'st,
And steer'dst thy little boat;
Thy nest of rush and water-reed
So bravely set afloat.

And on it went, and safely on
That wild and stormy tide;
And there thou sat'st, a mother-bird,
Thy young ones at thy side.
Oh Coot! oh bold, adventurous Coot,
I pray thee tell to me,
The perils of that stormy voyage

That bore thee to the sea!
Hadst thou no fear, as night came down
Upon thy watery way,

Of enemies, and dangers dire

That round about thee lay? Didst thou not see the falcon grim

Swoop down as thou passed by? And 'mong the waving water flags

The lurking otter lie?

The eagle's scream came wildly near,

Yet, caused it no alarm?

Nor man, who seeing thee, weak thing,
Did strive to do thee harm?

And down the foaming waterfall,

As thou wast borne along,
Hadst thou no dread? Oh daring bird,
Thou hadst a spirit strong!

Yes, thou hadst fear. But He who sees
The sparrows when they fall;

He saw thee, bird, and gave thee strength To brave thy perils all.

He kept thy little ark afloat;

He watched o'er thine and thee; And safely through the foaming flood Hath brought thee to the sea."

THE CAMEL.

CAMEL, thou art good and mild,
Might'st be guided by a child;
Thou wast made for usefulness,
Man to comfort and to bless.
Thou dost clothe him; thou dost feed;
Thou dost lend to him thy speed.
And through wilds of trackless sand,
In the hot Arabian land,

Where no rock its shadow throws;

Where no pleasant water flows;
Where the hot air is not stirred,
By the wing of singing bird,

There thou go'st untired and meek,
Day by day, and week by week,
Bearing freight of precious things,
Silks for merchants, gold for kings;
Pearls of Ormuz, riches rare,
Damascene and Indian ware;
Bale on bale, and heap on heap,
Freighted like a costly ship!

When the red Simoom comes near,
Camel, dost thou know no fear?
When the desert sands uprise
Flaming crimson to the skies,
And like pillared giants strong,
Stalk the dreary waste along,
Bringing death unto his prey,
Does not thy good heart give way?
Camel, no! thou do'st for man
All thy generous nature can!
Thou do'st lend to him thy speed
In that awful time of need;
And when the Simoom goes by,
Teachest him to close his eye,
And bow down before the blast
Till the purple death has passed!

And when week by week is gone,
And the traveller journeys on
Feebly; when his strength is fled,
And his hope and heart seem dead,
Camel, thou dost turn thine eye
On him kindly, soothingly,
As if thou would'st cheering, say,
"Journey on for this one day!
"Do not let thy heart despond;
"There is water yet beyond!
"I can scent it in the air; —
"Do not let thy heart despair!"
And thou guid'st the traveller there.

Camel, thou art good and mild,
Might'st be guided by a child;
Thou wast made for usefulness,
Man to comfort and to bless;
And these desert wastes must be
Un tracked regions but for thee!

And Eve in her young innocence

Delayed her footsteps there;

And Adam's heart grew warm with praise
To see a tree so fair.

And though the world was darkened
With the shade of human ill,
And man was cast from Paradise,
Yet wast thou goodly still.

And when an ancient poet

Some lofty theme would sing,
He made the Cedar symbol forth
Each great and gracious thing.
And royal was the Cedar

Above all other trees!
They chose of old its scented wood
For kingly palaces.

And in the halls of princes,

And on the Phoenix-pyre,
"T was only noble cedar-wood
Could feed the odorous fire.
In the temple of Jerusalem,
That glorious temple old,
They only found the cedar-wood
To match with carved gold.

Thou great and noble Solomon,

What king was e'er like thee? Thou 'mong the princes of the earth Wast like a Cedar tree!

But the glory of the Cedar tree

Is as an old renown,

And few and dwindled grow they now Upon Mount Lebanon.

But dear they are to poet's heart;

And dear to painter's eye;

And the beauty of the Cedar tree
On earth will never die!

CEDAR TREES.

THE power that formed the violet,
The all-creating One;
He made the stately Cedar trees
That crowned Mount Lebanon.

And all within the garden

That angels came to see,-
He set in groves and on the hills

The goodly Cedar tree.

There played the gladsome creatures, Beneath its shadow dim;

And from its spreading, leafy boughs Went up the wild bird's hymn.

THE MONKEY.
MONKEY, little merry fellow,
Thou art nature's punchinello!
Full of fun as Puck could be ;
Harlequin might learn of thee!

Look now at his odd grimaces!
Saw you e'er such comic faces?
Now like learned judge sedate,
Now with nonsense in his pate

Nature, in a sunny wood,
Must have been in merry mood
And with laughter fit to burst,
Monkey, when she made thee first.

How you leaped and frisked about,
When your life you first found out,
How you threw, in roguish mirth,
Cocoa-nuts on mother earth;

How you sate and made a din
Louder than had ever been,
Till the Parrots, all a-riot,
Chattered too to keep you quiet;

Little, merry Monkey, tell
Was there kept no chronicle?
And have you no legends old,
Wherein this, and more is told?

