. St. Nicholas [serial] . otted with meadow and wold. And here on this hill-crest the waters oerhanging Our cabin is built of the driftwood we find ;Here, steeped in the twilight, how fair is the haven! — The lapping of wavelets doth quiet the the long night, while the planets keep vigil, The ocean shall soothe us with lullabies sweet;And when morning rises across the deep waters Our spirits shall gladly its messengers greet. Thro wood and thro thicket our footsteps shall followThe pathway of pleasure, the life of the wild; And Nature shall teach us the knowledge thats sweetest
. St. Nicholas [serial] . otted with meadow and wold. And here on this hill-crest the waters oerhanging Our cabin is built of the driftwood we find ;Here, steeped in the twilight, how fair is the haven! — The lapping of wavelets doth quiet the the long night, while the planets keep vigil, The ocean shall soothe us with lullabies sweet;And when morning rises across the deep waters Our spirits shall gladly its messengers greet. Thro wood and thro thicket our footsteps shall followThe pathway of pleasure, the life of the wild; And Nature shall teach us the knowledge thats sweetest,In accents like music, in syllables mild. When daylight is past and the moon rises lovely, Beside the bright camp-fire the wandrers shall meet And whisper adventures and talk of the forest,While neath us the ocean doth restlessly beat. THE FISH I DID NT CATCH. BY BERKELEY BLAKE (AGE II). Oh, that fish! Its beauty! its size! There wasnever such another; no other ever flashed in the sun as 1144 ST. NICHOLAS LEAGUE. [ A HEADING FOR OCTOBER. BY MARJORIE POPE, AGE II. (SILVER BADGE.) it did, no other ever pulled so hard;—but I lost it! Iwas not a fisherman, I had no right to fish, but I lovedto drop my hook into the water and dream and dreamwhile the minnows stole the bait. So there I sat. The evening sun had changed thelake to a golden floor on which the fairies danced. Fairy-music drifted through the air and fairy messengershurried back and forth across the lake. I reveled in mydreams and lay in sweet content. Then came a tug, the pole bent as a bow, the fairiesvanished in alarm. With one wild pull I jerked, andfor a single second there hung in the middle air a flash from his golden mail and he was gone; aswaying in the reeds, a ripple on the golden path, andall was over — only the fairies came no more! OUR CAMPING-TRIP. BY MABEL WINSLOW (AGE 13). The call of the wild was too much for us,In the city we could not remain ;So we bought a tent and some fishing-ro
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Keywords: ., bookauthordodgemar, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1873