How the world's first children ran
Laughing from the monkey-man,
Little Abel and his brother,
Laughing, shouting to their mother?

And could you keep down your mirth,
When the floods were on the earth;
When from all your drowning kin,
Good old Noah took you in?

In the very ark, no doubt,
You went frolicking about;
Never keeping in your mind,
Drowned monkeys left behind!

No, we cannot hear of this;
Gone are all the witnesses;
But I'm very sure that you

Made both mirth and mischief too!

Have ye no traditions,-none
Of the court of Solomon?
No memorial how ye went
With prince Hiram's armament?

Were ye given, or were ye sold
With the peacocks and the gold;
Is it all forgotten quite,
'Cause ye neither read nor write?

Look now at him! Slyly peep,
He pretends he is asleep
Fast asleep upon his bed,
With his arm beneath his head.

Now that posture is not right,
And he is not settled quite -
There! that's better than before,
And the knave pretends to snore!

Ha! he is not half asleep!
See, he slyly takes a peep!
Monkey, though your eyes were shut,
You could see this little nut.

You shall have it, pigmy brother!
What, another? and another?
Nay, your cheeks are like a sack,—
Sit down, and begin to crack.

There, the little ancient man Cracks as fast as crack he can! Now, good bye, you merry fellow, Nature's primest punchinello!

THE FOSSIL ELEPHANT. THE earth is old! Six thousand years

Are gone since I had birth; In the forests of the olden time,

And the solitudes of earth.

We were a race of mighty things;
The world was all our own.

I dwelt with the Mammoth large and strong,
And the giant Mastodon.

No ship went over the waters then,

No ship with oar or sail;

But the wastes of the sea were habited
By the Dragon and the Whale.

And the Hydra down in the ocean caves
Abode, a creature grim;

And the scaled Serpents huge and strong
Coiled up in the waters dim.

The wastes of the world were all our own;
A proud, imperial lot!

Man had not then dominion given,
Or else we knew it not.

There was no city on the plain;

No fortress on the hill;

No mighty men of strength, who came,
With armies up, to kill.

There was no iron then-no brass

No silver and no gold;

The wealth of the world was in its woods,
And its granite mountains old.

And we were the kings of all the world;
We knew its breadth and length;
We dwelt in the glory of solitude,

And the majesty of strength.

But suddenly came an awful change!
Wherefore, ask not of me;
That it was, my desolate being shows,-
Let that suffice for thee.

The Mammoth huge and the Mastodon
Were buried beneath the earth;
And the Hydra and the Serpents strong,
In the caves where they had birth!

There is now no place of silence deep,

Whether on land or sea;

And the Dragons lie in the mountain-rock, As if for eternity!

And far in the realms of thawless ice,

Beyond each island shore,
My brethren lie in the darkness stern,
To awake to life no more!

And not till the last conflicting crash When the world consumes in fire, Will their frozen sepulchres be loosed, And their dreadful doom expire!

THE LOCUST.

THE Locust is fierce, and strong, and grim,
And an armed man is afraid of him:
He comes like a winged shape of dread,
With his shielded back and his armed head,
And his double wings for hasty flight,
And a keen, unwearying appetite.

He comes with famine and fear along,
An army a million million strong;

The Goth and the Vandal, and dwarfish Hun,
With their swarming people wild and dun,
Brought not the dread that the Locust brings,
When is heard the rush of their myriad wings.

From the deserts of burning sand they speed,
Where the Lions roam and the Serpents breed,
Far over the sea, away, away!

And they darken the sun at noon of day.
Like Eden the land before they find,
But they leave it a desolate waste behind.

The peasant grows pale when he sees them come,
And standeth before them weak and dumb;
For they come like a raging fire in power,
And eat up a harvest in half an hour;
And the trees are bare, and the land is brown,
As if trampled and trod by an army down.

There is terror in every monarch's eye,
When he hears that his terrible foe is nigh;
For he knows that the might of an armed host
Cannot drive the spoiler from out his coast,
And that terror and famine his land await;
That from north to south 't will be desolate.
Thus the ravening Locust is strong and grim;
And what were an armed man to him?
Fire turneth him not, nor sea prevents,
He is stronger by far than the elements!
The broad green earth is his prostrate prey,
And he darkens the sun at the noon of day!

THE BROOM-FLOWER.

O THE Broom, the yellow Broom,
The ancient poet sung it,
And dear it is on summer days
To lie at rest among it.

I know the realms where people say
The flowers have not their fellow;
I know where they shine out like suns,
The crimson and the yellow.

I know where ladies live enchained
In luxury's silken fetters,

And flowers as bright as glittering gems
Are used for written letters.

But ne'er was flower so fair as this,
In modern days or olden;

t groweth on its nodding stem
Like to a garland golden.

And all about my mother's door

Shine out its glittering bushes,

And down the glen, where clear as light
The mountain-water gushes.

Take all the rest,-but give me this,
And the bird that nestles in it;

I love it, for it loves the broom,

The green and yellow linnet. Well, call the rose the queen of flowers, And boast of that of Sharon, Of lilies like to marble cups.

And the golden rod of Aaron.

I care not how these flowers may be
Beloved of man and woman;
The Broom it is the flower for me
That groweth on the common.

Oh the Broom, the yellow Broom,
The ancient poet sung it,
And dear it is on summer days
To lie at rest among it!

THE EAGLE.

No, not in the meadow, and not on the shore;
And not on the wide heath with furze covered o'er,
Where the cry of the Plover, the hum of the bee,
Give a feeling of joyful security:

And not in the woods, where the Nightingale's song,
From the chestnut and orange pours all the day long;
And not where the Martin has built in the eaves,
And the Red-breast e'er covered the children with
leaves,

Shall ye find the proud Eagle! O no, come away;
I will show you his dwelling, and point out his prey!
Away! let us go where the mountains are high,
With tall splintered peak towering into the sky;
Where old ruined castles are dreary and lone,
And seem as if built for a world that is gone;
There, up on the topmost tower, black as the night,
Sits the old monarch Eagle in full blaze of light:
He is king of these mountains: save him and his
mate,

No Eagle dwells here; he is lonely and great!
Look, look how he sits! with his keen glancing eye,
And his proud head thrown back, looking into the
sky;

And hark to the rush of his out-spreading wings,
Like the coming of tempest, as upward he springs,
And now how the echoing mountains are stirred,
For that was the cry of the Eagle you heard!
Now, see how he soars! like a speck in the height
Of the blue vaulted sky, and now lost in the light!
And now downward he wheels as a shaft from a

bow

By a strong archer sent, to the valleys below! And that is the bleat of a lamb of the flock;One moment, and he re-ascends to the rock.Yes, see how the conqueror is winging his way And his terrible talons are holding their prey'

THERE was a Nettle both great and strong;

And the threads of his poison-flowers were long; He rose up in strength and height also,

And he said, "I'll be king of the plants below!"

It was a wood both drear and dank,

There grew the Nettle so broad and rank;

And an Owl sate up in an old ash tree

That was wasting away so silently;

And a Raven was perched above his head,

And they both of them heard what the Nettle-king

said;

And there was a toad that sate below,

Chewing his venom sedate and slow,

And he heard the words of the Nettle also.

The Nettle he throve, and the Nettle he grew,

And the strength of the earth around him he drew: There was a pale Stellaria meek,

But as he grew strong, so she grew weak;

There was a Campion, crimson-eyed,

But as he grew up, the Campion died;
And the blue Veronica, shut from light,
Faded away in a sickly white;

For upon his leaves a dew there hung,
That fell like a blight from a serpent's tongue,
And there was not a flower about the spot,
Herb-Robert, Harebell, nor Forget-me-not.
Yet up grew the Nettle like water-sedge,
Higher and higher above the hedge;
The stuff of his leaves was strong and stout,
And the points of his stinging-flowers stood out;
And the Child that went in the wood to play,
From the great King-nettle would shrink away!

"Now," says the King-nettle, "there's none like me;
"I am as great as a plant can be!
"I have crushed each weak and tender root,
"With the mighty power of my kingly foot;
"I have spread out my arms so strong and wide,
"And opened my way on every side;
"I have drawn from the earth its virtues fine,
"To strengthen for me each poison-spine;
"Both morn and night my leaves I've spread,
"And upon the falling dews have fed,
"Till I am as great as a forest-tree;
"The great wide world is the place for me!"
Said the Nettle-king in his bravery.

Just then up came a Woodman stout,

n the thick of the wood he was peering about.

THE BIRD OF PARADISE.

O LOVELY Bird of Paradise,

I'll go where thou dost go! Rise higher yet, and higher yet, For a stormy wind doth blow. Now up above the tempest

We are sailing in the calm,

Amid the golden sunshine,

And where the air is balm.

See, far below us rolling,

The storm-cloud black and wide ; The fury of its raging

Is as an angry tide!

O gentle Bird of Paradise,

Thy happy lot I'll share; And go where'er thou goest

On, through the sunny air! Whate'er the food thou eatest, Bird, I will eat it too,

And ere it reach the stormy earth, Will drink with thee the dew'

My father and my mother,

I'll leave them for thy sake; And where thy nest is builded, My pleasant home will make! Is it woven of the sunshine,

And the fragrance of the spice; And cradled round with happiness? Sweet Bird of Paradise!

O take me, take me to it,
Wherever it may be,
For far into the sunshine
I'll fly away with thee!
Thus sung an Eastern poet,
A many years ago;
Now, of the Bird of Paradise
A truer tale we know.
We know the nest it buildeth
'Within the forest green,
And many and many a traveller
Its very eggs hath seen.
Yet, lovely Bird of Paradise,

They take no charm from thee; Thou art a creature of the earth, And not a mystery!